The flood has subsided since I drew the Strands, a field between the river and the canal, a month or two ago. Two pairs teal are disturbed as we walk by; a heron stalks patiently amongst the rushes; and a pair of lapwing seem to be considering nesting on an open stretch of the field exposed by the retreating water. There’s another single lapwing not far away.
Chiff-chaff and willow warbler are singing from trees and bushes alongside the canal.
A hirundine flies over the canal; we don’t get a brilliant view but we don’t spot any tail streamers and it then starts making a chirruping call which we’re familiar with from previous years: it’s our first house martin of the year.
I’D JUST passed a sign warning people to take care because of ground-nesting birds during the summer months as I walked from Penistone Hill country park, Howarth, towards Top Withins via Harbour Lodge. I thought yes, they might well be hidden amongst the heather but with alarmed adults flying around making sure they stay under cover I’m not going to see any, but just 20 or 30 yards along the track over the moor I came across two lapwing chicks wandering around on the track.
As I approached them I took my camera from my pocket and switched it on, took three quick snapshots as I walked on by and left them hoping that the adults, of which there was no sign, would soon come back to them.
Nethergill
So what happened to June? We had a week at Nethergill Farm in Langstrothdale, in the centre of the Yorkshire Dales National Park, not far south of Hawes. The Nethergill eggs are described as ‘very free range’ and, as many of them had been used to make a Yorkshire curd tart for the launch of the farm’s new field centre on the day we arrived, our half dozen were laid by special request. We were staying in a self-catering apartment called the Byre and as we walked upstairs in the evening we could look through a window into the barn and see the little red hen and her ‘sisters’ (there’s no cockerel, so that guests can sleep in!) settling down to roost, three of them tucked snugly onto the windowsill.
It was partly a research trip but mainly a holiday. The trouble with taking a week off is that we came back to what seemed like more than double the work, gardening and errands for mum. Add to that all the reading I’ve been doing and the research trips for my book and I’m afraid the diary has slipped.
I’ve just finished my monthly nature diary for the Dalesman magazine so that back in diary mode I’ve got so much that I could write about this month that it would take many hours. But for a nature diary I prefer to write about what has happened on the actual day so now would be a good time to draw a line and start afresh tomorrow and try and get back to a page a day format. To try to write a little every day, even if sometimes that didn’t amount to much. There’s always something going on.
IT SNOWS on and off through most of the day as we head towards what is predicted to be the coldest March weekend for fifty years. A flock of sixty or more of what I think are redwings heads north-east away from the band of snow that has been making its way up across the Peak District as warm air from the south-west rolls in and meets cold air from Scandinavia.
Later a smaller flock moves in the same direction. Occasional groups of gulls and, at lunchtime, a ragged band of lapwings head in the same direction, away from the snow.
After stopping feeding the birds for a month we’re satisfied that if there are any brown rats around – and we’ve seen no sign of them – it’s not primarily our bird feeders that are attracting them. Today great tits, blue tits, robin, siskins, chaffinches, greenfinches and pheasants appreciate the sunflower hearts on offer, each a little burst of energy for them.
The flood has subsided since I drew the Strands, a field between the river and the canal, a month or two ago. Two pairs teal are disturbed as we walk by; a heron stalks patiently amongst the rushes; and a pair of lapwing seem to be considering nesting on an open stretch of the field exposed by the retreating water. There’s another single lapwing not far away.
Chiff-chaff and willow warbler are singing from trees and bushes alongside the canal.
A hirundine flies over the canal; we don’t get a brilliant view but we don’t spot any tail streamers and it then starts making a chirruping call which we’re familiar with from previous years: 
it’s our first house martin of the year.
Today great tits, blue tits, robin, siskins, chaffinches, greenfinches and pheasants appreciate the sunflower hearts on offer, each a little burst of energy for them.