Of Encounters & Farewells

Loss of a tree, lake walks and the life of birds

Hello, I’m Claudia, and Happy Quiet Life is where I share my view on the world as a Highly Sensitive Person. You’ll find reflections and stories about slowing down & living simpler, reconnecting with nature, mental health & self-care, books & reading adventures. Welcome!

Autumn atmosphere at the lake

Lakeside walks

I met a friend for a two-hour walk around the lake (the go-to location for walks in our small town). The weather was in our favour, unlike last time when we met in July and got so soaked I had to throw away my dark-blue canvas shoes afterwards. This time it was kind to us, cloudy with sunny spells, windy, but astoundingly mild for October, I even took my jacket off. We enjoyed the fresh air after sitting at desks far too much, marvelled at the leaves that shone in all shades of yellow, ochre, red, brown and green - sometimes even on the same tree. A pretty special sight.

We walked and talked round after round, picking up the occasional conker like some other people on their afternoon walks. In the end, we both couldn’t remember how many times we circled that lake, deep in talk, laughing, enjoying an afternoon out.

We were not the only ones. It’s funny when you meet the same people over and over again - and when you meet for the third time or so, you smile at each other because everyone is amused and enjoys their time out.

Sometimes it’s just nice not to walk alone.

Lakeside promenade

It’s a good year for hazelnuts and conkers where I live. It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen that many. Our garden with two hazelnut trees is almost flooded with nuts. Every time we cross the lawn or the patio, we step on them. I dearly hope the squirrel I’ve seen a few weeks ago returns. A rich buffet awaits.

During the cold season I always carry a conker in my jacket or coat pocket. It has been the same one for some years now. The round shape and smooth texture makes it so pleasant to hold in my hand or move between my fingers. It’s relaxing and soothing and I love to have a token from nature with me wherever I go.

The old watermill in the background

When it’s time to part with something cherished

The huge lilac hadn’t blossomed properly for some years now, got only very few leaves, and we discovered that two of its main trunks were black and rotten. It hurt to cut it down because it had stood here for so long, and the sparrows, blue tits and great tits love it. It was their landing and take-off pad for visiting the feeding station a few metres across the lawn at the corkscrew hazel. There was always bustle and birdsong.

But after the initial sadness at the end of this era, I was delighted by how much sunlight now falls on the garden and the flowerbeds. Maybe the flowers do have a better chance next year to thrive and the lawn will become more than a fluffy moss carpet. (Although I liked the texture.)

Moss on the lilac trunk

Sometimes you just have to change something on a larger scale. After all the small and gentle adjustments, there might come a time that demands for a more radical change - and you’ll never know what good comes out of it. New options, a new outlook.

I love the wider view I have now, of the sky, of the tall tree in the garden two doors down where the jackdaws like to hang out. It’s astounding how relieved I feel. Sometimes the feeling of safety and shelter can turn into a feeling of confinement and constriction, as if the walls (or trees) are closing in on you without you even noticing at first. It’s time to move on then and change something.

It was hard work to cut the lilac down. We did it with rose pruners, loppers and a small assortment of saws. A stepladder, of course. We did it by hand and it took time. That’s the way we wanted it to do. (Well, it was me who wanted it, my husband complied. He knows my quirks.)

It’s about respect. The lilac had grown there for a long time, it has lived and provided shelter for birds including a nest where the ivy had thickened some years ago, it has given food for butterflies and has been a flight training site for the sparrow youngsters every summer. The least we could do was to honour its life and presence, its importance. That’s why we cut it down slowly, by hand, branch by branch.

Tribute to the beautiful lilac in better times

In all honesty: We let a slim part of it be for now, maybe a third of what it had been before. I couldn’t bring it over me to rob the birds of one of their favourite sitting tree entirely. Also, the big roots are still firmly in the soil, the bigger trunks still stand, unfazed by our efforts. Not sure what we will do about it. I tried digging, but didn’t get far. I shy away from seeing a motor saw being used in our garden. I couldn’t plant something new that close to the fence anyway, so maybe we build a platform on the trunks for another birdfeeder. Win-win-win, I’d say. The garden gets more sunlight, I get a wider view and the birds another feeding place. And maybe the lilac will renew itself and bud again.

Speaking of birds …

The last two weeks large flocks of Canada geese have been flying over the house all day (and in all directions which left me puzzled). Their loud honking sounds draw attention and it’s quite amazing to see their distinctive V-shaped flight formation. We see them all year round here, but this is the time for migration and their numbers rise daily. Our newspaper noted recently that there are hundreds of them on the lake. Usually the swans keep that number in check, but they appear to have gone to their winter quarters already. Just in time for the Canadian geese to take over.

I still look out for the heron, but rarely see him now. One day, however, I was lucky enough to see not just one, but two herons flying together over the neighbour’s house as I took out the used paper at 8 o’clock in the morning. What a sight!

In the garden, however, is where the real action is. The robin now comes very close to the house again, which it never does in the summer months. His red chest beaming amidst the fallen brown leaves of the corkscrew hazelnut. He has taken great pleasure in using the bird bath. The sparrows now bathe in groups, five or six at the same time, as more cannot fit in – and after they hop out, there is almost no water left in the bird bath. But of course, I’m happy to provide a refill whenever needed. I see greenfinches and chaffinches at the bird feeder now, too, and I heard my very first goldcrest. Consider me excited! Last year I wouldn’t have known what it sounded like, but I’ve learned a lot since then.

Now I’d love to see it as well!

I’ll keep an eye out …

Goldcrest (Photo by Vincent van Zalinge on Unsplash)

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