Nature
Watch the birdies..
Jay
Conor O’Hagan, who has had a life-long fascination with bird-watching, passes on some of his observations I’ve been watching - or perhaps more accurately, noticing - birds since the day my school friend Mike Daly pointed out a jay to me in his back garden. Up to then, I couldn’t have told you the difference between a jay and a jump jet, but from the moment I noticed that streak of flamboyance that was so markedly distinct from say, the proletarian cheer of the sparrow, or the rascally chutzpah of a starling, I was hooked on birds, in all their fantastic diversity. And notwithstanding periodic diversions into wine, women, motorcycles and song, I’ve had a low-level fixation ever since. It’s not a study, not an expertise or even much of a hobby. Other than a brief schoolboy phase of schlepping to wintry, wind-blasted reservoirs, armed with an inadequate pair of 8 x 30 binoculars and a field guide in (usually fruitless) search of exotic migrant waterfowl, I’ve never birdwatched as a purposeful activity. I’ve never sat in a hide, crawled through bushes or kept notes. But for 50 years I have been a compulsive noticer and appreciator of birds. Having reared myself on a diet of Gerald Durrell books, I was a bit of a lost cause as an objective observer of nature. Anthropomorphism gets a bad press; the attribution of human feelings and characteristics to non-human creatures is unscientific and misleading. But human or not, birds have personalities and to observe their world as a constantly shifting drama has been one of the great pleasures of my life; one that I dearly want to share. It’s not entirely a St Francis thing; I love birds partly because they’re free - not in the ‘free as a bird’ sense, but because barring the ocassional feeder of peanuts or mixed seeds, they cost me nothing and give so much in return. They move more than trees, sound better than flowers and don’t even require me to step outside the house if I don’t feel inclined to, which I mostly don’t. 16 Senior Times l March - April 2021 l www.seniortimes.ie
Ring-necked parakeet
It’s not a rejection of modern life or a yearning for the immutable, either. The world of birds is inextricably linked with our own, sometimes for the worse, sometimes for better, and sometimes, well, who knows? Things change, and always have done. Right now, I’m somewhat passively awaiting my first sighting of a wild parakeet. For the last 30 years or so, southern England has seen the inexorable growth of a colourful, noisy tribe of Indian Ring-Necked Parakeets - and now they’re here. The ringneck is a robust character in every sense; bold and brassy, nothing if not distinctive. Even in the sublimely varied context of bird plumage and song, there’s nothing quite like it in this part of the world; a flash of vivid green led by a sturdy red beak and accompanied by a piercing, shrill squawk typical of the parrot family. A sociable bird, ring-neck gatherings might more accurately be called gangs than flocks. Probably originating in escaped or released individuals in towns and cities, they have survived and flourished thanks to the high-altitude Indian habitats they are adapted for; they are no strangers to cold. My eco-warrior side says invasive species; my bird-loving side says another free show.
