GROW YOUR OWN FOOD WITH DIRTY NAILS APRIL, 4TH WEEK WATCHING AND LISTENING As April transcends magically into May, Dirty Nails has the time of his life getting amongst his veg at every opportunity. As with children, tender loving care lavished at a young and formative age is a worthwhile investment for a hopefully healthy and productive life.

There is so much going on outdoors at this time of year that it is sometimes hard to keep track of. Grass is growing visibly daily, leaves are bursting out and unfolding in a myriad of shapes and shades of green. Humming gently with busy bees, forget-me-nots and fairy ringers paint flower borders blue. Tulips provide bold splashes of temporary deep-purple and anenomies red. For Dirty Nails, who is minded to get up at daybreak and bend his back for a couple of hours before work, the passing of late spring into early summer has multiple joys beyond tending shallots, lettuces, potatoes, and the like. Every morning he is treated to a chorus of male cuckoos calling across the valley that stretches out below his plot. Whether he pauses to stretch and drink in the hypnotic notes, or lends an ear while still scratching the ground, their music invokes some kind of religious experience in the listener, taking him to a place where he wants to be.

Earlier in the week, before much of the motorised world had woken up in these parts, Dirty Nails was taking a breather, having a look around, thinking about something and nothing. Suddenly two roebuck crashed through the bramble thicket adjacent to his veg patch, one behind the other. They bounded along the path, over his spuds, and away through a gap in the hedge further up. Dirty Nails felt honoured to witness this snippet of their lives, was impressed by their handsome gracefulness, and aware that his unnoticed attendance at this scene meant nothing special to the deer. This chasing is typical roebuck behaviour around now, as they establish and defend territories. Last evening just before dusk, Dirty Nails was watching gambolling lambs and their mothers in the next field. Like a slinky will-o‘-the-wisp, a fox appeared. He gave the newborns not a second glance as he trotted along, zig-zagging with his nose to the ground. The curve of the land took foxy out of sight for a few minutes, but his gingery, cat-like form came into view once more as he stole along a far hedge. Squatting twice to scent-mark tufts of grass, the fox came closer until he was sitting looking full-on at Dirty Nails. Then, indiscernibly, the breeze must have changed direction because old ‘Brother Dusty Feet’ suddenly jumped up, turned tail, and dashed away into the encroaching gloom.

EXTRACTS FROM DIRTY NAILS’ JOURNAL WATCHING BLACKCAPS IN WEST DORSET “Have just spent over twenty mesmerising minutes listening to, and then watching, a male blackcap. His song is delicious, a rich and fulfilling warble delivered from amongst flowering pussy willow spilling out of the woodland just downstream from the main track bridge. The summer visitor’s vibrant music was distinctive and beautiful over the chiffchaff’s incessant repeat and the medley of other background birdsongs. I walked over and stood, bathed in warm sunshine, looking into the shaded edge land for any sight or sign of movement. I scanned the area from which I believed the sound to come for ages, with many false alerts. Another blackcap even flew across the magnified binocular scene, momentarily distracting me from the chosen bird. Then, standing transfixed by the fluid-bodied bubbles and trills, I saw him taking to the wing and shifting position in the scrubby tangle to another sallow a bit further down. At last he was filling the lens, in full glorious real-life, flitting and skipping seamlessly amongst the yellow flowered scaffolding of twigs and branches. Then he stopped, opened his beak and poured out another cascading torrent of notes, feathers on his chest catching in a soft breeze. I watched, knowing at that moment that this is what I had waited for. Indeed, when I purchased these binoculars many months ago, this is why I had spent the money! And spectacularly, another male came in to eye-shot. Another small bird with browny back, creamy-grey chest, nondescript looking and wearing a flat-cap of jet black feathers. ’My’ bird continued to sing as the other moved on. Then, with a pause and a bob, he also took off. I dropped the glasses down and watched as he flew across the field corner and alighted in the brambles under some huge old ivy clad oaks.”

A Vegetable Gardener's Year by Dirty Nails (ISBN 9781905862221) is available from www.dirtynails.co.uk or good bookshops, rrp £12.99