As promised, the rain cleared just in time for the annual Tidy Up on Saturday. A dozen volunteers combed the highways and byways of the parish in order to gather the rubbish dumped by the careless. Seven bags full of beer cans, bottles, fast food boxes and others detritus resulted from an hours work. Thank you to everyone who contributed theie time.
What struck me was the cold, glassy eye of the Heron perching on a low fence at Oxnead this morning. The slight frost last night had still not entirely melted and the young Heron seemed to be waiting for movement or a sign of life.
A few sharp frosts in recent days have nipped the leaves off the Sycamore and the Ash trees, but the Oak leaves have just turned a rich burnished bronze. This one, on the south side of Keeper’s Wood gently glows in the morning sunlight.
The mini market stall (“Fiona’s Fayre”) at the junction of The Street and Marsham Road has been a storming success. Fiona’s Crab Apple Jelly has been whizzing off the shelves. If any one else in the village would be willing to sell their Autumn produce on the stall they would be very welcome – so if you have some spare jams or jellies, some fresh vegetables or other home grown produce, then please add to the stall’s delectable selection. All proceeds collected go for the benefit of Brampton Church.
It is the Autumnal silence which hits you on an early morning walk from Brampton to Oxnead. Silence punctuated only by occasional sharp bursts of song – a Robin, the screech of a Jay and the repetitive fluting of a Nuthatch in the Keeper’s Wood. Then there were Kingfishers – a pair chasing and calling upstream to the mill pool, another single bird calling from a perch above the sluice. It has been a good year for Kingfisher numbers so far, with numbers increased from a successful breeding season.
This week the House Martins abandoned our skies and headed for warmer climes. Recently they had gathered in wheeling flock of 40+ over the village – something akin to training flights for the late fledged young combined with a feeding frenzy. Air Temperatures had been high since Tuesday and the sky had become that deep shade of blue – cloudless and somewhat oppressive. Temperatures hit 32 degrees C (89 degrees Fahrenheit in old money) and activity on the ground had slowed. Then I noticed that they had gone – as ever to some unseen signal they had dissappeared. No stragglers apparent since then as I write this on a Saturday evening. The place is somewhat quiet without their movement and their cheerful calls.
Buzzards have moved from rare to commonplace in Norfolk over the last twenty years or so. However common they are, I still thrill to the site of the family groups that soar on the village thermals. This morning (Sunday) we watch as a group of four – presumably tow adults and two young – slowly circle over the Common. We immediately assume, probably wrongly, that the individual which soars at a higher level, conveniently away from the others, is the male. The other three circle one another, calling constantly and occasionally making contact in some form of aerial game of tag. A feint and a roll, one of the pair turning upside down as they touch talons in mid air – some form of pretend exchange of food or some such. All through this their mewing calls drift down from a sky of almost Italianate blue.
