The snow had more or less gone by noon when I stepped out again. I had to move two horses from the higher meadow – what we amusingly call a hill in Norfolk – to the lower. And as I was leading the first horse down the slight slope I saw a patch of drifting white. I only had it in sight for a second but it was unmistakable.
A barn owl. Winter colours: white against the brown of the reeds down on the marsh, a sepia landscape in which the white seemed not like the absence of colour but like all the colours at once. A snow owl, not a snowy owl.
Just one of those little epiphanies that the wild world sends your way, almost always when you least expect it, almost always when you’re not looking for anything of the kind and usually when you have your hands full and can’t linger.
Which is kind of the point. The barn owl wasn’t part of a day’s birding. It wasn’t something I’d gone out to look for. It was part of everyday life: an incident integrated with everything else I will do today: write some words, do the mucking out, have a bath, watch the football, cook a curry.
The wild world shouldn’t be something special, set apart, sacred. It should be as much a part of the day as the toast I had for breakfast, as the tea-mug on my desk.
The wild world is at its best when it’s not like a love affair, full of the thrills of passionate uncertainty. It’s more like
marriage, in which every day should be richer and more certain than the one before.
So here’s a thought from a cold day. Don’t have a fling with the wild world. Don’t have a dirty weekend with nature. Marry it. Make an honest person of it. Live with it every day: at the same ordinary and remarkable. And both parties will be better as a result.
Commitment, yes?
Love this! I like seeing barn owls best when I’m on my own with no camera and no method of recording. It’s just my secret
Best thing to do in this circumstances is to stand stock still. That will sometimes make you invisible and the barn owls will come pretty close.
“nature. Marry it. Make an honest person of it. Live with it every day: at the same ordinary and remarkable. And both parties will be better as a result.” You mean, like spotting a flash of colour of some sort this morning out of the bedroom window and noting the two Blue Tits in a tree in a neighbour’s garden, while a cat sat in a tree a further garden away, knowing it had no chance, while a Magpie flew overhead, doing what ever it is they do at this time of year? Or waiting for one of the Jays that lives in the park two streets away to turn up for its regular visit to feeder in the garden?
That said, concerning Barn Owls, I was reminded of when the pair of us were on holiday in South West Scotland and, while on the way back to the rented cottage from the village below, a Barn Owl flew into, naturally, a barn: instantly recognisable. Naturally, neither of us saw it again, though a Little Owl did flutter down onto a gate post as we were driving away from cottage at the end of the holiday, to our (us and the owl) mutual amazement!
The association of barn owls with dusk is always a wonderfully spooky thing. The slightly human nature of those flat, round faces adds to the eeriness.
I’ve been having similar thoughts to these recently as I come to terms with managing the 3 acres of northern NSW countryside that is now home (vegetation grows as aggressively here as the fast bowlers). The drip feed of small moments are worth their weight in gold, and occasionally priceless, as yesterday when a hunting goshawk sped past only yards from where I was tending the veg patch. Special stuff.
That sounds a great place and a great moment. I wish you every luck in what you’re doing.
When I first read your stuff back in nineteen ticketty-two I loved every word. And I still do. Truly the best – sport and wildlife both. Thank you, thank you. And more from Eddie would be good if he has the time….
Thanks for those lovely words Robin. Eddie will get down to it as soon as he can.
Saving the wild world is of utmost importance to us, the planet and all forms of life. It’s in our hands now and we need to do something about it. Do hope your calls for action & of hope spread around and more people start appreciating how vital the wild is to all of us, now and for future generations.
Hope Eddie liked the fossils and he wants to be a voice again for his generation. Mike
Amen to all that Mike. Thanks a million for the fossils – Eddie was absolutely delighted by them and by the fact you thought of sending them to him. He is planning to start blogging again himself any moment now and will certainly touch on that wonderful gift. Thanks again from us both.
A wonderful sentiment, I am so glad that I read this today, keep ’em coming , Simon.
Thank you Simon !
I thought at first that there must be a “glitch” in my computer. 4 blogs from Simon Barnes in one week! Just my lucky week I guess. This one, though, particularly moved me. Two fine points made in one. Thank you.
I’ll try and keep up the pace, glad you’re enjoying them.
Coincidence that Melanie Reid in the Times Magazine on Saturday 21st was owl-struck too -did you see it? Miss you in the paper on Saturdays.
Alas I missed that. Melanie is a wonderful writer and it was a pleasure sharing a newspaper with her.