Over the last few weeks walking down to the marsh there is a notable difference; the silence. We have reached the time of year when the chorus of spring and early summer song ceases and the marsh slips into its quiet period. Gone are the melodies of the warblers, the cacophony of sound from the marsh frogs and and the bleating of lambs. The prevalent sounds now are the wind whistling through the extensive grasses and the occasional bickering of gulls.
Raptors such as merlins and kestrels are busy, hovering, watching and swooping for the hidden rodents; the numbers indicating a healthy hidden rodent population. Many of the migrant birds are busy feeding up on the abundance of insects, preparing for the long migration south. Some have already gone, adult cuckoos left weeks ago, the young soon to follow, with some built in signals of head that way, making this long journey with no guidance. Other birds are busy with their last broods of the year; our solitary house martins nest, a late new family making the most of the insect harvest, to feed up their young to get them ready for their maiden migration to Africa.
All around the marshes there are changes, the light is changing as the days draw slowly shorter, the air first thing is just that bit more crisp and the blackberry’s are early and plenty. The grasses have changed from the lush green to golds and browns and the rushes have reached their full glory, they and the seed heads of the umbels providing perfect resting places for dragonflies. Only the deepest lees still retain water so drawing the wildfowl more to the heart of the marsh. There is still so much here but now it is well hidden, many undergoing the seasonal moult, away from prying eyes.
The wind continues to whisper that change is coming, for the wildlife it is key to make the most of this abundance, to store and fatten up to prepare for the times ahead.
Friends often exclaim it must be amazing to live where we do, so silent. To be fair many of my friends live in towns and cities but the one thing the garden is, is anything but silent. From dawn to dusk there is a veritable cacophony of sound. Even over night although less, the marshes still echo to eerie songs.
Without doubt the nosiest garden inhabitants are the troop of jackdaws. Complex and sociable birds, the resident troop numbers are currently swelled by this years young who they are busy training in the contortionists art of hanging off the bird-feeder. Throughout the day the constant kak-kak call can be heard as they maintain interactions between the members of the troop, constantly reasserting social bonds. It is in no way surprising that the archaic collective noun for these birds is a “clattering”.
Take the time to tune into the background beyond the jackdaws and a broader spectrum of song is heard. Blackbird, thrush and sparrows constantly delivering their varied tunes as they reinforce their territories. The gentle cooing of dove and pigeon although sadly no longer the purr of the turtle dove which when we first moved here was a regular summer visitor. We are fortunate to still have cuckoos and for a brief while longer we will hear the call before the adults return to Africa leaving their young in the hands of the unsuspecting foster parents to travel back on their own six to eight weeks later.
A more gentle call is the quiet chirrup of the house martins. Late arrivals this year due to weather conditions over mainland Europe, the pairs are now busy brooding their young. But there is always trouble with the neighbours. Within the roof we have three layers of prime avian real estate. The lower roof over the kitchen is prime starling territory with multiple nests along the roof. Resident since April these devoted parents are already onto brood two. Other than the odd masonary bee colony no other inhabit this part of the house, to be honest it probably is just to noisy.
The upper roof however is home to both house sparrows and house martins. The house sparrows are here year round, mostly living in the gaps under the tiles. The house martins are just below this building their mud nests in the overhang between roof and wall. Over the years the house martins have build a selection of nests which they repair and reuse year on year. The sparrow colony is however, thriving and occasionally one will want a nest a little bit more on trend and being early nesters will take over those house martin nests that have survived the winter best. Come late spring when our summer visitors return furious arguing will ensue as the house martins try to reclaim the nests. Eventually they all establish their summer homes but constant bickering continues between these neighbours all summer long.
Even the flowerbeds are not silent. We have always had bees but this year their numbers are significantly higher. Bumblebees numbers in particular have increased but there are now a wide variety of both solitary and social bees. Listen to any flower bed and the flowers hum to the noise of happy bees. We have been working to ensure that we have a succession of flowers as opposed to a spring glut followed by famine. We have also left areas of the garden to do its thing increasing the number of native species. It is not just the bees but an increasing number of beetles and moths being observed; I now just need to fine tune the art of identifying them!
As dusk falls and the daytime residents take their leave an eerie singing can be heard emanating from the marshes. While the occasional sound is that of one of the numerous wading birds this dusk chorus is not avian. All through spring and early summer the night time resonate to a marsh frog chorus, a noise so surprising loud for such little creatures. The first time you hear the eerie calls it is not hard to let flight to the imagination as to just what is out on the marshes.
Without doubt whatever the time of day – nature gives good voice. Without the modern day mechanical sounds that plague many places blocking this out we are so fortunate to be able to enjoy the beauty and the sound of silence.
Looking onto the Marshes 