C'est moi

As near to a selfie as I'll ever take:

Me in the doorway of the coal shed, April 2020

I'm forbidden to go into the coalshed for more than a minute these days, on account of the swallows starting to nest.  They are brave wee birds, as they sweep down from the sunny sky into the black void of the coal shed.  I assume it's the same birds that nested there last year and maybe the year before, but still it must take a leap of faith from them.  This year I happened to be watching when they made their first few passes, getting ever closer until one took the plunge and flew in.  He (or she) came out unscathed and after that it was full steam ahead and now they're in and out several dozen times a day, building their nests (or perhaps simply re-furbishing last year's). The swallows are synonymous with summer here for me, coming every year since I was a young 'un (and many years before that, no doubt).  The farm down the road used to be visited too, but about 10 or so years ago the last of the brothers that owned it passed away and the new owner did a major makeover....which it badly needed, I must admit, but the downside is that the old barns were renovated and closed in, so the swallows had no means of getting in.  I don't know where they went...but I'm guessing there are still enough old sheds and what have you dotted around the place that they found somewhere to nest without too much problem.

So I leave the doors open on our outhouses from about the first of April.  The swallows usually manage two broods before they leave for sunnier climes around mid September.  I feel bad for the second brood, as they don't have very long before they have to leave for the long journey to Southern Africa.  It is simply amazing that some are able to find their way back next April to the very shed that they were born in - they must have one heck of a good GPS system...