Page 11 of Hope and Happiness in Bluebell Wood
‘Great name,’ Gavin says approvingly. ‘Now here’s our wild bird food. Like I said, there’s quite a selection.’
I stare at the shelves in front of me. There are packets of seeds, bags of nuts and weird-looking ball things in tubs. Then there are bird feeders of every shape and size, some nest boxes, and at the end of the aisle bird tables – from the simple to the very ornate.
‘New to this, are you?’ Gavin says kindly, sensing my confusion. ‘Feeding wild birds?’
‘I am, yes. But I think the lady who lived in my house before me fed them – she had a bird table in the garden.’
‘Which house would that be? You must be local – you walked here, didn’t you? I have a lot of customers come by car to buy in bulk, see.’
What was it about these people? As hard as I tried to keep my guard up, they just kept breaking it down with their constant friendliness.
‘Yes, I’m local,’ I tell Gavin. ‘I’m staying at Bluebird Cottage.’
‘Oh, why didn’t you say you were in Evelyn’s place? Evelyn used to have a regular order of bird food off me – I think she had all sorts of birds visiting that garden of hers. I’m surprised she didn’t leave you some.’
Maybe she had and I hadn’t even looked for it – damn.
‘But just in case, why don’t I give you a few bits now from her regular order, and then you can phone me if you want anything else and I’ll pop it round in the van for you? We deliver locally.’
‘Okay. I mean, yes, thank you very much, that would be great.’
Gavin loads me up with a few small bags of bird food, peanuts and dried worms – which I try not to look too horrified about as he pops them in my basket. Then he enquires about Merlin, and makes a few suggestions about food for him to try.
When we eventually leave the shop, I’m completely loaded down. Along with my original basket of groceries from Jenny, I’m carrying a variety of wild bird food, some samples of dog food for Merlin – with the promise from Gavin that he’ll happily deliver any bulk bags of food that Merlin takes a fancy to – and some extra dog biscuits and treats that he’d thrown in for free.
‘I’ve got used to only having me to feed since the kids moved out,’ I half grumble as I stagger back to the cottage, my arms aching. ‘I didn’t know by moving here I’d signed up to feeding half the local wildlife as well as a rescue dog!’
But Merlin, unperturbed, just trots along happily next to me, occasionally sniffing at my basket in anticipation. He seems to have made his mind up he’s going to love living in Bluebell Wood already.
While I’m not quite so sure just yet.
Four
What am I doing wrong?I wonder as I stare at the bird table.Why aren’t any birds coming to feed from this buffet of food I’ve laid out for them?
Yesterday, when we’d got back from our excursion to the shops, I’d put our shopping away and popped a little of the mixed wild bird food that Gavin had given me on the bird table, along with a handful of black sunflower seeds and some of the dried mealworms. Then I’d gone in search for more food in the old shed that stands at the bottom of the garden. As Gavin had correctly predicted, there were some bags of food already in there, some of which were useable, and some with holes in the bottom and seed spilling out that looked like a mouse might have got to them.
I’d sorted the good sacks from the bad, and then I’d put the ruined ones out in the dustbin. Gavin was right again: Evelyn had such an amazing variety of bird food that I wondered just how many birds she’d had visiting her garden in the past.
I’d then filled the feeders, added some nuts to them and re-hung them underneath the bird table.
Afterwards I’d sat in a chair by the French windows and watched, expecting to see lots of birds immediately flocking to the table now I’d offered them some food – but to my great disappointment none came – not even the robin that had looked at me with so much expectation had returned.
Merlin and I hadn’t done much for the rest of the day. I’d pottered about in the garden, attempting some weeding with some of the tools I’d also found in the shed. I’d nodded off in the armchair in the afternoon in the warmth of the spring sunshine that poured through the windows, and then later I’d taken Merlin back to the woods for his evening walk, pleased and relieved that this time we didn’t meet anyone at all. I’d checked when I’d been in the garden earlier to see if there was any way of getting from the back of the cottage directly into the wood as I’d hoped. But all I found was a solid wooden fence that ran all the way around the perimeter of the garden, so Merlin and I would just have to settle for using the same entrance as everyone else for the time being.
It had been a quiet but semi-productive day, and was just the sort of way I’d envisaged spending my time when I’d begun to dream about moving from the noise of the city to the quiet and peace of the country.
But today, as I await my food delivery with Merlin next to me on the sofa, I wonder again why the birds don’t seem interested in the food I’m offering them, and why it’s bothering me so much that they aren’t feeding.
The problem is, you’re used to getting fast results,I tell myself.Back in London everything happened super speedily. You’re going to have to learn how to live life at a slower and gentler pace now you’re living in the country.
But Ireallywant the birds to come now I’ve made the effortwith them, and I can’t help feeling let down that my efforts aren’t deemed good enough.
My supermarket delivery arrives just after lunch, and the driver quickly unloads my baskets from the truck. I can’t help feeling a little embarrassed at this huge lorry parked outside my little cottage – it seems so at odds with the rest of the village.
‘Do you deliver to Bluebell Wood a lot?’ I ask the driver as I’m signing his delivery sheet. ‘I’m new here,’ I explain.
He looks at me as though I’ve just confirmed what he’d already guessed. ‘More than you might think,’ he says. ‘A lot of the villages around here only have one small shop – if that. Folks these days want variety and choice in their groceries – these village shops are just too small to offer more than the basics.’ He passes me my delivery note. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he says, seeing my concerned expression. ‘I’m pretty sure no one will mind!’
