A “glimmer” was a term coined by a clinical social worker, Deb Dana, in 2022, and it is the opposite to a “trigger”. A trigger, we now know, is a cue, accurate or not, that pushes your mind and body into a flight or fight or freeze state, through a recollection of something in your past that has been traumatic. However, a glimmer, also a cue, but one that moves the body and mind into a feeling of joy or safety, such as seeing a picture of your pet or the sound of a birdcall you remember from your childhood. Having learnt this, I find that the more I look for them, the more glimmers I encounter, from a perfect cup of morning coffee, a complete stranger’s smile, a grandchild’s giggles, to the smell of honey and the weight of a chicken’s egg in your hand or rubbing a fresh conker with the ball of your thumb. May you find many glimmers this month.
And here is something almost beyond belief: Polly Morland’s A Fortunate Doctor gave me this fascinating insight. “Once in a blue moon, a fallen tree will right itself, its branches restored to the sky. As the storm passes, the winds change direction… some imperceptible shift of balance takes place… the prone tree creaks into the vertical, its tangled disc of roots filling once more the void it left behind. Parents warn their children never, ever to climb on or behind a recently fallen lime or chestnut, beech or poplar. It’s a rare opportunity to behold not a moment of creation, but of deliverance.” Wouldn’t that be amazing?
I am not sure why, but the Sparrowhawk seems very active and visible at this time of year. They seem braver and less concerned at being observed. Blackbird migrants are in the Hawthorn eating the plentiful berries and they, and Robins, made up most of the Sparrowhawk kills in my garden last November. More often I see the male, or “tiercel”, which is smaller than the “formel”, the female. He has a slate grey back and chestnut barring on his underside. But then I found a Woodpigeon, half-plucked, at the bottom of the garden and can only assume it was the heavier female that brought it down, as I doubt a male is big enough to slay a Woodpigeon. The remains were polished off by the Buzzard, which I disturbed at dawn one morning. Just as well that half our female Robin population flies off to France for the winter.
Our foraging garden birds will be feasting on the Cotoneaster berries and Michaelmas daisy seeds. And the seeds of Wild clematis (old man’s beard) and Buddleia are especially prized by tits and Bullfinches. They will eat almost any “weed” seed, like Burdock, Sage and Plantains, so don’t be tempted to “put to bed” your flower borders or cut back the wild patches of your garden too early. A low sun, after a “dew fall” and the magic of cobwebs amongst the sere vegetation of your winter garden can make for a breathtaking glimmer.
I read that there are over a million pairs of Song thrushes here in winter. Their preferred diet at this time of year are snails (earthworms in spring; caterpillars in summer) and you may well hear the rhythmic tapping of a Thrush beating a snail out of its shell on a handy paving stone. They will sometimes favour certain “anvils” in your garden which you can recognise from the debris of shell that surrounds it.
If you are hoping to witness the murmuration of Starlings at dusk, then your best places near here are probably at RSPB Fen Drayton up the A14 or Paxton Pits Nature Reserve, up the A1 as dusk gathers. Thousands of Starlings suddenly appear, usually from the same quadrant of the sky, in droves, then flock and swirl in perfect synchronisation as they prepare to roost in the reedbeds of both these flooded quarries. However, it is never certain that you will be in the right place at the right time so, as with all bird watching missions, search for the unexpected sound or sight, to save you the disappointment of a “no-show” from the expected! There were also smaller murmuration in the reed beds surrounding the pond on Wimpole Avenue on the south side of the Cambridge Road (A603).
Last year, after ground frosts on 31st October, we had a very mild first half of November, before heavy rains on 14th and then the weather turned cold. Our first frosts will make our root vegetables taste the sweeter. And that first heavy frost will be followed by an almost still day, and all our walnut leaves will fall in silence within hours. It is a spectacular sight, almost eerie. And if you pick up a handful of leaves and crush them between your fingers, they smell of furniture polish. If the English elm (Ulmus procera: “procera” for eminent or high) is the King of trees, the English walnut (Juglans regia) is surely the Queen, with its beautiful rivulets of bark, and its scented, composite leaves, which can be seeped in hot water for a tea that promotes a healthy gut, and its delicious nut fall in September (although, sadly, for us much diminished this year).
The Tawny owls (Strix aluco: curiously absent from Ireland), are calling to each other in duets, and very loudly at this time of year. I think everyone knows by now that it is a pair of owls that make the distinctive T’wit (the female) and T’woo (the male) or, more accurately, “Ke-wick” then, “Hoo-hoo-hooo”. They are pairing up and looking for their spring nest site. There are plenty of dead and broken Willows, strangled in ivy, that would make perfect homes.
You are most likely to hear the Tawnies when the moon is more than 50% visible. The November full moon will be on 15th and is called the Beaver moon (perfect time of year to trap them, when they are beginning to lodge up in their winter dams, I am informed), or the Frost moon, or the Mourning moon (because it is the last full moon before the Winter solstice).
The winter is a great time to see the Pleiades star cluster within the constellation of Taurus the Bull. You will be able to see six of the “seven sisters” with your naked eye but there actually over one thousand stars in this cluster, which is very young in the scheme of the universe. They are thought to have been created from a gigantic cloud of gas and dust collapsing under the influence of gravity only around 100 million years ago, so dinosaurs would have witnessed their formation. And due to their intense heat, they are not built to last and will burn out over a few hundred million years, although they will see me out!
Perry Littleboy