A morning under the apple trees
It was a calm Saturday morning about nine o’clock when a flicker of movement under the apple trees caught my eye. I’d left the fallen apples where they landed, with a few still hanging in the branches and some crab apples nearby. I often do that, knowing it draws in birds to feed. But this time, it wasn’t the birds that came.
A pine marten appeared, moving quietly beneath the trees. The crows and magpies spotted it almost instantly, their cries breaking the stillness as they followed it through the field and back again. My heart was thumping. I’d only seen one twice before, once in summer crossing near the cottages and again eating from the damson trees, which surprised me as I had thought pine martens were strict carnivores.
Not long after it disappeared, I stepped out the front of the cottage and stopped again. A red squirrel was in the garden, nibbling on what looked like an apple. It’s strange how often these moments arrive just as you’re heading somewhere else. The world feels still for a second, and everything seems to be watching you back.
Life around the cottages
Guests get the same thrill. Just yesterday someone was standing in the car park when a red squirrel came bouncing along the wall. They couldn’t believe it. It was a dark chestnut red with a white front, and for a moment they thought it must be a grey until it turned in the light.
Over the years, the land here has become a safe place for wildlife to feed and shelter. I try to keep it that way. I leave the hedges uncut until the berries and seed heads have gone. Those small decisions make all the difference. The insects come for the seed heads, the birds come for the insects, and the bigger animals follow. It’s a whole living chain moving quietly through the cottages, the woods, and the riverbanks.
Guests often tell me they see or hear something new each time they visit, a rustle at dusk, a flash of red in the trees, or paw prints by the water. Sharing those moments seems to make more of them happen, as though the land likes to show itself to those who are paying attention.
Through the fields and woods
As you walk further from the cottages, the land begins to change. The open fields give way to hedgerows and small pockets of woodland. This is where the red fox is most at home. They’re rarely seen, but now and again I’ll catch a glimpse of one crossing the lane at dusk. In spring, their cries carry through the valley, sharp, almost human, and unforgettable. People used to say it was the banshee, and you can understand why if you hear it on a still night.
Badgers live deeper in the banks and under the trees. I’ve never seen one here in daylight, but I’ve found the neat piles of earth where they’ve dug new tunnels and the flattened paths through the grass that show their nightly routes. They’re quiet, methodical creatures, always leaving just enough evidence to let you know they’re there.
Across the meadows in early spring, hares move through the mist, tall and alert. They don’t appear often, but when they do, it feels like a gift. There’s something ancient about them, the way they pause, listening, before vanishing again.
Closer to the cottages, hedgehogs sometimes shuffle through the gardens after dark. They’re small, determined little animals, good for keeping the slugs down. Guests often mention hearing them rustling under the shrubs at night.
The trees, especially around the driveway, are alive with squirrels. Some mornings I see them chasing one another through the branches, full of energy and noise. Others are quiet, sitting still on the wall with a nut or an apple, tail flicking. I often notice signs of them in the Scots pine trees, where they build their drays and feed from the cones. It always feels like a good sign, a sign that the place is thriving.
And somewhere out there, moving quietly through the same woods, is the pine marten. I first saw one here in summer, and now that I know it’s about, I find myself watching for it each day. Seeing it under the apple trees the other morning was a real thrill, and I still look for any trace of it when I walk around. Just knowing it’s sharing the same ground adds a touch of wonder to the day.
Down by the river
Down by the river, it’s a different world again. You can find tracks where otters slide into the water or signs of where they’ve fed. They prefer the dawn or dusk hours, and although I’ve yet to catch sight of one here, knowing they’re part of the same landscape is enough.
In summer, bats flicker through the evening air, tiny and quick, darting after insects above the lawns. Frogs appear near the ponds and ditches in spring, their spawn clustered in the shallow water. Sometimes you can see a lizard basking on the stone walls in the heat of the day, a rare sight but one that makes you stop and look closer.
Now and again, deer pass through the Mourne fields nearby. They’re not resident here, more likely escapees from local farms, but still a striking sight against the slopes when they appear. They remind me how connected this landscape is, and how it continues to surprise even those of us who know it well.
Even the farm animals nearby are part of that picture. Sheep on the hillsides, horses grazing in the meadows, cattle turning their heads to watch as you pass. They shape the land as much as the wild creatures do, and the rhythm of their days gives a kind of grounding to everything else.
A living landscape
When you spend time here, you start to tune in. You hear more, you see more, you begin to recognise the signs of life all around. Some guests say they arrive tired and leave feeling steadier, as if being close to nature resets something. I think it’s because the land itself is alive, full of stories and movement, if you slow down long enough to notice.
Every season brings its own rhythm here. In spring the frogs return to the ponds and the woods fill with birdsong. Summer hums with insects and the flicker of bats in the evening light. By autumn the hedgerows are heavy with berries, feeding everything from blackbirds to foxes. Even in winter, when the hills are quiet and the air is still, there are tracks in the mud and prints in the frost that remind you the land never really rests.
At Rostrevor Holidays the wildlife is never far away. It is part of what makes this place feel alive, not just scenery to look at but a world that carries on beside you.
