Birdwatching? Not my thing. Or at least that’s what I thought pre-pandemic. In fact, aside from shooing away bold pigeons from my park bench lunch-spot, or feeling grateful for an urban morning chorus, the daily business of birds wasn’t on my radar. Until 2021, that is, when I got obsessed with a gaggle of geese – or ‘skein’ as I now know is their collective name when airborne. Case in point: I am a birdwatcher now.

I’d moved to the countryside during lockdown and found that not only did life move slowly there – even when the restrictions were lifted, but the ebb and flow of British seasons was so much more obvious than it had ever been in the city. How had I missed the changing colours of the trees or the subtle shift in light as the days inched shorter and then longer again? I was also sensitive to new sounds in the sticks. I’d swapped sirens and street chatter for a hooting owl heard deep in the night and the whoosh of wind and rain as it whipped over the fields. My new home was silent yet so-very noisy, if that makes any sense at all.

So it’s no wonder that the geese became unmissable markers in my day. Honking, purposeful and united, they flew. Passing over my head on a dawn and dusk schedule dictated entirely by nature and a circadian clock. For no more than a minute – but twice daily on the dot – their loud clucks and cackles flooded the airspace above me.

Where have you come from? Where are you going? I’d wonder, when I heard them. I’d rush to the window and look skywards, my nose pressed to the pane to get a better glimpse of them in transit. This ‘watching’ began as curiosity, but it certainly became a habit. I’d go as far to say it was a daily highlight to see them doing their thing. During those mundane, predictable days when I sat at my desk from morning until night, the geese were a comforting fixture in my dull routine. And I found them utterly fascinating.

Where have you come from? Where are you going?

I borrowed a pair of binoculars and stood out at dawn. This strayed into proper birdwatching territory. I knew when to expect them so I’d rarely wait long before the raucous, V-shaped mob passed by. And then another, and then another, and another. So many geese.

They’d fly in groups of 10 or more, in what can only be described as flawless formation. To power themselves forwards, these weighty birds have to flap their wings heavily and the leader at the front of the pack works the hardest. Watching them in fast flight is seeing teamwork at its finest as they regularly switch places to pick up the slack and will stay perfectly aligned to block backwind and save energy. This strategic bit of slipstreaming may be based on physics, but there’s no better example of how constant communication and working together gets the job done.

Where have you come from? Where are you going?

I hit up Google to get more answers and learnt that in addition to being highly-sociable and great team players, these majestic birds are loyal. Geese mate for life and their family bonds are strong. The young learn everything they need to know about flying from their parents and using a mix of this training and an inbuilt GPS system, will take to the skies on the same migration routes year after year, for their entire lives. When a goose gets wounded or injured, others will drop out of formation to protect and care for it until it's ready to rejoin the group. What incredible life lessons from these mighty flyers.  

My geese neighbours grounded me in 2021 and from this point forward I’ll forever be a fan. However, as life gets busier, I’m now noticing them less and less. Other things seem to be drowning out nature’s soundtrack. But while I’m no longer stuck in the house looking outwards and upwards, they’ll still stop me in my tracks when I see them fly over. And I will still always wonder: Where have you come from? Where are you going?

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