A Desert Of Lapwings
If the collective noun for doves is a 'piteousness' then my collective noun for lapwing is a plaintiveness.
Walking on Sunday I saw four lapwings broad-winged against blue sky. Beyond the reproduction Georgian mill house a bouquet of pheasants detonated the calm gold of corn stubble and maize. Peace resumed and I noticed some unfamiliar calls pinging about, like a language I know just the gist of. A long-tailed, toffee-coloured bird charmed me towards the river. I couldn't get close enough, even with binoculars, to identify the female bearded tit for sure, but I discovered a secret scene beyond reeds and river. In a flooded field there was a flock of lapwings, flying a nervy circuit every time a train passed. They settled again in the shallow lapping mirror. I counted twenty-nine.
On my return several lapwings flocks converged above Dernford quarry. Having made trips especially to see spring aerobatic breeding displays at Welney, and Buckenham in the Norfolk Broads, I was thrilled to count about three hundred. A 'deceipt' of lapwings is the common collective noun. Plural plovers have also been called a 'desert'. The deceipt is said to derive from the plover's habit of plaintive but artful distraction behaviour. When its nest is threatened it is one of the best birds at acting wounded. This decoy method of pitifully flapping and dragging its wings and calling desperately averts predators away from the precious clutch.
Today I was out on horseback (like the sports and nature writer Simon Barnes I enjoy the benefits of what he calls his 'mobile hide', this morning meeting a roe deer). I saw a single lapwing in the Hildersham area. A desert is what I am more used to. My friend Jenny who I ride with said she hadn't seen a Peewit for about ten years. (I was brought up with the name peewit for them too).
I look forward to spring and the breeding displays. I may find a few pairs nesting locally, or I might have to make a pilgrimage. The sound of the peewit is as life-affirming as it is heart-rending.
Walking on Sunday I saw four lapwings broad-winged against blue sky. Beyond the reproduction Georgian mill house a bouquet of pheasants detonated the calm gold of corn stubble and maize. Peace resumed and I noticed some unfamiliar calls pinging about, like a language I know just the gist of. A long-tailed, toffee-coloured bird charmed me towards the river. I couldn't get close enough, even with binoculars, to identify the female bearded tit for sure, but I discovered a secret scene beyond reeds and river. In a flooded field there was a flock of lapwings, flying a nervy circuit every time a train passed. They settled again in the shallow lapping mirror. I counted twenty-nine.
On my return several lapwings flocks converged above Dernford quarry. Having made trips especially to see spring aerobatic breeding displays at Welney, and Buckenham in the Norfolk Broads, I was thrilled to count about three hundred. A 'deceipt' of lapwings is the common collective noun. Plural plovers have also been called a 'desert'. The deceipt is said to derive from the plover's habit of plaintive but artful distraction behaviour. When its nest is threatened it is one of the best birds at acting wounded. This decoy method of pitifully flapping and dragging its wings and calling desperately averts predators away from the precious clutch.
Today I was out on horseback (like the sports and nature writer Simon Barnes I enjoy the benefits of what he calls his 'mobile hide', this morning meeting a roe deer). I saw a single lapwing in the Hildersham area. A desert is what I am more used to. My friend Jenny who I ride with said she hadn't seen a Peewit for about ten years. (I was brought up with the name peewit for them too).
I look forward to spring and the breeding displays. I may find a few pairs nesting locally, or I might have to make a pilgrimage. The sound of the peewit is as life-affirming as it is heart-rending.
Comments
Post a Comment