The Standlake Birder

  I’m very relived at the moment that Chateau Hutchins is situated on a hill. Just about every metrologically possible form of water has fallen from the heavens this morning. The paddocks have all turned into wetland bogs, it’s only a matter of time before the Bitterns move in, the largest of our three ponds has burst its banks and overflowed across the adjacent land and Bourne Brook at the bottom of our hill has turned into a lake covering the adjacent fields and what remains of the winter corn crop.  This is certainly one of the wettest and muddiest winters I can remember and my feelings about January 2021, compounded by lockdown 3.0,  are well summed up by this witty ditty by Brian Bilston.   Thirty days has September, April, June and November   Unless a leap year is its fate, February has twenty-eight   All the rest have three days more, excepting January, which has six thousand, one hundred and eighty-four   Never have I so looked forwar...

  My plan this year is to concentrate on my photography and, when restrictions allow, building my uk life list. Although I will keep a year list, I’m not going to chase birds to hit any target, rather it will be what it will be. At the moment though the almost apocalyptic daily news leaves me with no desire whatsoever to leave the house for anything other than my daily very local exercise walk with the dogs and the occasional provision runs when we run out or forget to order something prior to our weekly food delivery.   The winter thrushes are again very active locally and, having pretty much stripped the hedgerows of berries, have now swapped to feeding on worms in the fields. We had several inches (that’s several x 2.54 centimetres to you youngsters) some two weeks ago which was very slow to melt. Our horses scrapped the snow off and poached the soil into mud  in several areas of our paddocks bringing in hundreds of Redwings and one or two Fieldfares for the bount...