Social distancing.

In these uncertain times, nature can be a constant. It is hugely reassuring to feel the sun strengthening, to see the swallows returning and to hear the glorious dawn chorus as it reaches zenith. And so it is with the owls, that in times of stress and at the end of a busy day I know they are there. Except at present, they aren't.

 It must be at least six weeks now since they showed properly for me. I catch sight of them here and there; a white wing across the shed, a solitary figure perched waiting, a faint movement from the beehives as I turn to leave. This current absence is of course good news for the owls as it means that food is plentiful. Conditions have also been perfect for owls to hunt in with the weather continuing settled, warm and dry for so long now. Full tummies make for secretive birds and they have little need of my offerings . Nonetheless if I wait close by after depositing the food I see them fly in. As I stand on the road watching, the male invariably flies back into the shed with food for his mate. One evening I see two alight onto the shed apex. Occasionally another leaves east nest box. Little clues give me sustenance and great comfort.

We have had just two spells of rain in the last month and on these occasions I have looked out for my owls especially keenly knowing they will struggle to hunt and show more quickly for my food. One evening as I walked the dog I sensed that rain was imminent. The air was alive with the promise of some relief for the now parched fields. It had been an especially hot day and after tea the clouds rolled ominously in.

As I set out with the food, despite the twilight, I could see that the sky to the north was black, whilst to the south, stars could still be seen across the buff, grey, patched horizon. I hurried along as my torch picked out the first large splatters of rain. If I was quick I knew the owls would get their tea in time so I hurried along, whistling against the building wind and panning the torch across the deserted farm yard. I am sorry to say that still none were waiting despite the weather, all except a little owl, perched precariously on a tiny swaying  branch his almost beetle like appearance at least gave me some solace that my walk was appreciated.

Before I ran back through the gate alarm the rain had begun in earnest, great splodges hit me hard as I faced the torrents and sprinted home. Half way to my front door everything lit up. My initial thought was that in the confusion I had shone my torch upwards but a split second later the menacing rumble of thunder told me that lightening was directly overhead. This encouraged me to put in an extra spurt yet still  I reached home wet and dishevelled.

I watched miserably as the rain hammered down scouring the area for any owls that had arrived. The lights of the yard illuminated the sheds and suddenly I caught the merest glimpse of a movement but it was only the weather vane, twisting horribly in the wind and catching the lights on its way. The rain continued relentlessly in swathes. Although I knew it was doing some good I wished it had come by daylight.

The following evening I was delighted to have my visitors waiting once more. They had gone hungry the previous night and were not too proud to sit and wait. My usual male surveyed the others with a look of disdain from the highest pinnacle in the ash tree whilst two others sat a little apart in the walnut tree. As I stand and peruse the scene I am thrilled to see another two arriving across the fields. Perhaps the females left their nest sites for just a fleeting moment to take the food or perhaps younger birds flew in knowing where to fill their tummies. I don't care who they were I am just delighted and reassured that they are still all local.

Since that night my evening visitors have resumed their policy of social distancing and are nowhere to be seen. I check timings in my owl book and apply some rudimentary calculations. Eggs laid two to three days apart and then brooded for thirty two days. Five eggs could mean forty seven days if she sits until the final egg hatches.After this mum broods the barely feathered owlets for a further three weeks totalling sixty eight days. On these calculations I anticipate the hissing of young owlets in a week or two. I can barely wait

Compensations.

I am writing this sitting in the conservatory as the sun sets across the fens, Orange melds to yellow and then white before fading into an ever darkening indigo. Venus surveys this magnificence from high in the sky and to the east the pink supermoon rises grandly, defying gravity in its ascent. After a cold, stingy spell of weather spring has arrived all in a rush.

Of course the owls began to prepare for spring's arrival soon after Christmas with their territorial posturing and some magnificent shrieking. It is a good five weeks now since the females disappeared into nest boxes and sightings of the owls have been at a premium. I mostly see two birds as I walk to feed them, that sit rather frostily apart but tolerate each other for the sake of the food. Just once in these lean times did I see five birds. We had a bitingly cold wind from the east ten days ago making it as inclement as any winter's day across the flatlands. I cannot say where they came from but suddenly I was surrounded by owls and thrilled to have my fly past once more. As the weather eased so the owls disappeared once more. I find myself alone, walking and whistling but ever patient that they will return.

But there are compensations. The bats are out of hibernation and playing their tricks on me. They favour the path to the north of the sheds, the one I use to walk into the farm. These Red Arrows of the natural world fly so low and so close I am certain that we will collide with me but they are simply teasing. I love to watch their agile silhouettes against the sunset despite my nervousness.

There is another creature fresh from hibernation too. Close to the house and almost underfoot I happened upon a hedgehog by the first owl feeding station. It curled up against the torchlight as I scolded it for snuffling around in this particular area. Nonetheless it was a delight to watch as it scurried away and I have watched out for it ever since.

Finally the swallows are making their first tentative explorations of the area after their mammoth migrations. I saw my first this year battling its way along the river on the 5th of April. They love the grass field as it harbours a multitude of insects for them to feast upon. The owls will not be pleased to see them mind. When they are forced out in daylight hours the swallows chase and harass them, scolding loudly as they follow close to the owl's tail. Although I feel for the owls I love the swallow's sunny disposition.

I may not have a plenitude of owlish visitors but the moon has been so magnificent this week that I had to attempt an owl and moon composition. There were just the usual male birds, giving a possible two chances. The first flew in and I snapped furiously away. The moon continued to rise and to align it closely to the platform I found myself scrooched low in the potato patch with my neck at the most peculiar angle in order to look through the cameras viewfinder. It was all in vain as the second bird sat staring at me incredulously wondering what on earth I was up to now. I know this bird waits until I leave and so I gave up. As I stood I realised I had a hawthorn, barb lodged firmly in my shin. To add insult to injury (literally) my photos were too dark to see the owl at all.

But last night there was a hint of an end to my owlish famine. As I walked into the farm, studiously avoiding the bats and watching out for hedgehogs, an owl flew low, keen and close to the farm border. Most excitingly, it flew upwards into the ash tree and sat next to the regular male that waits here. I felt almost certain it was one of the females out of the nest and waiting for food. There was a familiarity between the two bird, a companionable air that is hard to define but I am confident they were a pair. I am hoping that this means her eggs have hatched, that her brood has been successful this far and that once again there will be owlets on the farm. Compensation indeed.