A short walk in Upper Teesdale reveals that Spring has come to the North Pennines.  Flushes of bright green along the edge of rivulets show where fresh new vegetation is growing. A dozen black grouse parade one behind another across the lower pastures, while oystercatchers prospect for nesting sites along the streambanks. Curlews drift overhead, their ringing “Coor-li! Coor-li!” an invitation to the whole world to waken from winter’s sleep and rejoice in the new season.

Much as I love the curlews, today it is the lapwings that demand attention. They seem to be everywhere, rising from the ground almost at our feet, twisting and tumbling in the air., constantly calling their folk-name: “Pee-wit!” As the birds turn, their wings flash black to white and back again to black; their name, lapwing, comes from the Old English, meaning “to leap with a flicker”.

The males are showing off their flying skills like pilots at an air show, swooping down towards the ground and then - at the very last second - seeming to catch an updraft from some small rise in the land, and lifting off again into the sky.  Groups of two or three males conduct aerial skirmishes, circling around one another in a three-dimensional tango of advance and retreat. I try to watch them while I walk, but quickly become dizzy, so I stop. I’d rather let my heart leap and tumble with the birds in this celebration of spring than have my feet cover distance on the path.

Meanwhile, there are more lapwings on the ground, many of them tilted forward, beaks to the ground, their apricot undertails exposed to the sky. Some of the birds are pulling at the grass and rubbing their breasts across the ground while keeping their wings wide open. I’ve never seen this behavior before and assume it must be something to do with mating. Later I learn that these are ardent males, displaying their nest-building prowess by constructing multiple scrapes in hopes that one appeals to a female. If the nearby birds are females, they seem unimpressed.

I am reminded of the lapwing in John Gower’s poem, Confessio Amantis, or The Lover’s Confession:

“And on his hed ther stant upriht,
A creste in tokne he was a kniht”.

Lapwing as knight: the image seems so fitting for these courtly birds, jousting in the skies for the favor of a fair lady.