Valentine's Day

The weather today, and yesterday as it happens, has been pleasantly benign. No being buffeted by gales, no being machine-gunned by hail, no thorough dowsings by driving rain. In fact, it has been [whispers] almost Spring-like.

This most romantic of mornings, I was roused from my slumbers by the song of a Blackbird, the first I have heard this year, staking his claim on a territory and broadcasting his prowess to any potential mate. In the last week or so, Oystercatcher numbers have rocketed as returning birds throng in the fields and on the shore, their journeys between the two filling the air with strident piping, as we settle into six months of noisycatchers.

The Facebook feed of the Orkney Field Club is a delight at any time of year, but this morning's post was particularly apt as it informed me that in Mediaeval times, Valentine's Day was also known as Bird's Wedding Day. It went on to illustrate this with the first verse of a poem by Michael Drayton (1563-1631), To His Valentine:

"Muse, bid the morn awake,

Sad winter now declines,

Each bird doth choose a mate,

This day's St. Valentine's;

For that good bishop's sake

Get up, and let us see,

What beauty it shall be,

That fortune us assigns."

Driving around the county, it is noticeable that Brown Hares are 'suddenly' visible again after a Winter of hunkering down. Now that the sap is rising, hare activity is ramping up. The Mad March Hare moniker is woefully out of date, but I can't decide whether this is due to Spring coming earlier these days due to climate change or is a throwback to an association with Easter.

In verges, we have seen Lesser Celandines and Primroses in flower, whilst in the garden there are all manner of Crocuses, Snowdrops and Aconites in bloom (at least until Friday when another gale rattles through).

I haven't seen or heard a Skylark yet this year, neither the burbling contact call nor the full-on rousing ascension. But soon, hopefully, soon.