MIGRANT FLOCKS

 

Migration takes many forms.  Gnu’s and Zebra trot around the Serengeti , Swallows flee miserable European weather for an African sojourn, & my family made the groot trek from the hustle, bustle and hijack capital to the Slowveld.

To our delight, our garden, bordering a wetland reserve, is home to an exciting variety of wild birds.  Books and binoculars at hand, we gleefully identify new species.  From Jimmy the resident Kingfisher, to the twitchy flock of Bronze Mannikins, greedy Laughing Doves, noisy Mousebirds, colourful European Bee Eater and the argumentative Crested Barbet family, we are entertained with their antics & daily activities.

We aren’t impressed with the Hamerkop’s fishing skills.  His final approach over the wetland & his touch down next to our swimming pool repeatedly ends in disgust as he realises the tempting waters are fishless.  Perhaps the charcoal hued pool confuses him, but he  always returns home empty beaked.  He never learns.

The Eagle owl stands guard on the telephone pole & when the moon is full, his eery silhouette brings a Hogwarts feel to the garden. 

Alan holds me responsible for the disappearance of Jimmy, the Brown Hooded Kingfisher.  Named for my father in law, who spent hours photographing his every move, Jimmy flew into a window one morning.  Actually, he hit the glass with such force, his beak probably bounced off his brain.  Not that he was a very bright Kingfisher. Far from catching fish, Jim sat on our fence every morning, removing crickets from the lawn and gulping them down with a blissful smile. 

Nonetheless, when he cannoned off the window & fell motionless onto the ground, I rushed to his rescue.  He lay in the palm of my hand, far smaller than you’d expect, dazed eyes staring in confusion.  Thinking he’d be safest on the bird table, out of cat reach, amongst friends, I carefully laid him amidst seed, bread & orange segments.   By the next hospital round, he’d gone, never to be seen again.  Jimmy’s daily presence on our fence is missed.

Last Spring the Crested Barbets became parents.  Such a bustle of feeding kept Mum & Dad busy all day, for weeks.  And what a noisy pair of babies they had – a constant, cicada like buzz emitted from the nesting log, & once old enough, 2 little heads fought for viewing space as they watched the world outside their home.  Just as suddenly as they arrived, they left. 

The only fly in the ointment is the arrival of the Hadeda Ibis.  They are a plague in Joburg, their raucous screech disrupting conversation and rudely waking babies.  I can’t believe we used to rescue the Hadeda chicks fallen from the nest, hand feeding the barely fledged little things.  I’d rethink that strategy next time.  My favorite anecdote is that of a visiting American friend, startled awake one morning, exclaiming at the sight of a “Pterodactyl” outside her window. 

After three years of peaceful bushveld bliss, an entire squadron of eight Hadeda’s landed in the reserve this week, and proceeded to forage next to our fence.  Gloomily, I stare at them, knowing for sure that with Jimmy’s demise, the Hadeda’s have arrived in food paradise, and are here to stay.

(Written for Live Lightly Times, published October 2011)