Dear Friends,
The swallows have gone. Abandoned us. Left their breeding grounds here for warmer, and drier (!), climes. Our swallows were late arriving this year, coming on 6th May, and even later to start nest-building. Normally we have two or three nesting pairs at Greenholme. This year there was just the single pair. What happened to the others, and all their offspring from previous years? Did the youngsters fail to make their first outward journey safely across the Sahara? Did they fall victim to the widespread outbreak of human-induced bird flue? Or become one of the huge number of birds killed for food in central and west Africa? Or caught in the bird-net traps in northern Africa for export as a delicacy to Asian countries on their return journey? Or starved due to the loss of insects for food caused by the abundant use of herbicides and insecticides in farming? The British Trust for Ornithology quotes a 25% decline in the UK swallow population over the last 25 years, but somehow it feels like more than that. In France the number is 40% down, and in other parts of Europe its up to 50%.
Shortly after they arrived, I watched a male swallow bringing food to, and feeding, a female in a tree during my walk one morning. It was extraordinary – he hovered in the air in front of her as she perched high up in the dead ash tree, and she opened her mouth to receive his gift, just like watching a parent feeding its chick. They were clearly renewing their bond with each other as they mate for life. A Valentine’s gift in May!
Our pair were put off nest-building on their arrival by the starlings who, for the second year, had also decided to nest in the barn. Last year the starlings murdered all five swallow chicks soon after they were born, and we found them dead on the floor below the nest. It seems the swallows remembered, and this year they waited until the starlings had fledged before starting their own nest, which was close to the end of May. Fortunately the starlings did not raise a second brood so the swallows were left in peace. Even with such a late start, they still managed to raise two broods successfully, only losing one of the second five chicks.
And now they’ve gone, all 11 of them. The air, the telegraph wires, and the barns are empty, silent after the ceaseless chattering that has been such a joy to hear all through the summer. Their silence is exacerbated by the occasional mournful song of the faithful robin, who reminds us that she’s still here, and will remain with us through the ‘season of mists and mellow fruitfulness’, and on into the long, dark nights of approaching winter.
And so the year swings and turns about. Harvest, apple-pressing, and lamb sales are upon us, but the evenings are already darker now. The season of growing has ended and creation prepares to hunker down for the barrenness of winter. The rhythm of the year follows the sun’s journey across the skies, and on the 15th of the month we move the recording card on our Campbell-Stokes sunshine recorder onto its highest groove to record any sunshine during the sun’s lowest winter arcs as part of our daily Met Office climate observations.
This notion of rhythm is a fundamental aspect of all creation, including us. The seasonal, and daily, cycles are governed by the sun, and the monthly cycles are governed by the moon. But for us humans there is the additional cycle of the week, set up in the first pages of the bible, thousands and thousands of years ago; a rhythm of seven days, six for work and one for rest, reflecting God’s ‘rest’ after creation. In the biblical story we were created on the 6th day as the culmination of God’s great work; made in his image, ‘male and female, he created them in his image’. That ‘7th day’, then, God’s ‘day of rest’, was the first day of humanity’s existence and in which we are meant to reside. Each of the seven days came to be named after one of the seven visible planets in the solar system (Sun, Moon, Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, Saturn) – which can still be detected in the French days of the week. In English we retain some of the planetary names (Sun-day, Moon-day, Saturn-day). The others have been replaced by the Norse gods of Tyr, Woden (or Odin), Thor and Frigg (Odin’s wife).
But the pattern remains and guides the shape of our week, including that critical ‘day of rest’ for which we were created. Sun-day, the day of resurrection, became the Christian sacred day of rest in a move away from the Jewish ‘Sabbath’. But there is a modern drive to ‘flatten’ the week and remove ‘special’ days. We see it in professions as diverse as retail and farming. And although not everyone can make Sunday their day off for various reasons, nevertheless it remains important for us as human beings to make space for that special ‘day of rest’ each week. We are in danger of losing sight of the holiness of life, and of all creation, if we don’t.
Your friend and priest,
Robert
Recent Comments