Walking down to the river yesterday I heard a familiar pee-ee-ep and then over our headsย flew a flock of black and white, orange-tipped, arrows. These are theย Oyster catchersย who come to our valley to mate and raise young before returning to the coast. This seems to be a trait of northern Oyster catchers but less so in the south. Their call carries far across the landscape. I grew up near the sea and was used to this famous call. It’s funny that there it seemed such an eerie sound, a chilling lament across the sand bars. In the pastoral setting of our valley it feels a much friendlier cry and we are glad to see them as another signifier of the coming of spring.
