It's currently 5:55am. I woke up nearly an hour ago, having set my alarm for what might be considered by some to be ridiculously early for a Sunday morning - but it's worth it. I don't think there can be a better way to start the day - any day - than by being still and quiet and listening to a world filled with birdsong.
You do have to be up early for it, though. Sunrise is around 5:30 but the sky lightens a while before then and the birds start singing even while it's still dark. Here, even by 5:30 the chorus was starting to dwindle down. Late April and early May is when the dawn chorus is at its peak, so you still have time if you'd like to hear it. Many enthusiasts go outside and take themselves off for a walk (or rather walk to somewhere they can sit quietly so as to not disturb the birds and scare them away), and I'd love to do that one day. But even though I could have gone down to the garden, I just opened my curtains and my window and listened from the comfort of my bed, sometimes standing at the window for a minute or two breathing in the fresh, cold air and gazing at the clear pastel sky and the waning half moon. If you'd like to hear the dawn chorus but can't quite bring yourself to wake up that early, check out the RSPB's Dawn Chorus Live, broadcast this morning. It had two hours of live birdsong from various locations around the country, with commentary by Chris Packham and Megan McCubbin, followed by live chat with guests.
In addition to waking up at 5am, last night I tuned in to the first hour of a special late-night broadcast celebrating nightingales, so didn't get to sleep till midnight. Those legendary night-time songsters have sadly become very rare, having declined by 90% in the last 50 years, and most of us will never hear one. The host, folk singer Sam Lee, sat in a field somewhere in Sussex with a microphone, recording the wonderful sound of the nightingales around him, interspersing their song with recorded readings by nature writers, poets, and musicians. It was lovely, a very nice thing to listen to late in the night, I'm going to listen to more of it tonight. It was the last of a trio by The Nest Collective, which can be listened to here, here, and here (no need to listen to all three unless you want to, any will do, they're very similar). They're definitely a late-night thing, when the world is quiet and you have nothing else taking your attention. The first two are each about two hours long, with the host, the sound of nightingales, and the recorded readings and gentle music. This final one was an overnight dawn chorus special, so after the first two hours the host left the microphone recording overnight, so it's just the song of the nightingales and whatever other creatures might make a sound nearby, continuing through to the dawn chorus and ending at 6am.
It was also Beltane yesterday, so Happy Beltane to any friends who mark it. I never really do anything to celebrate, but I always kind of wish I did. (Here's what I did last year.) To many modern pagans the holiday is about fertility and sexuality and fecundity, but that's never resonated with me, which may be why I never know how to celebrate. But I read an article yesterday which said that the earliest written reference to Beltane, in Ireland, is from around the year 900 and simply tells of two fires being lit and cattle being driven between them for protection from disease (and undoubtedly malicious faeries too, although that wasn't written down). At this time of year livestock are moved from winter cover to summer pastures, and crops are starting to grow and need the light and heat of the sun, so of course farmers would have wanted to do something to try and ensure their livelihoods were safe. Fire - cleansing and destructive - represents what was most important to them at this time of year, so that's what they celebrated with. Modern celebrations more stem from English May Day festivals. I haven't looked into that history, but a simple fire festival related to where we are in the wheel of the year sits well with me, even though it might be more appropriate for me, being English rather than of Irish or Scottish origin, to mark May Day rather than Beltane. I also liked what the author of the article said about fire being a particularly appropriate trope right now: we want to put much of 2020 into the flames, and safeguard against the rest of 2021.
Most of us are disconnected from the natural world and the turning of the seasons. Which... isn't good. That connection gives a real richness and meaning to life. I'd certainly like to be more in tune with it all. Getting up for the sunrise at the height of spring to immerse yourself in birdsong before the noise of the modern world really gets going, is a wonderful thing to experience. Birdsong has been part of the human psyche for as long as we have existed, it gave us clues about the land around us and was our radio until radio was invented. Thinking about it, I like the idea of, from now on, marking this height of spring by celebrating nightingales, the dawn chorus, and Beltane/May Day all together in my own way - by lighting candles in the evenings, waking up for the dawn chorus, getting outside to revel in the vibrancy of springtime, listening to some favourite fun May Day songs, and whatever else takes my fancy.
Right, I'm hungry and am going to get myself some breakfast and listen to Hal An Tow and Merry May Folk. Do consider setting your alarm for 4:30 or 5am sometime over the next few days, and have a lovely rest of this long weekend!