A very strange and unfamiliar thing happened this weekend — one that’s literally unprecedented. It was unexpected and rather lovely. That happening was . . . I met a reader of this blog who liked it! I knew there had to be someone out there who clicked on these infrequent updates!

The closest I have come to this phenomenon happened many years ago. As a student, in a kind of I-will-if-you-will pact, a friend — a truly gifted poet — and I agreed to enter the university’s annual poetry prize. She went on to win. Later I encountered the judge, a poetry professor who said, kindly, “I really liked your poetry, Jeremy — it was very funny.”

The problem was, of course, that the poetry was the anguished outpourings of a deadly serious, self-involved young man of limited talent. The compliment did not land as intended and an unpromising poetry career died right there.

Anyway, this more positive feedback inspired me to get over whatever has caused this blog to assume back-boiler status and thrust it into the sizzling deep frier. But what to actually say? Well, I guess I should catch you all up on what’s been going on hereabouts.

For a start, you’ll be delighted to know that bike riding has returned to the agenda, and today I was swooped by a Magpie! It’s pretty late in the season for that, but I appreciated the gesture. It’s the kind of event that connects the present with the past . . . in a good way. And it was appreciated, I can tell you, because not much else has been going as expected, bird-wise.

Take for example the kestrels. For the last three years, it has become clear that a pair of kestrels will nest in the ‘block of flats’ tree just outside town — presenting numerous opportunities for close-up photography of the key moments in their summer. Last year I was able to track the raising of a pair of little Kestrels from conception through feeding to first tentative flight. This year? They have failed to take up their tenancy.

I don’t know why. I started checking the site around the time they showed up last year, but nada. For a while I thought they had moved up the hill near the waterworks: I saw their enthusiastic mating ritual twice up there, leading to feelings of voyeurism as I snapped away like a paparazzo.

I also noted them perched far out of range on a telegraph pole in the valley. Not great for photography, but at least their location was known. But I haven’t seen them for a couple of weeks now, so perhaps they’re percolating their eggs elsewhere.

Adding to this disappointing development, now the Sacred Kingfishers have chosen to shun their usual spot in Bicentennial Park. I thought the immutable cycles of nature would bring them back every summer. Last year they arrived on time and appeared to be on track to raise a brood in the spot where, with a bit of stalking and a long lens, some decent pics were possible.

But then a gentleman of the road — an unhomed person, to use the current term — pitched his tent right under their tree (clearly seeing the same benefits of the location that they did). His drunken returns to his tiny tent, the loud barking of his dog, the growing pile of sherry bottles by the creek were not promising portents.

Then of course, at the critical time when a nesting site should have been chosen, I broke my ankle and emerged from purdah well after the time the chicks usually fly off on the great journey of their lives. I didn’t know if there had been any chicks at all; and this year, a breeding couple failed to appear in the usual spot at the usual time. Someone further upriver has posted on Facebook that they have a pair — maybe my pair — showing all the signs of settling in. Our usual site remains deserted.

So Archie and I have been patrolling the usual sites in the hopes that avian photo opportunities will appear, to very little avail. It’s left us feeling strangely bereft. Of course, for him, this loss is more than compensated for by what appears to be a rabbit infestation along his favourite walkies route.

It’s difficult to land on an explanation for these changes: there are so many variables. Is this just what birds do? Did the late, cold, dry spring confuse their migratory patterns — or limit their food supply? Perhaps the unhomed gentleman wasn’t to blame at all.

In fact, the common denominator to these phenomena is your very own correspondent, Yours Truly — me, myself and I. There’s a thing in the sciences called the observer effect, where the mere presence of a boffin conducting an experiment can influence the outcome. It’s a bit like that situation where you proudly demonstrate your dog or child’s ability to perform some trick or task, only for them to refuse to do it, or cock their leg (dog, not child), or burst into tears (child, not dog), thereby embarrassing you and casting doubt on your abilities as a parent (child or dog).

Well, in the bird-related situations above, the common denominator is the persistent photographer. Is it the intrusive attentions of the long-lensed beast that has discouraged the concupiscent couples from settling into their desired nesting sites? It’s a constant worry when you’re stalking around trying to get that perfect shot, but it’s hard to know how intrusive the subject matter really finds you.

Still, when nature taketh away, it often also giveth. For example, this year I have noticed many more Rufous Whistlers piping unseen, and last night a tiny and very vocal brown bird appeared close to dusk in the Corner Cottage garden. Perhaps the same factors that have curtailed the activities of last year’s birds have invited others to move in — a bit like Archie’s rabbits.

Maybe the butterflies send the best signal that changes bring compensations as well as disappointments. They’ve been changeable since we got here: in the first year, we had Painted Ladies, Meadow Arguses, Yellow Admirals, Caper Whites, and the ubiquitous Common Brown. In the following years, Admirals and Capers disappeared, and the Common Brown became dominant. I spotted just one Monarch and one Orchard Butterfly — the latter a particular frustration.

But get this: the other morning, I was pottering about in the garden when an imposing presence flickered in the corner of my eye. It was an Orchard! Just like before, I had no specialist lens or camera to capture it, and off it flew. But I have learnt that these beasts often circle around in their search for nectar, so dashed inside and grabbed a camera — and back it came! The resulting shots aren’t exactly publication standard (those distracting white railings behind!), but they’re enough to consider the Orchard an official Corner Cottage visitor.

Anyway, I’m not pretending this is a nice, neat solution to the strange disappearance of Kingfishers and Kestrels. Truth be told, I’d prefer to have those in my viewfinder, but needs must. There’s enough out there to keep the camera’s eye occupied for now, until the unfathomable polyrhythms of all the earth’s living things bring something spectacular around again. Or something new.

Best I can say is, watch this space!