About mid May Jim noticed a duck walking up the road and into his yard. On stooping below the enormous fir tree that guards his door he noticed a duck patiently sitting on a mound of feathers at the dark and secreted base of the tree. Every day she was there, leaving occasionally to march off through the car park, across the road, through the waste land and onto the canal.
Whilst maintaining her solitary vigil at the nest she had to endure the careless comings and going of the car park a few feet away, the clashing of drums being taken to and from the door, and one day someone ran into the wall right next to her, collapsing it. From then on there was Jim mixing concrete, chipping stones, and surrounding her nest (thoughtfully) with an enclosure of old worked gritstone hunks as he rebuilt the wall. Finally there was the noisy invasion of helpful Poles who saw Jim struggling with the 6ft long top stone of enormous weight, strolled over and heaved it up into place, knocking aside his carefully placed stick and lever system. We were worried about her being so far from the water, and having to walk on the busy road not only every day by herself but also with her ducklings when they hatched. Last weekend the nest was empty, the shells broken and we could see no sign of any ducks. Walking on the canal I saw her, next to the hole in the fence leading to the wasteground leading to the road leading to Jims house, with 10 little ducklings, bobbling and cheeping and running through the water when they got left behind.
not at home 
So cute! I’m glad they made it to the water.
LikeLike