Sitting at our breakfast table looking out through the window, it is another dark JANUARY morning. As the light begins to lighten the sky, the first of our bird friends arrive at the feeding table, and it is not long before others arrive. Between the nut feeders and the seed tables, we have anything between 50 and 90 birds daily, depending on the weather conditions. We make a count of the birds on every even day of the month, and it is revealing how in particular the air temperature makes a marked difference in the daily visitors. Chaffinch, Blue and Great Tits, Sparrows, Dunnocks, Blackbirds are our regular visitors, and of course the inevitable Robins. It's fascinating to watch the dominant Robin spend more time chasing the intruding robins, rather than eating his fill.

Bird books will tell you that Sparrows and Chaffinch are ground feeders. Not so, it does not take some very long to learn that there is an appetising meal hanging in the nut feeders, a few will soon get the idea of how to grasp and stay on a swinging feeder. Others will act like a humming bird fluttering their wings and hover until get a beakful of nut, whilst the more crafty ones will wait on the ground and snatch what drops on to the floor

A cold grey FEBRUARY day, several nights of frost, and low daytime temperatures, a high number of birds feeding throughout the day. Lunchtime, we suddenly realised that all the birds had disappeared, and we knew that our frequent visitor the sparrowhawk had paid a visit. But hold on what is that in the hedge? And there in his rusty coloured plumage perched the sparrowhawk, looking intently into the hedge. He took off and flew in, through, under and over the hedge through incredibly small gaps, twisting, turning, closing his wings it was incredible to see. He perched again on top of the hedge. By now, we had seen his quarry, there were two little Blue Tits and a Great Tit in fear of their lives huddled in the thickest part of the hedge. Although only twenty feet away from us, we now had our telescope and binoculars trained on him. Those eyes, there was sheer murder in them, he was determined to make a kill. It took him eleven minutes to flush one of those birds, when eventually the Great Tit must have lost his nerve and tried to make his escape. To no avail, within ten feet of leaving the sanctuary of the hedge, he was hunted down by the sparrowhawk, taken to ground and having adjusted his grip the hawk flew off.

We consider ourselves fortunate to have seen such a spectacle, we often see the sparrowhawk swooping on the table, usually missing his target, and at times landing on the hedge searching for a potential meal, but without success. Nature is all about survival of the fittest, and we know that he has been around for three years due to a peculiar mark on him, but he certainly has not made a significant difference to the number of birds that feed with us as some would have it.

MARCH, walking, a fine dry day. Spring is approaching, and some birds are beginning to look for partners, buzzards in particular. Now is the time to see them circling above in threes and fives and even more. On this day a few years ago, I spotted three circling above us, and by their size it was one larger female and two smaller males, one of whom was hoping to pair with her. Around and around they circled, at a height of a 100 feet, until suddenly the two males entangled by gripping each other's talons.

They began to drop towards the ground gyrating, like a sycamore seed twirling to the floor. Closer and closer they came to the ground, and by now we expected them to part and fly off. But no, they hit the branches of a tree and through this with a thump to the ground that we could hear from about eighty yards away. Still entangled, one seemed to hold the other to the ground, like a wrestler holding his opponent down for the count. They parted and the victorious one shook his feathers, slowly flew off to join the female, who had during this circled around and mewed continuously as if shouting encouragement, and they flew off into the distance. The loser took a lot longer to recover but eventually he also flew off, probably to try his luck somewhere else.

APRIL  and Spring are in the air.  Although in the area we live, Spring is some three weeks later than further south, there are still some signs of Nature’s change to the countryside. Celandines are slowly peeping through, waiting to feel the sun’s gentle warmth before opening to smile back at it.   Nestling also deep in the hedge will be the shy little violets surrounded by larger growth to shield them from the still biting wind.

The mid-April morning dawned fine and sunny, and after several weeks of dull, cold wet days the urge to explore overtook us. The pinkish tinge of the early morning light emphasised the yellow-green of the few leaves that had appeared on the trees, and the contrast with the glorious bronze of the now dead bracken was spectacular.

The resident birds were tuning up their voices in readiness for the hectic period ahead, finding a mate and raising a family in a few short weeks.. Several squirrels, grey ones sadly, were busy moving amongst the branches and from tree to tree, probably trying to find where they had hidden that juicy hoard of nuts last Autumn. Above there were seven buzzards circling and mewing as if welcoming the early Spring sunshine.

We sat down on the mossy earth-bank near the stream, the water creating its own musical welcome to Spring. A few Dippers were busy curtseying and diving underwater for their meal. Up here at 300m above the sea only in a sheltered corner like this is the sun warm. All around were oak trees and looking up at the screen of branches, the knobs of bud could be seen plainly.  It would be a few weeks yet before they broke into leaf. It is said that the twists and turns of the oak branches mirror the obstructions its roots meet on their downward path. If only the trees could talk, what stories they would have, some of these go back four or five centuries, time that you and I cannot span or grasp. What kind of people lived here then, who helped to ensure that the trees survived until now?.

Time had flown and we were having gentle reminders from our dog that it was time to eat. Time to go, but with that wonderful feeling that this place would always be there to enjoy at any time of the year.

MAY and the summer migrants begin to arrive. This is the time I start my bird census for the British Trust for Ornithology. There is nothing better than an early start on a fine Spring morning and spend the next two hours or so listening and looking for birds. They now are at their very finest singing voices and the combination of the different songs is something everyone should experience.

The 20 or so nestboxes we have in the woods below the house now show signs of nest building, and each year we have Blue tits, Pied Flycatchers and Redstart raising families with varying degrees of success.

The Blue Tits time the hatching of their eggs with the opening of the leaves of the Oak tree as they feed nearly exclusively on the insects from this tree.

Some of the walks that we do now have a wonderful profusion of flowers alongside the paths, and we can while away many an hour just looking and searching for possible new flowers to the area.

Wherever you walk now in woodland or along the hedgerows, in early June, the birds are intent on only one thing. Satisfying the hungry mouths back at the nest. Having lunch one day on one of our walks, we watched a pair of Great tits flying back and fore to their nest hole with food in their mouths. In the space of 20 minutes they flew 42 times into the nest. Their work rate throughout the day must be phenomenal.

Out doing one of my early morning JUNE bird census, I spotted 3 hares feeding quietly on the field edge. About 40 metres away a fox was approaching them through the rushes, silently padding along intent having his breakfast. It seemed to me that the hares were more than aware of his presence as their ears were continuously moving like radars tracking his movement. And surely enough when he was too close for their liking, they bounded away in the opposite direction leaving the old fox to rue another missed meal. Above curlew and lapwing were calling and it was back to the serious business of bird counting.