Goldfinches

Befitting their collective name, goldfinches really are charming, and without the flock at our feeders at the moment the garden would be a pretty quiet place. A few blue tits, and the odd coal tit, pop in from time to time for a sunflower heart, and a robin occasionally makes an appearance. Chaffinches and greenfinches come and go, and if I put out bread, an army of house sparrows immediately invades the garden. There are no dunnocks, the great-spotted woodpeckers have long retreated to their woodland habitat, and I haven’t seen a nuthatch for ages. There is a wren that bobs up and down every so often, but makes no attempt at singing. When I get desperate I can guarantee to make the garden buzz for a little while, by putting out some chicken skin, or scraps of meat. In a matter of seconds magpies, jackdaws, and a flock of black-headed gulls descend, filling the air with birds, but this only lasts for as long as the food, and then there’s silence once again.

The gyrations of the evening gathering of hundreds of rooks and jackdaws over the village are a real spectacle, but it’s the ever-present goldfinches that keep my spirits up. Some are in full body moult at the moment, and look decidedly scruffy, but I’m comforted in the knowledge that they’ll smarten up soon, and stay with us for winter. As the cold weather returns, more finches will arrive in the garden, and when the tit flock eventually returns, I’ll have my daily entertainment back.