Port Eliot

Port Eliot, seat of the Earl of St Germans, has opened to the public for the first time this year, under a deal with the tax man - show the paintings to the public, don't pay death duties, or some such. The idea of going to see the famous round room with Lenkiewicz mural has been tempting us for a while, so we finally made our minds up to go today, before it's too late.

The day had started hot and sunny (Ty and I met six adults, three and three quarters children and five dogs down at the creek in the morning, all revelling in the good weather) but by the time I was due to leave to meet my friends it was pouring with rain. This didn't bother us too much as we were only going round the house, but there was a one-day-only special Daphne du Maurier day going on which should have included garden party amongst the rhododendrons, etc, and was a bit washed out.

The Lenkieweicz mural is amazing. He started by the door and worked almost all the way round the room (it isn't quite finished) over many years, coming back every so often to do a bit more. The improvement in technical skill, maturity and vision is, I suppose, something that happens to every artist over a lifetime, but it is unusual to see this all in what is essentially the same painting.

The rest of the paintings are mostly family portraits (dark and boring for the most part) and one room 'designed' to display some rather nice lace which reminded me of a violently unbalanced version of Miss Faversham. Very clever, very well thought out, but somehow deeply disturbing.

By the time we had finished doing the house the sun had come out again so we took a muddy walk round some of the grounds. Looking for the maze we found a swarm of bees high up in an oak tree, there were canada geese on the river Tiddy, which at high tide was pretending to be a lake, and we found some amazing trees, including Ophelia the beech, a Montezuma pine (so we were told) and a cedar I could happily live in. Altogether a very pleasant couple of hours - and it was just as well we didn't stay any longer, because on the way home the heavens opened again.

Tilly and the Blue Tit

After yesterday's relentless rain today was brighter - golden in the early morning, as is often the case here, then drizzly around lunchtime and dry but greyish later.

Ty and I went down the coombe in the afternoon, and in passing we collected his friend Tilly, who at 9 months old is already bigger than he is and not yet particularly obedient, being fast, excitable and headstrong as all collies are at that age. We went down the coombe then back up and crossed over to the other side, back down to the creek and back up again, which certainly tires me out even if it doesn't affect the dogs.

When we were almost back I called Tilly and got no response at all; I could see bushes shaking above the cow parsley, but I couldn't actually see the dog so I went back to investigate. In among the long grass, protesting VERY loudly, was a just fledged blue tit. Tilly didn't know what to make of it at all, but it was making noises like a squeaky toy so she was nosing at it gently and it was rolling/tumbling down the slope. I grabbed the dog with one hand and scooped up the fledgling with the other. Held on my palm well above dog height it immediately calmed down and shut up. I could see that it was unharmed, if a tiny bit bedraggled. While I was still debating whether to try and find the nest, just put it back on the nearest branch or take it home to keep an eye on (no! very naughty!) it made my mind up for me by taking off in a flapping flurry. Not very efficiently, it managed about six feet before it ended up back on the ground, but that is normal for a first or second flight so I took the dogs well away and left it to its own devices.

This was the first blue tit fledgling I've seen this year. I don't know whether Tilly knocked it out of its nest or found it on the ground or a low branch, but I didn't want to investigate while she was still around. I'll go back tomorrow to see what's what.

Sparrows

My flat is almost at the top of a hill, and immediately outside is a coombe - a narrow steepsided wooded valley, with a stream, which leads down directly to the river Tamar by way of a mud creek. Because the coombe passes through so many different levels it is home to a very wide variety of birds, from wrens and goldcrests to black backed gulls. I once counted the birds I saw as I walked down one side, along the shore a little way and back up the other side, and there were over 30 species just on one walk. At the back, however, it is a very different story. Almost the only birds that ever visit my tiny back yard are sparrows. There's a very active colony in some dense shrubs outside my patch, and as I put out food for them they often visit in number. One day last week, in fact, I counted 34 on the ground at once, and there were others on the fence and in the silver birch trees on the other side.

Yesterday I saw the first fledgling on the fence begging for food. Today, in the midday break between heavy rainstorms, it seemed that every adult had a chick on each shoulder - the little flock has trebled in size overnight! I love watching the interaction between social birds like these, and looking at this flock and the many others I see in this area it is hard to believe that they are in very serious decline in this country. In the cities, anyway, they have all but disappeared, although in this small rural town they are thriving.

The Lost Geese

I suppose it was inevitable for a bank holiday monday in May - a wild northeasterly gale and heavy rain. The rain eased off in mid afternoon so I took the dog up to Churchtown for a brisk stroll in the brisk weather. The louring grey skies made it seem quite autumnal, and all of a sudden it sounded autumnal as well as two canada geese flew over, struggling to make headway against the wind but progressing fitfully in a northerly direction.

What were they doing over south east Cornwall at the end of May? One of them very clearly had a wide featherless gap in one wing, so perhaps they had been delayed by injury and are only just now able to obey the northward breeding imperative.

Ringed by Wrens

As I walked up through the coombe this morning, a wren flew across the path just in front of me and perched on a nearby branch. I stopped to look at it more closely and became aware that there were at least seven or eight wrens surrounding me, all churring away to each other. Although I could hear them very clearly (such a loud noise for such a small bird) I could only see the one, but it seemed that the family were both warning each other about the intruder (me) and reassuring each other that back up was available - or perhaps they were just telling the wanderer to get back over his own side of the path!