Encounters with Owls
January for me is quite exciting for old favourites.
The cold frosty air really gets the tawny owls hooting at night and because the nights are long they can be heard by children before bedtime or not so early in the morning. The frost especially seems to get them going and cold still air seems to help their voices carry further and to echo, spooklily and mystically, I love it.
It starts in the autumn really but intensifies as the males set up territories and defend them, mostly with noise. The classic owl sound Hoo-hu-hu-hooooo comes from the male and he carries the last note like a diva. He will often be answered by another male in the distance and a hooting match commences with the protaganists flying round the woods. This probably is not to be recommended (people lose eyes to angry owls but usually when disturbing nests) but I like to join in and position myself where a likely perch has a backdrop of sky. The owls figure out quite quickly that my weak whistling is no owl but still sometimes answer and occasionally come to take a look, it is thrilling.
Also joining in are the females, often more vocal than the males but they do not hoot the female call is Tee-wit (high-pitched and sharp like someone stamping on a squeaky toy) so, together, occasionally there might be a Tee-wit-hu-hoooo if they call in the right order.
When I was 16, I was out on an early frosty morning and heard a female tawny owl calling above the road ahead of me. She was so intent on what she was doing that she allowed me to approach the telegraph poll she was on and, quite indignantly, tee-witted at me and gave me time to ready my camera. Unfortunately I could not see her well enough through the lens to focus and had to guess; auto-focus was just a dream in those days and it would probably have missed her anyway. I took the shot, there was a burst of light which dazzled us both and she was gone. It took two weeks for the photos to come back but, although it is not quite in focus, the shot records my first eye to eye meeting with a wild owl and reminds me that it really happened, I love it.
Stories about Nature
Our Story Books to Colour are all written in rhyme, inspired by the works of Dr Seuss. As a child I loved finding facts about nature and reading books with the facts easily discovered and easy to remember. As a Dad I loved reading the same books to our boys. So when it came to writing books to empower children with knowledge about nature, turning to rhyme seemed to be the best approach. I’m rubbish at maths, but I can still remember my times tables because of the rhythm.
I wrote the following in my head on a woodland walk and thought I’d share it here, to give you an idea of how our books are written.
Please play this while reading to set the scene
Scenes that play out in the woods
The woods near our house is a smashing location
Where I take, every day, a fleeting vacation
If I can to unwind and to open my mind
But mostly I go there with hopes that I’ll find
Signs of my friends, or see them maybe
On the ground, in the stream or up in a tree
The woods are owned by Sir Tawny Macduff
Or he thinks that he owns them and that’s good enough
His claim is disputed, of course, by Macbeth
Who goads Macduff to fight to the death
And nightly this happens in the coldest of weather
Without either opponent losing a feather
Among my best friends in the wood was a mouse
Whose parents had used an old stump for a house
I met him by chance on his first wander out
Luckily for him no Macduffs were about.
He was nibbling on an old beech nut he’d found
Amongst all the leaves lying there on the ground
His fur matched the leaves in a wonderful way
In the dappled sunshine on that memorable day
The next day I took him some crumbs from a loaf
And sprinkled them for him, I’m a soppy old oaf
I sprinkled them daily and saw him quite often
If anyone met him, their feelings would soften
For mice and their kind in their woodland retreat
What more could you ask, to make life complete
I called my friend Yorik, it just seemed to fit
I’d chat to young Yorik from the stump where I’d sit
This went on a long time and I watched him grow up
Whilst daily poetically, together we’d sup
But one day old Yorik just didn’t appear
But sits in my memory where I hold him dear
And I visit the spot and imagine him there
Nibbling crumbs that I liked to share
On moonlit nights I’d oft take a walk
Down in the wood to hear all the talk
Made by foxes and badgers but mostly the owls
Who talk very loudly on my nightly prowls
The Macduffs own the woods as I said before
But the Macbeths believe that they own it more
Sir Tawny calls Hu who who who who
And lady Macduff calls tee-wit not tu-woo
Then old Captain Macbeth starts up hoo hooing as well
And the couples call over the woods for a spell
Hu hu hoo, tee-wit, tee-wit hu hoo hoo
It means go away, not how do you do
And by frequent visits I found under a yew
Signs of a thing that tawny owls do
A small oval mass lay there on the ground
And I picked the thing up to see what I had found
It was without doubt a tawny owl pellet
I could tell just by looking with no need to smell it
Fox poo’s quite different and has quite a pong
Sniff it and you’ll get a whiff that’s quite strong
I took home the pellet, because I wanted to see
What had been eaten by the owl in the tree
I dropped the small find in a water filled tray
Rummaged around and then with dismay
Saw the skull of a mouse staring right back
The pellet contain the small friend that I lack
I knew it was him in my heart I could tell
Alas, it was Yorik, the mouse I knew well
Old tawny had seen him and swooped without sound
To pick up poor Yorik up off the ground
Where he had been feeding right up to the end
On some crumbs he’d been given by a silly old friend
Macduff in his nest had a fluffy young chick
Who called out for food with a curious click
The clicks, to Macduffs meant feed me & quick
And right at the moment Yorik snapped a small stick
The sounds of poor Yorik did lead on Macduff
To pin-point the noise and, by the scruff
Grab my small pal, my crumb eating friend
And that’s where our story like Yorik must end
If you know your Shakespeare you won’t like this ending
You’ll cringe at the literary message it’s sending
So wait, just a while one moment, please wait
Yorik’s skull and its scratches tell that his fate
Came from the front and not the back
Yorik faced the cold attack
And I can hear him call his bluff
And shout, not squeak, “lay on Macduff”
