You won't recognise it.
This hedgerow is the life blood of my small patch of North Kent. It runs for about 300m, north-south, along a rutted track that separates several bland, featureless fields. It is over 2 metres tall and a metre plus wide. In it grows Hawthorn mostly, with a scattering of Field Maple and Dog Rose. It didn't use to be here, it was planted in the last decade with the help of subsidies that the farmer received to make his land more wildlife-friendly. I love this hedgerow and wish I could tell the farmer that, I wish I could tell them to plant another; but I never see anyone out here, just the odd farm-hand banging around in a tractor and small groups of workers picking vegetables in summer. I love this hedgerow because this where the birds are. It's where most good things happen on my otherwise quiet patch.
Yesterday afternoon, with the sun already gone, I walked round the fields for the first time in a few weeks. As I expected, given the time and the season, everything was quiet and still. A Pied Wagtail flicked over somewhere above and a dog walker loped by, ignoring my greeting. That was about it.
It stayed much like that until I reached the hedgerow. As I walked along it, I peered at the skeletons of last summer's nests and tried to guess who made them. A short way along there was a feathery scuffle ahead of me and three birds flew out. They gave a gentle, rippling call in flight that told me they were Corn buntings. It sounded especially fragile in the cool dusk, easily missed and very much a secret sound of winter in a place like this. I watched them disappear across the ploughed fields into some distant scrub.
Another dozen steps, another scuffle, another dozen Corn buntings followed.
In the end I counted 17 birds in the Hedgerow which is incidentally the same number that I saw in a flock here last winter. Looking around it's easy to see why they were there, it provides shelter at the hardest time of year to birds gathered from the surrounding area. But looking beyond the hedge, their presence seems like a miracle in a landscape dominated by fields several hectares in size. It seems clear to me that if this hedgerow was not here, these birds would not be here either. Nor would the Linnets, whitethroats or occasional sparrow that appear in spring. The butterflies and moths that flit out of the grass would find no peace without it. This place would be poorer.
But the Corn Buntings, I'm so pleased they're here, have a look at the recent BTO atlas data to see why. This spring I recorded 6 singing males in the vicinity of the Hedge. I hope they'll still be there next spring.
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Leaving the hedgerow, the way back takes me along the top of a shallow valley. Another hedgerow grows here but its condition is not great. It is slumped and gappy and held together with bind weed in places, still, better it be there than not. Having walked its length, I turned down the path to the ever creeping commuter village. From the top of the field I can see the cheap new housing estate where the high school playing fields used to be. I noticed one of the houses has put Christmas lights up already. They flash blue and white like its some kind of emergency.
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Foot note:
I wrote this two weeks ago and never got round to posting it but it seems rather apt now. Since then the 2013 State of the UK's birds report was published and some headlines can be seen here. It makes harrowing yet tragically familiar reading, particularly for farmland birds like the Corn Bunting. In addition we will find out imminently what impact the Common Agricultural Policy reform will have on farmland birds, in particular how much money goes towards wildlife-friendly farming. Although the government doesn't get on too well with scientifically-backed evidence, there can be no doubt that these are critical times for our wildlife and I sincerely hope that message gets through.
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| The stars of patch and field: Corn Bunting, North Kent, Spring 2013 |
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