A brilliant technological breakthrough has got the website’s email up and running again; so it’s time to start blogging again. Welcome or welcome back: and sorry I’ve been away so long.
May 15 2019
We get used to the pattern of things, and we do so for a reason. When there is a break in the pattern we need to be aware of it, because it could be significant. My horse knows all about that, taking a good hard look at displaced wheely-bins, bin-liners dumped by the roadside overnight, trapped and billowing plastic bags in the hedge.
A break in the pattern could bring danger, could bring reward: and that’s why we – humans and horses and all – tune in to such things. Often we are aware of a break without knowing why: we just find ourselves, for no apparent reason, switched-on, eager, anxious, convinced that something is up. But what?
The green corn was getting higher. From a rolling canter I could see that it was beginning to acquire the sway and roll it will have in far bigger form as the year advances and when the wind gets up. The pattern of the shifting corn: and then the break in that pattern.
The corn, a monoculture, all the same shade of green, a moving carpet: but within it two unmoving objects apparently dropped at random, one beside the other. As we slowed to a walk I could see what they were: ears, two in number as is conventional, long, black-tipped, emerging from the stalks. Here hare here.
Perhaps he thought I couldn’t see those ears, unaware I was watching from an eminence that placed my eyes nine feet from the ground. But I suspect he didn’t care. Below the level of the growing seedheads he was aware that a horse had broken the pattern. He couldn’t keep an eye on us, but by raising those ears he would know at once if we made a threatening move. He trusted in his ears: trusted still more in his speed.
So we walked on and had those ears in view for fully five minutes, following us round, tracking us, hare and horse and human in a perfect stand-off of mutual awareness. The day and the hare quite still. Back down the valley a cuckoo called.
Good to see you back. When I introduce myself (to my foreign students) I often say I’m a bad bird watcher. This usually prompts a few confused looks. Luckily I’ve got the book to back me up . . .
Thanks for your kind words and I hope you have some great bad bird watching this month.
Welcome back. We’ve missed you.
Thank you, good to be back.
Wonderful. It always thrills me to see a hare. I’ve pulled off the road into fields at a glimpse of those ears.
Been watching a pair over the last few months whilst out dog walking, hoping my sprollie wouldn’t notice them in her quest for pheasants.
I’d still back the hares for pure speed!
Missed you Barnesy. Understand that three-way stand-off entirely. Very fond memories of my pony bamboozled by a stoat popping up out of various little holes around the track we were on, like Wack a Mole game.
Sounds like a wonderful moment.
Lovely poetic prose Simon. Most appreciated. As a painter and poet – poor at both – I want to get my brushes out ….. and transcribe the scene.
Pay particular attention to the black at the tip of the ears!
So good to have you back Simon!
A masterful visual evocation of a familiar landscape through those that inhabit it; man, horse and hare. The final nod to the auditary grounds us, magnificently.
Thank you for your kind words.
Welcome back Simon, I’ve really missed your blog. I look forward to reading more of your wonderful prose.
Lovely of you to say so, good to be back.
Great to have you back Simon. Your writing is captivating and inspiring and the blog has been missed.
Thank you so much for being in touch, I’ll be back.
Hi Simon, I’ve just come across your blog and am looking forward to your future posts. I also had a hare encounter, several months ago now, and it was a magical moment. I wrote about it and The Countryman are going to publish it in the ‘nature watch’ section of the magazine next month Jill
Thanks for kind words, and best of luck with all the writing.
Welcome back Simon. This piece demonstrates that you have retained all of your wonderful writing talents.
How very nice of you to put it like that.
Welcome back, Simon, with an other example of a view of the world that so many cannot possibly experience. But with a bit of luck those that can experience a similar occurence, do so and enjoy it, consider it, then, as you, continue on their ways, doing no harrm and look forward to a similar event in the not too distant future.
Many regards, Anthony
You’re right, there’s wild stuff to see and hear practically everywhere. It’s a matter of looking.
How evocative. Sadly, the cuckoo that I have heard form my cottage in the middle of Middleton-sum-Fordley for the last 10+ year’s & whose springtime arrival I have always documented, has not returned. Others have been heard in the village (although I am still yet to hear one myself, which is deeply saddening. Not here cuckoo not here.
I have been through several seasons without hearing a cuckoo, they’re becoming scarce birds. So it’s a double joy when one actually turns up.
Thought you had died, so glad to see the blog is back up and running. Any idea where i can get the “how to be a bad birdwatcher” book? Waterstones had never heard of it!
Cheers
Joey
Here we go.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/How-Bad-Birdwatcher-Simon-Barnes/dp/1780720866/ref=pd_sbs_14_1/262-5710762-5600235?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=1780720866&pd_rd_r=6f38c9e8-9129-11e9-ad6e-fbb616cacbad&pd_rd_w=BsjJ6&pd_rd_wg=CA7Cl&pf_rd_p=18edf98b-139a-41ee-bb40-d725dd59d1d3&pf_rd_r=GTS5C3B7V51YWW63GDB2&psc=1&refRID=GTS5C3B7V51YWW63GDB2
Fantastic – thank you so much!