Away days

April seems to gone by in a blur. I've had so much to do away from home that I haven't been able to spend much time in the garden. And it's changing so quickly this year - it's as though spring is happening on fast-forward.

I'm just back from a trip to Snowdonia with photographer Drew Buckley for a book-in-the-making for the publisher Graffeg. We went to the mountains to the east of Harlech, known as the Rhinogydd or Rhinogs, which I reckon is the most exhilarating bit of National Park. 
We needed pictures of feral goats. So far, they've eluded us but this time the visit didn’t end up as another wild goose chase and Drew managed to get a first-class set of images of billy goats in the setting of the range’s peaks and lakes.
My camera wasn't up to getting a good goat picture, but I like this one of Drew closing in on his 'prey'. It gives a feel of how unforgiving the countryside the goats live in really is.
What made the outing that bit better was that down in Cwm Bychan, where we left our cars, a cuckoo was calling. Sunshine, the oaks in new leaf, lambs everywhere and a cuckoo - it couldn't have been better.

One swallow

Doesn't make a summer, I know. But it does make my weekend. I've just been out to the garage and though it's dark, cold and rainy now there is good news - a single swallow roofing in the roof beams.

Fur's fair

Still no sign of swallows here, although we saw them at the coast at the weekend. Someone told me that they move along the coast and then head inland along rivers, so they should turn up soon.

In the garden, there's a sudden interest in our rabbits. The hutch and run collects their fine hair, which catches in the wire mesh and on spider's web, and at this time of year it becomes a valuable commodity. Sparrows have been dropping by to collect a little, but the most persistent fur-gatherers are the great tits that I think are using the nestbox on the old apple tree. Each morning they are at the hutch, one going inside to collect fur while the other keeps watch nearby.

That nest should be especially soft and warm.  It's amazing just how much material the bird manages to pack into its beak; quite a feat. I'm reminded of those pictures of puffins holding half a dozen fish at a time.   

Song time

At last there's just the beginnings of spring here. For the first time today there's a chaffinch singing in the garden and the snowdrops in the hedge are in bloom.
It has been a strange, bird-less winter in our garden. I reckon we've only had a frost three or four times and I've given up feeding the birds because the uneaten dregs were sitting around for days.
I suppose the winter has been windy and rainy, but fairly mild. Our birds have been able to find the energy they need without coming to my garden feeders.
My gauge of bird hungriness over the last couple of years has been the firethorn that I put in when our neighbour had her new fence  built. It's close to one of our windows and just a couple of steps from their backdoor.
That's too close to us humans for comfort for most birds. They only come for the berries when they get really hungry, which has been around Christmas. Last year a couple of blackbirds stripped all the berries over a couple of icy days.
But this year we're all the way to late February and the lion's share of the berries are still in place. Seems a waste; I'm thinking I should do something with them - firethorn gin, maybe?

Light relief

Not much sign here of the early-early spring heralded by The Guardian. Certainly it's proving to be a weird winter, but I wouldn't write it off yet.
Over the last week I've been doing hedge surgery. Any bit of ash that's big enough will be dried and end up in the wood-burning stove, but there's still a mountain of brash to deal with.
And it has been growing as blackthorn and hawthorn has been added to the pile. It is a job that has been done in half hours now and again between showers, when there have been showers.
I can't say I've seen any evidence of buds swelling and there aren't snowdrops showing yet. Too cold and too wet here.
This afternoon a brighter spell tempted me out to the hedge to carry on with the project, only for the rain to come back with a vengeance. But along with it came an incredible rainbow, lifting a day that has otherwise been devoted to completing my tax self-assessment form (which is a barrel of laughs).
Of course, by the time I'd got my phone out of my pocket and turned it on the moment had passed; the rainbow was fading rapidly. I might have been better off looking for its end - a crock of gold would help with the tax bill.

Wet winter

Finally a break in all the rain. This December has been wetter than any I can remember, but today we've had a few hours of blue sky.
Over the last ten days the Cych has come over its banks three or four times, but so far the floodwater has mostly found its way back to the river. Taking a walk along the river this morning it was striking to see how much has been changed by the force of the water; tree boughs ripped clean off, log dams shifted and sections of bank eaten away.

It was good to see the sun, if only for an hour or two, and to see what has to be the first sign that spring's on the way. In places the soil has been scoured away by the floodwater to reveal clumps of snowdrop bulbs, each with a spike of green.
Back home I've been bringing in more wood for the fire, which is now a more time-consuming chore because each bit has to be checked for uninvited guests. On Christmas Day I brought a basketful of wood in and soon after we were chasing a wasp around the kitchen.
Drowsy at first, it was soon fully awake and ready for a fight. After a chase from room to room I caught it with a glass and took it out to the wood shed.
A second wasp turned up an hour or so later, but by then I was too busy with turkey and roast potatoes to go hunting. It turned up dead in the sink when the time came for washing up.
Now each log is getting the once over. I think it's better for both us and them that their sleep remains undisturbed.

All quiet

For the first time in weeks it was quiet when I went out to the dustbin this morning. Nothing happening on the far side of the hedge, so presumably every scrap of apple has now been eaten.
Over the hedge opposite our back door there's an apple tree in our neighbour's garden and this year she left the crop untouched. At first blackbirds came to eat the fruit while it was still in the banches, but as time has gone on it has dropped to the ground and they've been spending all day, every day, feasting at ground level.
I've enjoyed hearing the sounds of them clucking to one another and rustling about in amongst the fallen leaves has been. Though it's been frustrating not to be able to see the party - the hedge is dense, dark Leylandii.

Photo: Adam Kumiszcza

Then last week the change in the weather brought fieldfares to us for the first time and they joined the action. For the last few days the rustling and clucking stepped up a gear, but now all's quiet; have they eaten the lot? 
Off on a bit of a tangent, I have to say that the latest State of the UK's Birds report makes depressing reading. It makes me feel ancient that species that were common-all-garden when I first started birdwatching as a child are now under threat.
The RSPB's Dr Mark Eaton says of the report "many of the birds we're referring to aren't rare and don't occur in remote locations... they are ones you used to see while walking the dog or enjoying a family picnic". We're all the poorer for allowing the change to go unchecked.