Song Thrush Mama

A little while ago we moved our kitchen from the middle of the house to the back. Sounds simple right? It was a Nightmare (mainly for Hubby). The reason for the move was so that we could access our garden better.

An extension housing a downstairs loo (oh, loo how we miss you!), spacious utility room and a conservatory (read junk room) was built a few years ago onto the back of the house and it meant that we felt cut off from what was going on out there.

Now it is lovely. I can be inside if I want, watching the little ones argue over a spade outside, I can make it to the climbing frame at the end of the garden in 20 seconds (did I mention our garden wasn't large?) and we can just potter in the garden better. I love pottering.

The added, hoped for, bonus was that we would get closer to nature. And we have. This spring we have been entertained by watching a song thrush build her nest in the overgrown bushes between our conservatory, which is now the eating end of our kitchen, and our neighbour's garden. There is something to be said for having a bit of a wild garden.

We have watched her pick up feathers and twigs from the chickens' pen, moss from the lawn and other twigs from near the outside ping pong table (this is a well-used family garden?) and we've watched her slowly craft a home for her chicks.



Seemingly my noisy brood hasn't put her off one bit. And believe me, the noise through the glass travels (yes, we do pity our neighbours). We've watched her sit on her eggs and this week we have been observing how incredibly busy she's been feeding three yellow little beaks that are always open. Find a worm, rest on the back of a garden chair, look at us looking at her, fly to the nest. Feed the chicks. Repeat endlessly. Mostly we have been watching them eat while we've been eating.

I have to say I do feel for her, as I serve up the upteenth meal that week. I'm guessing she doesn't have to listen to Can I have just the pasta? What are these? I don't like chickpeas. Or maybe she does, like I said, the noise travels.




We're hoping the chicks will be left in peace by any neighbourhood cats. I think our old moggie is just too old now to be hunting baby birds, for which we're thankful. And we're hoping our Song Thrush Mama will return to her nest next year, after discovering what a nice neighbourhood it is to bring up the kids.

* Edited to add my stepfather thinks it might be a mistle thrush and not a song thrush. We've looked in a book but it's hard to tell. If anyone knows, we'd love to know!