Dawn Chorus

Dawn Chorus

I bought a house in this village after five years of being a carefree tenant with no responsibility, and fell headlong with eyes wide shut into an unheated house in coldest winter for decades. Once upon a time my house was insulated on the upper level with bales of hay and warmed on the ground floor by the cows brought in to live with the occupants in winter. It was restored and used as a summer house by two intrepid English women, so although there is a wood burning fire upstairs, downstairs was sans chauffage, no heating at all. The thick stone walls which help keep it cool in summer also ensure that without heating it is arctic in the winter. I ate upstairs and then waited for it to be late enough to jump into my warm bed with electric blanket which was truly my saviour. Then I slipped in the snow and was certain I had broken my coccyx and had a sprained wrist in a cast for two weeks. The builders never arrived; the water and electricity authorities likewise, which along with the non arrival of various other assorted artisans, made life difficult. The climax was a fire in the chimney. I was terrified of losing my new house, even worse, momentarily I could not remember the emergency number. While I waited for the firemen I put Matilda, my cat, outside for safety if the worst happened and quickly packed a small suitcase with warm clothes, computer and passport. I kept a close eye on the chimney expecting it to explode or burst into flames at any moment. After what seemed like an hour, five handsome firemen arrived in a big red truck, lights flashing, fortunately no sirens. I could write one of those books about living in France on no subject other than France Telecom and Orange. Suffice to say I had no telephone for a month and no internet for two months. I felt very isolated from family and friends.

Well you get the picture; a “Winter of Discontent”. Just as I reached an all time low the birds returned and now I wake up to the Dawn Chorus, magic. They have returned from wherever they fly in the winter and I’ve discovered some of them fly a long way. In the last three weeks they are up early singing and letting us know something out there is still alive and spring is here. It is wonderful to just listen to them as one goes about the daily routine. I recently placed an old nesting box on a wall of my house high up under a roof so they are not in the direct sun and where they are safe from Matilda. Now I am anxiously waiting for a little bird to set up house there. Because it is so quiet and unpolluted in the Tarn they take centre stage for entertainment. In Sydney where the winters are milder the birds, including the noisy parrots, seem to sing or crow, all year round. Here seasonal changes and the departure and arrival of the birds are important and significant events

Late last year I went to Marrakesh with a friend, my first visit to Morocco. The Riad Menzeh where we stayed was just wonderful with the added attraction of local birds called tibbibts in residence, nesting in a chandelier. They were extremely tame and came to sit with us at breakfast. Their song is only three notes, repeated endlessly. One guest thought it sounded like his name fred-er-ik. I recently wrote to Bernard the owner of the Riad and asked if the birds were still there. He replied they are happy “it is the love season”.

At coffee this morning a friend said that two hoopoe birds have built a nest near his house. Next month the nightingale will return and then it will be birdsong all night long as well. I am interested in finding a group of people near here in the Tarn whom I might join to listen, watch and learn about the birds in France. Even if you live in a city where the traffic drowns out birdsong you can listen to the Dawn Chorus on www.birdsongradio.com Happy listening.