March 2018 -- Goldcrest, Treecreepers and a Scarlet elf cup

Goldcrest

February 2nd was fine and bright if cold. Near the entrance to the R.S.P.C.A. Centre, where the River Medlock has carved a deep gorge, the movements of a tiny bird caught my eye. It was a Goldcrest—at 3.5 inches long, one of the smallest European bird species—and it was quickly joined by a second. Faced with the twin challenges of surviving harsh weather and maintaining energy levels for the coming breeding season the birds were rapidly flitting from branch to branch, prodding into bark crevices presumably in search of tiny insects. So absorbed were the Goldcrests that they were undisturbed by my presence. Quietly and unobtrusively marked (save for their yellow or orange head-flash) their smallness and speed of movement make them
appealing.

    At the same time, a pair of Treecreepers could also be observed. I never tire of this small bird, beautifully camouflaged above, with a bright white underside and a beak like a short bent darning needle. Often described as ‘mouse like’, they beetle and scuttle up tree trunks, on this occasion probing the mosses for sustenance. The delicately marked birds set against the bright green mosses made a striking picture and I thought of those
    Chinese folding screens with their uncluttered depictions of birds and trees.

Scarlet elf cup

    Any burst of bright natural colour is welcome on a winter’s day. A few years ago someone pointed out a colony of the fungus called Scarlet elf cup growing on some rotting tree prunings near the lower reservoir. They are as delicate as their twee name suggests, mis-shapen red discs nestling in moss. After an absence they have reappeared, but how did they arrive there in the first place?

    Though it is still winter there are signs of growth to be seen. Near to the back door we have a pot of the old evergreen sub-shrub Vinca minor (or Lesser periwinkle) which keeps producing the odd blue flower in anticipation of spring. The plant provides a timeline for me. When I was young a colony snaked towards our metal dustbin under which a toad lived for years. Later I worked in a large garden where Periwinkle was used as tough ground cover on banks. While never flowering profusely, after spring rain the leaves would shine reflectively and large near-circular flowers of a rich violet-blue hue would face upwards, perhaps still holding bright water droplets.