And so it goes

When I lived in Sydney, I had friends who lived in a newly developed area. On the drive there I'd pass a big field, and above the field there was always a hovering hawk. I'd look out for it as I drove past, happy each time to see it.

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There's a field next to our house, with two big walnut trees. Sometime between last winter and summer, one of them died.

The main view out my office window is of the dead tree. All summer I have kind of resented it. It was a barren grey skeleton amongst the otherwise lush greenness. It blocked my view of the hills beyond. Wouldn't it be good if we could chop it down, I mused.

Then winter came, and I am so happy to be able to gaze at this dead tree. A woodpecker hops around the trunk, pecking away for grubs. Robins and other small birds dive down from the branches to gather seeds from the weeds below then dart back up for safety. When it's clear, the trunk glows golden in the late afternoon light.

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One day on the drive to my friends' house, I saw that the field had been bulldozed, ready to build new houses. My eyes went up to look for the hawk... s/he was there, no longer hovering, instead perched on a telephone wire. Where will you hunt now? I thought sadly.

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We moved into the barn with no malice towards the local bird life. But I can't deny that this winter, the birds have less to eat because of our home. Even if I hadn't weeded the front garden, it still would have been mowed, as is the back garden which, while weedy, has no tall seeding plants. Plus a large area that for decades - maybe even a hundred years - was grasses is now paved.

The owners of the field have no immediate plans to sell, but eventually they, or their children, will - and the walnut trees will come down and houses will be built.

And like that we squeeze out the wildlife, mostly without even thinking about it.