rARsh!

You’ve got to come and see what I’ve found!

Gardener Ali seemed most excited as she poked her head in through the door.

“It’s not another concrete monstrosity, is it?”

“No, no. Come on.”

I was led out to the area of undergrowth which is the current area of tidying up to find a clutch of eggs. Eleven of them, in fact, which had been hidden away from view under a tangle of goodness knows what.

By the size, they’re far too large to have come from the moorhen which took temporary residence back in 2006 (and Maurice was male, to boot) so I can only assume that they were a gift from the female mallard who spent a week or so in the garden last summer, having been bullied away from the nearby duckpond - or so I’d thought at the time.

There’s still of lot of clearing left to be done, so who knows what hidden treasure remains to be unearthed …

MoorhenWatch

I’m both happy and sad to report that Maurice has left. This is based on the fact that I’ve not seen him for a week.

Happy because it hopefully means that he’s now in a more appropriate location for moorhens. Sad because he’s no longer stalking around the extensive grounds at rARsh Manor.

I wonder what my next visitor will be. A golden eagle? An ostrich?

Wrong again

Only this afternoon I was bemoaning my lack of amphibians in the garden this year.

“I think I let the pond get too low so the frogs must have gone elsewhere,” I moaned.

“Never mind -you’ve got a moorhen.” I may have mentioned this once or twice.

I agreed … but I was wrong.

This evening brought a deliciously cool, refreshing downpour (with suitably spectacular audio-visual accompaniment) and the downpour woke The Frogs. Thousands¹ of them were fleeing the pond and making for the opposite side of the garden (for reasons I don’t really understand).

Happy as I was to have my own moorhen (who’s still here, by the way), now I’m an even happier lion. A moorhen and frogs. Jealous?

¹ Ok, about a dozen if you want to be accurate.

Hello there

So there I was, sitting quietly in the garden, hoping that Henry was going to put in an appearance when there was a clatter and a splashing from the pond and out stepped Maurice, gingerly placing one foot after the other across the lily pads not five yards from where I was sitting.

I know I’ve seen moorhens before on numerous occasions but there’s something very special about having “my” moorhen.

I am a little worried about him as he seems to be all alone in the world with no Mrs Moorhen to keep him company. Poor soul. That said, apart from being rather out of place in a small garden pond, he does seem to be fit and well. I suppose I should just enjoy his company for as long as he decides to stick around.