Today’s picture, another from my son and daughter-in-law’s USA trip, shows two frogs at the Frog Pond in Boston.
I am trying not to overdo my cycling mileage at the moment so I was happy that Dropscone is away refereeing juvenile golf matches and that my cello playing friend Mike came to pay me a morning visit. Before Mike arrived, I noticed an unusual perching bird in the plum tree….
…as well as a colourful regular one.
Mike was interested in the software that I have which can read scanned music and let you edit and play the result. I am going to use it to shift a Mozart piece from the viola to the cello clef at the touch of a key for him. This would have been a considerable undertaking in the days of a piece of score paper and a sharp pencil but should not take me too long now.
After he left, Sandy came round for a cup of coffee and we decided to go out to try to get the definitive bluebell shot. It was a cloudy but fairly bright day. The curse of the photographer struck as we shut the car door and before we had even left the front gate. It started to rain. We travelled on hopefully but the weather god laughed at us and the rain got heavier and heavier. We arrived at the target bluebell wood by the time that the light had gone altogether and the rain was a menace to our cameras so we turned for home and set our minds on doing some of the work in our respective in trays.
It stopped raining soon after we got out of the car.
In spite of the weather, the garden is quite exciting.
On every side, plants are getting ready to burst into bloom. We just need some warm weather.
I did my work, which involved finishing off the transcription of the ten flute band tunes and had time to mow the front lawn before lunch. Between the moss, the lichens, the pearlwort and the meadow grass, the business of lawn care is a bit depressing on this patch and I am seriously thinking of getting a quote to get it dug up and re-turfed.
My spirits were lifted by the arrival of the first baby starling of the year.
It was soon followed by siblings….
And a parent.
After lunch, I went off to do another lonely stint in the Tourist Office at the Kilngreen. Apart from a passing visit from Sandy, who was on his way to a Craft Fayre in Newcastleton, I wasn’t bothered by anyone wanting information. (Sandy had some very nice squirrel and nesting blue tit video material on his blog at the moment. Well worth a visit.)
I got home just in time to go and visit my flute pupil Luke’s grandfather. I was consulting him on the flute band tunes and we discovered that an amendment or two would be needed before the task was complete. He is the conductor of our local orchestra and they are having a social and concert to celebrate 35 years of music making this weekend and it has fallen to me to propose a toast to the orchestra. I was lucky to have him to fill the many gaps in my memory about the history of the group.
When I got home, I mowed the middle lawn which is in much better condition than the front lawn because it gets more of the available sunshine. I also had a look round the productive side of the garden and was encouraged by the apple, broad bean and strawberry flowers.
A new clematis has come out to join the blue brigade.
Just as we were going to have our tea (salmon followed by rhubarb crumble) , I noticed a strange sight on the feeder.
It was a bird but did it have its head stuck in the feeder opening? Did it have a head at all?
Was this a sick bird or just a very young bird? If Dr Barlow reads this, perhpas she can tell me.
I had my tea and went off with Susan to play recorders in Carlisle where we had yet another fine evening of playing. There were five of us tonight and by and large we played the sort of music where each player’s part follows its own track and, with luck, we all arrive at the final destination together. This is my favourite sort of music and as it was followed by particularly tasty biscuits, it was a good way to end a busy day.
The flying bird is a siskin caught in one of the cloudier moments of the day.
Tootlepedal's Blog 
There is something very inviting about dying flowers, like your poppy, as well as the very much alive ones. Pleasing!
I’ll have to watch for baby starlings around. I haven’t seen any, but we have had a lot of mama and daddy starling activity all spring, so they must be around. They are cute!
There is a striking contrast between young and old starlings when it comes to cuteness. I hope they come back.
Too bad that you and Sandy got rained out. The two of you do some impressive photography on your outings, and I look forward to seeing what you shoot.
We both appreciate your comments very much and will try to live up to your expectations.
I hope the goldfinch was just resting, he looked adorable!
My expert says it is not a well bird.
😦 so sorry. nature has it’s reasons.
Of the many noteworthy points in this post, one caught my attention, in particular: salmon followed by rhubarb crumble. Excellent choice.
You can tell that I wasn’t cooking the meal tonight.
Perhaps the bird on the feeder just decided to take a short nap in such pleasant surroundings?
My resident expert says that is is sick.
Everything seems to be a little later flowering at your end of the country except poppies, there are none out here at all yet apart from the welsh ones. How strange 🙂
It’s all particularly late this year of course and things are going to flower on the ‘wrong’ order.
Siskin is adorable. Blue clematis very desirable!
It is Clematis Alpina
The spirea with the rain drops on gets my vote on this blog.
Scrolled through the birds and found the nuns – they’re brilliant. Even speak in Latin!
She has an educated needle. Sorry about all the birds to wade through!
Dear Tim
the goldfinch indeed looks unwell. Doesn’t look like a young bird, they are usually much duller in colour. I think your goldfinch is definitely sick. may be worth cleaning your feeders – as some infections can spread vis feeders to other birds.
I’ll do that.
Excellent squirrel video on Sandy’s blog.
Lots of lovely colours in your garden. Sorry you were stymied by the weather when bluebell hunting.