General principle: convert an Aberdeenshire smallholding into a mixed woodland, and retire.
Method: We used equal numbers of Scots pine and European larch to plant a coniferous corner (35x45m) to a half hectare scheme which mostly features native deciduous trees – in 1990. We attended to the necessary weed control in the first few years and subsequently thinned out some of the weaker trees. In November 2021 we allowed (sic) Storm Arwen to wreak havoc amongst the conifers, losing 18 of them, then spent three months cleaning up the damage. Four years later, March 2025, three rook nests have been built, two at the top of pines, one in larch – and building continues.
Did we set out to provide a home for these remarkably garrulous corvids? Of course not. Never in our wildest dreams did we expect this to occur, despite our main objective being to create a habitat for wildlife. Perhaps someone with a more fertile imagination, and a double dose of optimism, could have envisaged this outcome. And certainly, if a rookery was the desired goal there would be no better place to try than in Aberdeenshire, which has the densest rook population in the UK.
What can be said without equivocation is that if we hadn’t planted the trees we wouldn’t have a rookery – or the tawny owls, great spotted woodpeckers, goldcrests, four species of warbler, et al. The moral of the story, therefore, is that the results of one’s efforts can dramatically exceed the expectations.
It is often said, mostly by those who are reluctant to adapt their lifestyles, that individual actions like recycling one’s beer cans, or walking to the shops, will not be sufficient to prevent climate chaos. They rightly point out that unless the oil companies and the agricultural sector seriously change their game, greenhouse gas concentrations in the atmosphere will continue to rise.
Governments seem unable to shift this dynamic, hamstrung as they are by vested interests and the crippling limitations of short-termism. But governments do occasionally respond to public pressure, which is often fomented by individual action.
Did the first protestors to demonstrate outside a Tesla showroom expect their efforts to be copied – across the world? Or that they might be setting a ball rolling that crashed Tesla shares? Whether or not this influences the Chainsaw Chum remains to be seen.
Rooks (Corvus frugilegus) are a pleasant distraction, currently unavoidable, since these nest-building activities are taking place 25m from the kitchen window. Perhaps 30 individuals are involved, including young birds that haven’t yet acquired the scruffy, bare-faced adult look, which makes them resemble the anti-social, all-black carrion crow. These are last year’s offspring, and appear to be observing, possibly helping, with the domestic activity.
Carrion crows (Corvus corone corone) have nested at Airdlin Croft since day one, using the ancient ash and sycamore trees to build their nests, like rooks, high up in the canopy where their wind-buffeted constructions survive serious weather. Unlike rooks, they don’t tolerate neighbours. Theirs are thoroughly detached dwellings.
On the other hand, rooks are extremely gregarious, building their nests in close proximity, often in large numbers. They also roost during winter months in big flocks which can also include jackdaws. One such mixed flock of several hundred has been sleeping out the long dark nights in the poplars at the bottom of the 1990 wood, as far from the house as possible. This has been going on for several winters now. And yet I never expected them to nest here.
Just for the record, jackdaws have nested here since this woodland was mature enough to accommodate nest boxes designed for tawny owls. Both species use them, but not at the same time.