January turned out to be a very mixed month for weather this year.  Frost started the day on several occasions and sunny days were rare events.  Perhaps the most notable feature was the passage of storms Eowyn and Herminia across our area bringing high winds, very heavy rain and several instances of thunder and lightning including one in the night disturbing our sleep.

I chose a quiet day in the third week of the month to walk up the lane I have been visiting over the past year.  It was very still, quite cold and a ceiling of thick, grey cloud spread out above. Lower down, pale mist hung in the air, making long views indistinct and muting colours and sounds.   The mist penetrated wherever it could, coating surfaces, depositing droplets of water on leaves, a truly dank day (see picture at the head of this post).

When I reached the start of the lane, I paused by the old quarry to listen to the song of the birds as they moved about in the trees high above.  Around me one or two hazel trees drooped downwards covered in immature greenish catkins, still firmly closed.  Elsewhere in the town, some hazel catkins had been opening to expose their golden pollen-loaded lamb’s tails, perhaps these were in more sunny locations. There was more bird song to accompany me as I proceeded up the lane and at one point a wren appeared close by on a low bush. We exchanged glances and the tiny bird churred noisily at me before flying off in anger. 

Along the lane, ferns still dominated the look of the lane-side banks.  The fern fronds hung elegantly downwards creating a mobile green decoration that trembled in the light breeze.  Increasing numbers of fleshy primrose leaves were showing along the sides of the track and many heart-shaped lesser celandine leaves were also apparent, their darker green decorated with varying amounts of a lighter grey green.  Neither plant exhibited any flowers yet.    A few celandine blooms had been evident on sunny days by the sides of town centre car parks so I thought it couldn’t be long before they also showed along the lane.   It wasn’t all stasis though and at least two clumps of very fresh cuckoo pint leaves had pushed through the soil along the banks that border the lane.  Shield-shaped and a shiny bright green, these few cuckoo pint leaves were a clear sign of seasonal change.

I stopped to listen to the sounds of the lane, a mixture of low traffic noise from the bypass and running water in the valley below.  My reverie was, though, suddenly interrupted by a noisy clattering of branches in the trees above.   I thought it must have been a large bird leaving its perch.  All I could see when I looked up were more branches swaying about until further movement highlighted a grey squirrel leaping between branches, as skilfully as if it were a monkey. 

Around the half way point of my walk, I began to hear short bursts of a rapid drumming sound coming from somewhere ahead.  I know this drumming sound well, it is characteristic of a woodpecker.  At this time of year, it is thought to be part of a male bird’s behaviour defining his territories.  As I walked onwards, the sound increased and when I paused to listen properly, I realised that there were most likely two birds.  The drumming seemed to come alternately from two directions each with a different timbre.  It seemed as if the two birds were communicating and perhaps agreeing their territories.   There are three species of woodpecker in the UK but this loud drumming behaviour is thought to come from the great spotted woodpecker, a distinctive black and white bird with bright red patches.

The behaviour of the woodpeckers felt, to me, like a signal.  Even though that day was dominated by wintery cloud and mist, the birds knew that the seasons were shifting and when I walk up the lane in February, I expect to see more change.  I also hope to have news of the wooden owl which when I walked past in January, was still covered by a plastic dustbin.