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Here I sit on the last day of February, spring just around the corner. But who mourns the passing of winter? Time seems to be wished away and all you hear is how spring is nearly here, people and wildlife seem to be getting excited by new beginnings. In autumn you don’t see many people excited about the onset of winter. Well I’m a fan!

OK the days are short and grey, but without leaves on the trees, it’s easier to see the birds that hang out there and the other wildlife that inhabits our woods and forests.

The winter visitors we’ve recently have been great! Having complained about the lack of siskins on our feeder earlier this year, they’ve appeared with a vengeance. But they’ll shortly disappear from these parts, with the ones at The Lodge probably off back to Scandinavia.

Another finch I’ll miss is the orange, white and black brambling, there has been distinctly less of them about the last couple of weeks. One lunchtime, Mark and myself were lucky enough to see seven (yes seven!) species of finch on one set of feeders at the same time. Including another winter visitor, mealy redpoll, a rare visitor. For a couple of weeks in February, The Lodge went finchtastic!

But now the great spotted woodpeckers are drumming and the robins pairing up, so soon many of these finches will be off. The waders, ducks, geese and swans that also call the UK home for the winter will join them in heading (mainly) north. Yes they’ll be replaced by the ‘fair weather’ visitors from the south, but I for one will miss the antics of the siskins on our feeder, chasing off any other bird that dares to eat when they are!

I think winter is great, so let’s say fare thee well and come back soon (although not too soon, I’d like a nice spring and summer first!).

This morning, I woke just before 1 am to the sound of my bedroom door rattling, and shelves and a filing cabinet shaking. I opened my eyes and felt the whole room wobbling!

Even 90 miles away, some of us felt vibrations from the tremors that struck Market Rasen in Lincolnshire, though we were lucky enough not to suffer any damage.

A friend of mine who lives in Peterborough, closer to the epicentre, was already wide-awake, playing on his computer. He likened the sound to 'the low rumble of a truck pulling up outside followed by at least 50 cats bouncing up and down on the conservatory roof', but when he stepped outside, the air was full of blackbird and robin song.

Some birds do sing at night at this time of year, notably the two species mentioned, but not in the same numbers as my friend heard. Birds must be used to roosting in trees which wobble about in the wind, so what caused them to wake up and start singing?

It's been thought for centuries that animals are sensitive to earthquakes and other natural phenomena. In 373 BC, contemporary historians recorded that small animals deserted the Greek city of Helice before an earthquake razed it.

Having canvassed friends and colleagues who live nearer The Lodge, the majority slept through this momentous event and were bemused by the headlines on the television and radio when they finally woke.

I like the idea that the 'quake might make people think a bit more about the natural world and what goes on in it. You have to marvel at the power of nature when something like this happens, and it's all down to some large rocks shifting around underneath us...

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I think it's easy to take the wildife in our local area for granted when we see it everyday. On wintery mornings, I tend to ignore the frosted leaves and spiders' webs glistening on my neighbour's holly bush. Instead, I frantically try to clear the ice from my windscreen without being late for work. I march blindly past green shoots beginning to pop out of the ground in my front garden, and I am oblivious to the sounds of birds overhead.

Travelling offers a chance to change this attitude and learn a new appreciation for nature. I should know - I've just got back from a brilliant five month trip through Australia, New Zealand and south-east Asia. Each country offered new birds, insects and mammals, and everything in the natural world became a novelty.

September in Western Australia brought kangaroos with joeys in their pouches hopping onto campsites and across golf courses. They came out at dusk, with their yellow eyes flashing in the dark. I used to love watching 'Skippy the bush kangaroo' on television when I was young. To see these creatures in the wild for the first time was exhilirating as an adult and I remembered how excited I used to get about wildlife when I was a child.

The Karri forests south of Perth were silent and massive. The photos I have don't do these trees justice - you have to see them to really appreciate these silvery giants.

October in New Zealand brought possums creeping through the bush and cheeky keas strolling through carparks, pecking at tourists' cars and shoes.

November to January in south-east Asia, with its sunshine, beaches and jungles, was teeming with wildlife. In Thailand's Khao Sok National Park, I was transfixed by huge butterflies bobbing through the jungle. Monkeys squabbled in the trees overhead, and snakes balanced on branches, curled into scaly black and yellow bundles.

Returning to England this month, I am grateful for many things, especially wine, the NHS and cheese sandwiches. But my travels have also renewed my enthusiasm for my local wildlife, and now I take time to say wow! to the frosty spiders' webs before de-icing my car. Back at work, siskins flit between the feeders at The Lodge, and I remember that there is plenty of great wildlife to see on my doorstep. It's just a shame that my doorstep isn't a Thai beach!

Spring is here: the days are definitely getting longer. I can tell because when I get home from work, I can find the keyhole in my front door without having to get a torch out.

Birds have noticed, too. Open a window just about anywhere, anytime, at the moment and your ears will be assailed with the glorious racket of birdsong. Birds appreciate the gradually lengthening hours of daylight and they're cranking up the volume accordingly.

People often talk about the 'dawn chorus' as the best time to hear birdsong, which is probably true. The peak time is early May, when all the spring migrants have arrived and are making themselves heard. It's a thrilling experience to be out at first light (which means 4 am, unfortunately), to hear the birds waking up and starting to sing, building to a crescendo as they all try to sing over each other. It's nature's organised chaos.

However, if you're interested in learning to tell one bird noise from another, now is as good a time as any to get a grasp of the basics. You don't even have to get up early. There are fewer species present at the moment, and - very importantly - there aren't any pesky leaves to get in the way when you're trying to see the source of the noise.

Working out which bird is making which sound is quite daunting. To start with, everything sounds pretty much the same, and it's hard to pick out one sound from the general background noise.

Listen carefully, concentrate on one bird at a time, and you'll start to recognise the different pitches, tones, speeds and 'styles' of song. Some birds - cuckoos and chiffchaffs - sing their names, but not all are as obliging. It just adds to the fun, and a sense of achievement when you finally get tuned into their frequency.

The best way to get a foothold in the world of birdsong is to borrow the ears of someone who knows what they're listening to - get them to take you out for a walk. RSPB local groups and events are great ways to learn. CDs and DVDs can be really useful, too, though there's no substitute for getting out there and listening to the real thing.

Our A-Z of birds pages contain many useful sound clips.

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Momentarily panicked by the words ‘Mother’s Day – don’t forget’ scribed on the calendar in menacing red ink, it came as a relief to see I wouldn’t be receiving a black mark from my mother for missing the big day!

The arrival of a pair of collared doves on the fence outside provided a welcome distraction from thoughts of flowers and presents. Their amorous, ‘head bobbing’ courtship dance got me thinking about mothers of a different kind – the ‘mums to be’ of the bird world.

With bobble-barked elder bushes sprouting bright green, the ‘bicycle pump’ song of great tits sounding out on sunny mornings and song thrushes in their finest voice, an early spring is in the offing again.

In spite of the early date of Mothering Sunday this year, it seem as if quite a few birds will be mothers themselves by that time. The patter of tiny feet, well claws, will be heard in many gardens.

Robins were feeding young in January in some parts and family parties of crossbills - curve-billed, parrot-like finches of coniferous forests, were seen back in December. Now that really is quick off the mark!

Mothers will be putting on their best dresses on March 2 and female birds will be making sure they look their best too. Preening and bathing regularly keeps their feathers in good shape. Well-groomed birds are healthy birds, so your garden birds will probably seem more vain than usual at the moment!

Mother’s day gifts traditionally include chocolates and sweets, but this isn’t a time for extravagant luxuries for female birds. They must maintain the healthiest of diets to come into peak condition in time to raise a family.

Servings of grit may seem like an odd addition to the menu, but as well as aiding digestion, these can provide calcium to help form strong, healthy eggs. Have you seen female house sparrows and chaffinches hopping around on your driveway, picking up stones in their beaks? If you have, the chances are they will soon be expecting!

The sun was burning orange on the horizon as we sneaked out into the gardens for our shady rendez-vous. 4.40, in the rhododendrons, see you there.

It was a select gathering: a gaggle of web team members, some biologists, an editor and someone from IT. We stood in a row along the path behind the house and peered in the fading light at a bare tree above the rhododendrons.

There they were - the objects of our desire. Bramblings, the more upmarket, special Scandinavian cousin of our common chaffinch. To be precise, 37 bramblings were sitting together in the trees, getting ready to roost in the bushes below. Too often, you see them singly, so it was a real treat to see so many together.

The truth is that I was slightly disappointed. Seeing 37 bramblings was good, but unfortunately it was nearly dark and the birds were mere silhouettes. Knowing how good they look when it's not dark made it an anti-climax.

For that reason, there was unfettered joy in our office this morning when Lucinda spotted a handsome male brambling perching in the tree right outside our window! We got a good look at him - orange breast, black head, white tummy with black spots and yellow bill - before he flew off into the woods. Will he come back and grace our feeder?

Keep an eye out in your garden or local park for bramblings anytime now. There are plenty around this year, so keep checking those chaffinches and you may be rewarded. If you're not sure what you're looking at, try our bird identifier.

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