The Adventures of Algy

It was Sunday again… already! And it was another fine, dry, bright and sunny day in the wild west Highlands of Scotland, but, as Algy discovered, the air was cold and the wind was remarkably chilly, and altogether it did not feel anything like as warm and inviting as it looked…

But it was spring nonetheless: plants were bursting into fresh green growth all over the garden, trees and shrubs were starting to flower, the great white cherry blossom was buzzing with bees, and the birds were exceedingly busy in the bushes and – Algy hoped – in the nest boxes which his assistants had installed especially for their use 😀

Collecting a volume of poetry from his own personal library, Algy tried to find a suitable place in which to relax and indulge in his usual Sunday reading, but many of his favourite spots felt too cold. Eventually, however, he settled down upon a sunny slope where a patch of cowslips had just begun to flower, and opened his book of verse, which was devoted to poems about the four seasons. Turning the pages, he was rather surprised to see a poem by D H Lawrence:

[Algy is reading the poem The Enkindled Spring by the 20th century English writer D H Lawrence.]

The wild west Highlands of Scotland were enjoying a period of fine, dry, sunny weather, typical of April in this part of the world, and although it was not particularly warm, and the wind was often strong and cold, the land was full of light and colour once more, at least for the time being.

The white-blossomed cherries in Algy's assistants' garden usually flowered at Easter, but this year the blossom was coming out a wee bit earlier than usual, like many of the flowers in the garden, and Easter happened to be particularly later, so they did not coincide.

Nevertheless, the white cherry blossom always reminded Algy of Housman's poem, and as Algy perched among the beautiful flowers on a bright though chilly spring day, and listened to the bumblebees buzzing about around him, he also recalled the last time he had been photographed in this particular tree at blossom time, and had recited that particular poem, because that was the day, three years ago, when he had last seen his special friend the little green dragon, after which Algy had paused his adventures for over two years…

Algy was hoping very much that as he had resumed his adventures and it was now spring again, the little green dragon might possibly return, but in the meantime he resolved to enjoy the beautiful blossom, for it only came once a year, at most!

[Algy is quoting the poem Loveliest of trees from the collection A Shropshire Lad by the late 19th century/early 20th century English poet and classical scholar A E Housman.]

While Algy was resting peacefully in the sunshine, engrossed in reading his wee book of poetry, he noticed a tickling sensation on his left wing, and when he turned his head to investigate, he found that a beautiful bumblebee had come to visit him (can you see it?).

The bee climbed up on to his shoulder, and Algy was surprised to hear it whisper a short poem in his ear, in a gentle, buzzing sort of way. So Algy listened carefully, but when it had finished he assured the bee that in fact there was plenty of clover in the garden, and he was delighted that the bee was there with him, for he much preferred its company to revery alone:

[The bee is whispering the poem To make a prairie it takes a clover by the 19th century American poet Emily Dickinson.]

The wind had roared and the rain had poured, all through the previous day and into the night – while the dense Scotch mist had completely smothered the landscape so that nothing was visible at all – but Sunday morning dawned bright and clear, and although the air was still very cold and the cold north wind uncomfortably brisk, it was undoubtedly a beautiful early spring day.

And it was Sunday. So Algy collected one of his new wee poetry books, and settled down on the grass in the sunshine, among a plethora of early spring flowers. Bumblebees buzzed about around him, and his many feathered cousins were twittering and singing in the trees, and as he turned the page of his tiny volume he read:

[Algy is reading the poem The Bird by the 17th century Welsh metaphysical poet Henry Vaughan.]

In Algy's opinion, the weather during the past week had been a wee bit disappointing… It was true that there had been occasional bursts of sunshine, and even one or two glimpses of blue sky, but it had been consistently cold, very windy, and often exceedingly wet, with dense Scotch mist obsuring the landscape much of the time.

And Saturday morning turned out to be even worse, with bursts of torrential rain driven by very strong winds. However, Algy was determined to try out his new umbrella, which his assistant had given him on the occasion of his birthday to ensure that he would have a rainbow on every day that it rained, even when the sky was completely overcast.

So he set out to find a place where the umbrella could be employed without risk of it flying away across the nearby ocean, despite the fact that with winds gusting to 50 mph this was not entirely straightforward… Eventually, however, Algy discovered a spot in his assistants' garden that was sufficiently sheltered from the roaring south-westerly, and as he settled down beneath his own personal rainbow on the wet grass, he was thrilled to find a beautiful snake's head fritillary growing right in front of his beak.

As he listened to the rain falling on his umbrella and the wind roaring in the trees, Algy had difficulty believing the weather birds' forecast for the coming week, for they were saying that a big change was coming, and that it would turn relatively warm and sunny by the middle of the week. Personally he thought that it was as likely that fishes would set up umbrellas when it rained as that the sun would shine for days on end, as forecast, but he was willing – indeed eager – to keep an open mind and hope…

[Algy is thinking of the nursery rhyme When fishes set umbrellas up from the book of nursery rhymes Sing-Song by the 19th century English poet Christina Rossetti.]

The weather had remained grey, dreich and windy for several days, and although it was by no means freezing, it felt very much chillier than Algy found comfortable. It had been raining too, sometimes quite heavily, and although it was more or less dry again for the moment, the weather birds were predicting that plenty more rain would arrive later in the day. Algy felt that it was altogether unsuitable for adventuring out and about in the wild west Highlands, and he was reluctant to stray from the relative shelter of his assistants' garden until conditions improved…

So he decided to revisit the "Flight of the Butterflies" miniature cherry that he loved, for it was the only tree in blossom this early in the year. It grew in a sheltered part of his assistants' garden, and Algy guessed that it would be pleasant to take a wee ride upon it, while inspecting the delicate flowers more closely.

It was indeed relatively calm in that particular spot, as he had hoped, but as Algy rocked gently on the swaying branches he could hear the wind rushing much more vigorously through the taller trees nearby. Looking up, he noticed that some of the local birds were being blown about the sky unceremoniously by the stronger gusts, and he thought:

[Algy is thinking of the poem The Wind from the volume A Child's Garden of Verses by the 19th century Scottish author Robert Louis Stevenson.]

Whenever possible, Algy likes to spend a Sunday afternoon reading one of his poetry books in a quiet spot in his assistants' garden.

And on this particular Sunday, Algy chose to rest upon a thick carpet of green periwinkle, beneath the spreading, blossoming branches of a miniature early flowering ornamental cherry tree, which was blessed with what Algy considered to be the loveliest plant name of all… "Flight of the Butterflies".

Algy fluffed up his feathers, for the air was very chilly, with the wind in the north again, but the sunlight was bright, and as he opened the wee book which a kind friend had given him for his birthday, Algy heard the first skylark of the spring trilling overhead, as well as the twittering songs of several of the garden birds who were busy all around him.

Algy listened carefully as he read, for he was sure that the birds were singing very much the same refrain that Alfred, Lord Tennyson heard a thrush sing, nearly 200 years ago:

[Algy is reading the poem The Throstle by the 19th century English poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson.]

Algy flew over to another hazel bush, which was thriving on the banks of the burn, and as he settled himself among the dense mass of twigs, the sun suddenly came out again and lit up the yellow catkins that were dangling all around him.

Recalling the old Hazel-Catkin Fairy rhyme for children, Algy began to sing it to a tune of his devising, reflecting as he sang that the catkins did indeed look like the tails of wee lambs. And he was happy to think that, with luck, there should be a plentiful supply of hazelnuts at the end of the summer for his feathered and furry friends that lived in the wilderness of the wild west Highlands of Scotland.

[Algy is quoting the Hazel-Catkin Fairy rhyme from the ever popular Flower Fairies books for children by the English 20th century illustrator Cicely Mary Barker.]

The weather had changed, just as the forecast had predicted, and although the air rushing in from the south-east was milder, it was arriving on a very brisk wind… And by nightfall it would be raining again, or so the weather birds were saying, but for the moment at least it remained dry, and there was even some hazy sunshine at times, although at other times the sky turned entirely grey.

Algy perched among the still-bare brances of a dense clump of hazel bushes near the burn, and looked around. Although the landscape still appeared entirely drab from a distance – except where there were dazzling stands of gorse – closer inspection revealed bright new things beginning to grow, and in places there was even some fresh green on the ground, although it was not yet the green of grass.

As he rested among the hazel twigs Algy reflected:

[Algy is thinking of the poem Early Spring by the 19th century English poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson.]

Spring at last!

It was the spring equinox, and Algy couldn't be more thrilled to be out and about adventuring after the long, dark, dreary months of winter…

At this time of year, the weather in the wild west Highlands of Scotland was apt to do almost anything, but for once it had decided to provide a fine, dry spell around the time of the equinox, and although Algy knew that the good weather was unlikely to last long, it was wonderful to see the world glowing with light and colour again.

One colour in particular alway stood out – or perhaps Algy should say screamed out – in the local environment in spring, and although it was not to everybody's taste, Algy loved it, for it matched his hair and brought the drab end-of-winter landscape to life. Of course the experience of blending with this particular yellow tended to be somewhat prickly, to say the least, but Algy put up with that for the sake of the joyful colour and scent.

As Algy rested briefly but happily in the mass of gorse, he thought…

…for although it was not the start of the calendar year, it was quite obviously the start of the year in a much more real sense, and the start of a new year of adventures.

[Algy is thinking of the first verse of the poem Spring by the late 18th/early 19th century English poet William Blake.]

Algy had never seen a bicycle before, so he was naturally intrigued when his assistant obtained one and started cycling around the local landscape.

A fluffy bird, of course, does not need a machine to get from one place to another, so when his assistant next set out on her bike, Algy flew along above her, to keep an eye, and to try to observe how the strange contraption worked.

Algy had had no intention of being involved with any kind of machine, but when his assistant paused at a passing place on the road, in order to take some photos, he found that in fact he was consumed with a longing to try it for himself, and so he asked whether he could please try riding the bicycle, believing, like Mulga Bill, that he would "ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight". Posing proudly for the obligatory "first time on a bicycle" photograph, Algy then commenced to set off along the road…

But, just like Mulga Bill, he found that when:

However, Mulga Bill was of course not a fluffy bird, and there Algy had the advantage, because when the bike ran away with him he simply leaped into the air and flew back to his assistant to apologise.

Retrieving the bike from the bushes, she recited the whole poem for Algy's benefit, and advised him to stick to flying in the future 😀

[Algy's assistant is reciting the poem Mulga Bill's Bicycle by the late 19th/early 20th century Australian bush poet Andrew Barton "Banjo" Paterson.]

If you would like to see more photos (without Algy) from Algy's assistant's cycling adventures, please visit her sideblog @photocyclelog

Algy would like to draw your kind attention to the fact that his assistant, for better or for worse, has today created a new sideblog @photocyclelog… 🚲

Having decided to resume cycling after a gap of a great many more years than she is willing to admit – both for the sake of her health and in order to get out and about without a car – she realised that by taking a pocket camera with her, and posting photos here on tumblr, she would provide herself with an additional incentive to get on her new bike, as the weather in the wild west Highlands of Scotland does not always encourage local residents to rush outside and take exercise… 😀

@photcyclelog will feature only her original photos, mainly taken with a pocket camera, and with minimal text. As it's a sideblog, any comments or replies will therefore come from @adventuresofalgy, which may be confusing…

Algy is of course hoping to accompany his assistant on some of her outings, but his own adventures will always continue to appear here on his own blog.

Algy thanks you very much for your kind indulgence 🚲

It was the morning of St. Patrick's Day, and Algy was resting quietly on a wee log beside the daffodils, when all of a sudden a rather unusual visitor appeared…☘️

Some of Algy's more longstanding tumblr friends will recall that Algy's hair always turns green on St. Patrick's Day… but they never knew how it was done. Now, perhaps, they have a clue…☘️

The wee fellow cavorted around Algy with boundless energy, leaping and laughing until Algy was quite dizzy, and as it capered and frolicked about, it chanted an old poem with great glee…

Algy wishes a very Happy St. Patrick's Day to all of his friends in Ireland or with Irish heritage ☘️

[The Leprachaun is chanting the poem The Leprachaun by the 19th century Irish poet William Allingham.]

Algy was sorry that Ludwig, the very special friend of his good friend Bud @bwwhitney in New England, was delayed in getting to Algy's birthday party, but hardly surprised, as a creature of that size and build could not be expected to travel as easily across the mighty Atlantic Ocean as some of Algy's feathered American friends. Algy is just delighted that Ludwig managed to get here🦖

And Ludwig really needn't have worried, because late-arriving guests are especially welcome at Algy's parties; it's always rather sad when a party ends, and a lovely surprise when extra guests turn up and help to extend the celebrations 🎉

Algy hopes that Ludwig likes sachertorte, because he has saved a piece especially for him… and there are also still plenty of balloons and fluffy guests for Ludwig to play with 😀

It was a perfectly beautiful early spring day, and although Algy got up a wee bit late after his amazing birthday party, which had continued well into the middle of the night, that was perhaps just as well, for there had been a widespread frost again in the night, and despite the glorious sunshine the air was cold.

Wrapping his brand new birthday spring scarf around his neck, Algy borrowed a wee blackboard and some coloured chalks from his assistant's studio, and sat down to write a thank you note to all the wonderful friends who had made his 13th birthday party so hugely enjoyable.

Algy was profoundly grateful to everyone who had sent him birthday greetings and special posts, and to all who had contributed with "likes", comments and reblogs – for without your participation, Algy's birthday party would have been just nothing at all!

Algy thinks that you are all amazing, and he is exceedingly lucky to have so many wonderful friends around the world. He sends you all his very fluffiest hugs and thanks 🤗

[Algy is quoting the poem Gratitude by the late 19th/early 20th century Canadian writer Lucy Maud Montgomery.]