Why is it that we often give more value to what we consider to be rare than that which is commonplace? What constitutes 'rare' in any case?
I think today, my birthday, is a good day to think about these questions.
So -
Here I am, one year older, and I'm raking and turning over the old earth in the overgrown corner of a huge garden in Cumbria - fine maples and yews cover the ground with pools of necessary shade, the temperature hitting 82 degrees today - flies and bugs rise in spinning patterns, criss-crossing the air, caught in the sunlight; earthworms and other invertebrates are exposed. It is not an easy thing to have done; I feel like I am become a destroyer even as I provide a larder for others. A robin flies in and rests on the low branch of the nearby hawthorn tree - young, vibrant, wide-eyed - he bobs and dips in correspondence with the easy efforts he is making to catch some of the insects I've disturbed. And he has no fear now he knows there is an easy supply - resting on the handle of my spade or on the tip of the wheelbarrow, coming in, checking my position, aware of any sudden move I make. I watch him closely. He brings a gladness to my day; an unexpected present. I start to make odd whistling noises to him whenever I catch him, sucking on my lips and through my teeth to make them whine gently and I believe he listens, tipping his head side to side with each noise, frozen, staring at me, perhaps trying to work out what this numb-nuts human being is playing at.
Absolute stillness in the high heat at mid-day. An opportunity to sit low to the earth, back resting against a bole of a fir and to witness what may come - either within or without. I have been given that privilege recently.
A commotion before me, almost touching my feet - a shuffling of the drier grass cut a week or so before; something frenetic, charged, a seeker, rapid and very timid. Turns out to be a shrew; a tiny, fleshy thing - no bigger than my thumb and covered in fine, downy fur that glistens in the sunlight - inching forward a step then retreating. A surprise to be so close; as if I've been let in, ignored, joyously invisible. Here, bitten as I am by gnats, scarred by thick, rampant brambles - forearms covered in red wealds, sore and irritated - the shrew peers out of its burrow, it waits fretting, inches from me. I dare not move; I suspect it is already picking up the vibrations of my breathing and with a snappy lifting of its head in my direction it scuttles away beneath surface growth and leaf matter.
Both the robin and the shrew are common creatures; two of the commonest in Britain. Years ago many of our rarest birds and animals were commonplace - Harriers and other birds of prey, persecuted almost out of existence by farmers and farming methods; the corncrake; the red squirrel; and even the sparrow is now fast becoming a rare bird. Was it so commonplace we got bored, took our eyes off it for a while and now look what has happened?
Don't get me wrong - I love, for example, to watch a pair of Osprey in a habitat where they have been reintroduced and are now breeding successfully as much as anyone; or perhaps a Soldier Orchid or even an otter. But I believe there is a fine line between what is rare and what is 'commonplace'. We cannot take our eye off the ball for a minute, not now we are entering the potentially apocalyptic phase of the earth's natural history. To my mind nothing in nature is commonplace, it is all extraordinary. Conservation awareness and the appreciation of biodiversity are constants we take upon ourselves; and where possible it is up to the 'little man' to do the ground work (if you'll pardon the pun) for the more 'common' species and let the big boys (the conservation groups, the lobbyists etc) with the relative resources do what they have to do to ensure the safety of those creatures that are currently recognised as 'rare'.
What I would suggest is rare in this case was the opportunity I was given to be in the presence of two beautiful creatures at such close proximity. It requires a certain leaning toward stillness, observation and patience all of which traits are rarities these days. That and a willingness to be moved and enthralled by what we might see everyday in close proximity to our everyday lives. Only this way can there be the hope that the notion of something becoming rare (or even extinct) is in itself a rarity.
A sad footnote:
In The Guardian today it is reported that a £1000 reward has been offered by the RSPB for information regarding the killing of a female peregrine falcon in the Peak District where police, wildlife groups and landowners have been working to protect a small colony of nesting birds. The female was found and discovered to have been hit twice by shotgun pellets.
Cumbria - 6/7/06
I think today, my birthday, is a good day to think about these questions.
So -
Here I am, one year older, and I'm raking and turning over the old earth in the overgrown corner of a huge garden in Cumbria - fine maples and yews cover the ground with pools of necessary shade, the temperature hitting 82 degrees today - flies and bugs rise in spinning patterns, criss-crossing the air, caught in the sunlight; earthworms and other invertebrates are exposed. It is not an easy thing to have done; I feel like I am become a destroyer even as I provide a larder for others. A robin flies in and rests on the low branch of the nearby hawthorn tree - young, vibrant, wide-eyed - he bobs and dips in correspondence with the easy efforts he is making to catch some of the insects I've disturbed. And he has no fear now he knows there is an easy supply - resting on the handle of my spade or on the tip of the wheelbarrow, coming in, checking my position, aware of any sudden move I make. I watch him closely. He brings a gladness to my day; an unexpected present. I start to make odd whistling noises to him whenever I catch him, sucking on my lips and through my teeth to make them whine gently and I believe he listens, tipping his head side to side with each noise, frozen, staring at me, perhaps trying to work out what this numb-nuts human being is playing at.
Absolute stillness in the high heat at mid-day. An opportunity to sit low to the earth, back resting against a bole of a fir and to witness what may come - either within or without. I have been given that privilege recently.
A commotion before me, almost touching my feet - a shuffling of the drier grass cut a week or so before; something frenetic, charged, a seeker, rapid and very timid. Turns out to be a shrew; a tiny, fleshy thing - no bigger than my thumb and covered in fine, downy fur that glistens in the sunlight - inching forward a step then retreating. A surprise to be so close; as if I've been let in, ignored, joyously invisible. Here, bitten as I am by gnats, scarred by thick, rampant brambles - forearms covered in red wealds, sore and irritated - the shrew peers out of its burrow, it waits fretting, inches from me. I dare not move; I suspect it is already picking up the vibrations of my breathing and with a snappy lifting of its head in my direction it scuttles away beneath surface growth and leaf matter.
Both the robin and the shrew are common creatures; two of the commonest in Britain. Years ago many of our rarest birds and animals were commonplace - Harriers and other birds of prey, persecuted almost out of existence by farmers and farming methods; the corncrake; the red squirrel; and even the sparrow is now fast becoming a rare bird. Was it so commonplace we got bored, took our eyes off it for a while and now look what has happened?
Don't get me wrong - I love, for example, to watch a pair of Osprey in a habitat where they have been reintroduced and are now breeding successfully as much as anyone; or perhaps a Soldier Orchid or even an otter. But I believe there is a fine line between what is rare and what is 'commonplace'. We cannot take our eye off the ball for a minute, not now we are entering the potentially apocalyptic phase of the earth's natural history. To my mind nothing in nature is commonplace, it is all extraordinary. Conservation awareness and the appreciation of biodiversity are constants we take upon ourselves; and where possible it is up to the 'little man' to do the ground work (if you'll pardon the pun) for the more 'common' species and let the big boys (the conservation groups, the lobbyists etc) with the relative resources do what they have to do to ensure the safety of those creatures that are currently recognised as 'rare'.
What I would suggest is rare in this case was the opportunity I was given to be in the presence of two beautiful creatures at such close proximity. It requires a certain leaning toward stillness, observation and patience all of which traits are rarities these days. That and a willingness to be moved and enthralled by what we might see everyday in close proximity to our everyday lives. Only this way can there be the hope that the notion of something becoming rare (or even extinct) is in itself a rarity.
A sad footnote:
In The Guardian today it is reported that a £1000 reward has been offered by the RSPB for information regarding the killing of a female peregrine falcon in the Peak District where police, wildlife groups and landowners have been working to protect a small colony of nesting birds. The female was found and discovered to have been hit twice by shotgun pellets.
Cumbria - 6/7/06
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