Epiphany in a plum tree

I've just had a religious experience in the backyard.

No, there were no choirs of angels and, no, I haven't started hearing voices. There was no sign of Jesus or Moses and I didn't discover the face of the Virgin Mary in the kids' sandpit, even though the capitalist in me wishes I had.

However, what happened did leave me feeling as though I had witnessed something divine. I was innocently taking out the compost bucket when a rudely healthy kereru (wood pigeon) flew into view and landed in our blossom-laden plum tree. If that wasn't impressive enough, another one suddenly swooped out of the sky and grabbed a perch as well. Before I knew it, a third had landed in the tree, leaving me slack-jawed with admiration and appreciation. It was the second time I had seen three of them in the tree and I was rapt because it confirmed the previous visit hadn't been a one-off.

Then, as I stood there gazing at their chubby-chested loveliness, a fourth kereru landed on a branch. Amazing four kereru nonchalantly hanging out in our backyard just up the hill from Victory Square. I was so excited that after staring at them for 10 minutes, I had to shoot inside and email my wife at work and call my mum in Wellington to tell them.

What's more, the birds stuck around, devouring much of the tree's new growth. And while I love the plums, I can live with a smaller crop if the kereru stop regularly.

With their amazingly clean cloaks, luscious breasts and tiny heads, kereru are classic-looking characters. They look like they would be good to eat and I have it on good authority they are. An environmentalist friend, who declined to be named for fear of being lynched, once confirmed this suspicion to me.

She would normally take a bullet to save a kereru from becoming tucker, but several years ago she came across a dead one on the road and curiosity got the better of her. She took it home, plucked it and put it in the oven for dinner.

"It was delicious," she told me.

She went on to tell me how she and her former partner went through a phase of eating roadkill, the details of which I'll save for another day.

Of course, a big part of what makes kereru cool is the "whoop-whoop" sound their wings make in flight. They sound like helicopters. In fact, they sound so much like them I'm sure low-flying kereru have freaked out more than a few shell-shocked Vietnam War vets over the years.

Someone who shares my enthusiasm for kereru is Lesley Haddon, of the Brook, who has planted more than 500 natives on her property in the hope that, in the future, they will entice birds from the Brook Waimarama Sanctuary to venture closer to town. She buys root trainers from the Nelson Market and still has a third of her 1100-square-metre section to plant.

I met Lesley recently when I wrote a story about her campaign for The Leader. Lesley had contacted the paper because she wanted to encourage others to do the same.

Cynics would argue that such behaviour is motivated by self-interest, but, while I'm sure Lesley will enjoy seeing more birds in the neighbourhood, I suspect her primary motivations are altruistic.

If there is one thing I like about people like Lesley and the people who join groups such as Bird Life on the Grampians and turn up to the city's community plantings, it's that they remind us that not everyone operates solely on a what's-in-it-for-me basis. In fact, increasing levels of participation in such environmental exercises suggests a minor epidemic of altruism may be upon us.

The kereru will be pleased.

- © Fairfax NZ News

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