A Bird in the Hand is Worth Two in a Bush

I'm not sure what this saying means. I think it might mean something along the lines of 'If you've got hold of a bird e.g. a chicken, then potentially, if you are starving, then dinner isn't very far away...

'Oi!' says Miggins. 'Less of that talk, if you please.'

Whereas if you've got birds in a bush, you've got to catch the blighters first if they are to be of any edible assistance to you, and your woes will be compounded if the bush is, for example, of the holly variety and you don't happen to have your best up-to-the-elbow gardening gauntlets with you.

This is all hypothetical to us vegetarian varieties of course, who wouldn't dream of eating a bird. And given that I grasped completely the wrong of the plot stick of last Saturday's Doctor Who, I am probably way off with the Bird in the Hand theory, too.

'I should say so,' says Miggins. 'Is there a chance of some bed-time cocoa and a crumpet?'
'No,' I say. 'I am tucked onto the sofa for the evening, and I'm not providing a supper service for anyone.'

Anyway, the reason I mention the bird in the bush thing it that it appears we have residents in the laurel tree.

Now, the laurel tree used to reside 'neath the now defunct eucalyptus tree. In the shade it remained compact and bijou, certainly no more than about three feet high. But now it has been thrust into full sun, and become the Number One Dominant tree in the garden, it has gone a bit wild vis a vis putting on some hefty growth. Chris reliably informs me that said laurel will put out runners side by side, year after year until I have a laurel hedge. Which will be nice. Depending on how long I have to wait, of course.

The laurel tree (nay, no longer bush) is now about twelve feet high, despite my best ministrations with the lethal shears Mum gave me for Christmas. But it is a lovely thing to look at - all dense and glossy leaved. And then, a couple of weeks ago...

'I can hear humming outside the back door,' said Andy.
'Do you know, I've heard humming outside the back door, too,' said I, because I had.
'I hope it's not wasps,' said Andy, and I agreed because we were about to install our bees and the last thing you want when you've got bees in your back garden is wasps. And bears. And raccoons.

I had a bit of a rummage in the tree. I did don my bee-suit in case I stumbled across a wasp nest, but I couldn't see anything untoward.

And then we noticed, over the ensuing days, that several bumblebees were in and out of the laurel foliage, flying, I must say, with determined purpose.

'Perhaps we've got a bumble nest in there?' I suggested. We were quite pleased at the thought. And there have been masses of bumblebees in the garden this year. (I think I can say my planting of the bee garden last year has been a minor success.)

Then today, I stood and watched as a lady blackbird carted beakful after beakful of straw/ hay/ paper and other nest-building type malarkey into the laurel tree.

'I think we have a pair of blackbirds taking up residence in the laurel tree,' I said to Andy, when he returned home to find me ensconsed in the 'conservatory', bee and birdie watching.

'Look at us! Look at us!!' shouted the chickens, jumping up and down and waving their bonnets in the air. 'We're birds, too! Look at us!!' (Honestly, they are such attention seekers.)

'Perhaps they are up to something with the bumblebees,' said Andy, although what he meant by that I wasn't quite sure.

But I like that we have more residents in the Manor gardens. That some wild creatures have passed by and thought, 'This looks like a good place to make a home. Shall we stay? Yes, let's!'

Blackbirds AND bumbles in the bush. How much that is worth, I wonder?