Astute observers of this website – a rare and endangered species one suspects – will notice some changes, especially in regard to the welcoming of garden visitors. Having withdrawn from our connection with Scotland’s Gardens Scheme we are now moving towards ending our open-garden status.
Garden visitors are a mixed blessing. On the one hand it is generally encouraging to witness the response of fellow enthusiasts to our horticultural efforts. And over the years we have met some very fine people. And of course, the revenue from entry fees and plant sales has enabled us to make some significant contributions to the environmental charity Fauna and Flora. On the other hand, keeping the garden in visitor-ready condition is becoming more difficult the older we get. But don’t be confused by the title of this piece – we are quite a few years off 102.
Adjusting to the reality of diminishing physical ability seems prudent, and can also be rewarding. Of late I have been spending an hour or so most days in the summerhouse at the bottom of the garden, which commands a view over the agricultural landscape to a horizon some five miles distant, in the centre of which sprouts the Prop at Ythsie, a memorial tower honouring a famous laird of Haddo, erected by the grateful tenantry. Or so the plaque reads.
Armed with a cup of tea and a pair of binoculars I can scan a considerable area of sky, and have been doing so with the express purpose of finding a particular bird. And on August 2nd the effort finally paid off.
Fifty years ago the only place to find red kites in the UK was mid-Wales. Then they were introduced to the Black Isle and became a common sight around the Inverness area – but never seemed to expand their population in our direction. More recently further introductions have made this species a common sight in the south of England.
Perhaps the best place to find them is along the M40, where a few months ago I enjoyed sitting in a 45-minute traffic jam watching them gliding above the stationary vehicles.
For several years it has been possible to see this bird within 20 or 30 miles of Airdlin Croft. But it took until last week to see one cruising over the summerhouse.
Why the excitement? First and foremost, no British bird flies quite like a red kite. They are the aristocrats of the air – they own it. Last week’s kite took five minutes from crossing our boundary to disappearing in the direction of Tarves, languidly pursuing a south-westerly course, occasionally flapping its long, narrow wings five or six times, then gliding, hanging like thistledown on an invisible breeze. I could watch that all day, and might be able to if I ever ease off from the rigours of gardening.
Secondly, there is something very satisfying when a long-expected event, one planned for, actually happens. It was inevitable that one of us would eventually see this bird from our garden, come hell, high water or misguided gamekeeper. Red kites are a conservation success story – and pose no threat to the sheep that occupy the fields over which I gaze.
White-tailed eagles – a more recent beneficiary of a reintroduction program – are a different matter. Now no longer restricted to Mull and adjacent north-west shores they can be seen on the Isle of Wight. Would I like to see one from the summerhouse? Of course, I’m a birdwatcher. But I do worry about the rewilding focus on top predators. Obviously they provide the most dramatic sightings for nature lovers. But they do have to eat something.
Red kites, I’m happy to say eat carrrion. And rabbits – well done. (Also small birds....) As garden visitors go there is only something slightly mixed about their blessing.
Finally it should be made clear that red kite is the 102nd bird species that we have recorded here since 1983. (Raven was 101, back in 2020). As mentioned, it was the most likely to attain that numerical status. 103? I have no idea, but doubtless it will receive a warm welcome.
Birds of prey quite naturally excite ornithologists but it would be churlish of me not to mention other avian visitors to our garden. On certain nights in recent weeks a large mixed flock of more than a hundred rooks and jackdaws has been using our trees as an overnight roost, pouring into the top branches in a noisy gaggle, going silent as the light fades, allowing the resident tawny owls to take centre stage. All we have to do is lie back and listen.