Not only wildflowers, birds, too, are back in full force.
This afternoon I watched four robins splashing in the pond in front of the
house to which the gold fish returned from their winter quarters in the
basement a week ago. Chipping sparrows and white-throated sparrows are adding
their voices to those of the robins, from time to time a blue jay interjects
its hoarse voice. Right on time – though sadly no longer at our place for the
last couple of years – the swallows came back on May 11; it is amazing how
faithfully they arrive at this date year after year. Only the hummingbirds are
still missing: they usually come back on May 22 or 23, and I will keep my eyes
open for the first tiny shape on the top branch of the dead poplar tree across
from the back porch, a favourite perch.
Unfortunately a whining, almost cat-like voice has been alerting me several times a day to
the presence of a bird unwanted in the yard because of its harmful habits: the
yellow-bellied sapsucker, or rather a whole clan of them, it seems. Already the pines beside the back entrance bear witness to their diligent efforts to secure
food, neat rows of holes weeping sap, a perfect trap for insects which, along
with the sap, provide sustenance to the birds. The pines seem to be able to
withstand this abuse, although their trunks are scarred and creviced, but birch and fruit trees for instance become prone to fungal infection in
these wounds and often don’t survive. Needless to say I am not thrilled to see
the sapsuckers. They seem to have finished the drilling for now, probably
just coming back to collect food; I don’t see them that often anymore.
At the beginning of the week, however, I had a most
wonderful bird encounter. Back in March already my friend Glenice told me about
a pair of Great Grey Owls (Strix
Nebulosa) she saw regularly when she went cross-country skiing in a friend’s
pasture, about three quarters of an hour from our place. They occupied a nest where a red-tailed hawk had nested several
years ago, and for a while Glenice saw the female sitting on the nest. Neither
of the owls were concerned with the presence of humans, and by now an owlet,
possibly two, have hatched; Glenice wasn’t sure. She had invited me to come for
a walk and see for myself a couple of weeks ago already, and on Monday it finally
worked out for both of us.
We got there mid-morning, the road and pasture still muddy from the recent rains, but at least dry from above. Janice, the owner of the
pasture, decided to come with us, and we neared the nesting area talking
quietly, enjoying the beautiful spring landscape, the fresh green of newly
leafed-out poplars. ‘Here we are,’Glenice said when we had reached an area of
high trees with not too dense underbrush. And really: there was the nest, maybe
three or four metres above the ground in the fork of two sturdy poplar branches. The female was sitting quietly, and a
chick showed us its light coloured back. The mother stretched her wings for a
moment and then flew off to a nearby tree, settling down and calmly watching
the nest, sometimes turning her big head with the beautiful markings to gaze at us. To me, great grey owls look old, somehow, and wise. Never before had
I seen one of these huge owls - the largest species of owl in the world by
length if not by weight – that close, for such an extended period of time. My viewings mostly
happened from a car, just a glimpse, and every time I am thankful when that
occurs. This, however, was almost magical.
We alternately watched the mother and the nest with our
binoculars. Suddenly I saw a second owlet half hidden behind the trunk of the
tree, soon raising itself up to its full height and looking down at us. Its
sibling had turned around now, too, and the two funny little dark owl faces
with their lighter coloured beaks were in full view. The mother, still not at
all concerned about us, made little cooing noises from time to time, not unlike
a mother cat or a cow talking to her calf, but she made no attempt to return to
her brood. A little while later a third chick appeared between the other two,
maybe a little smaller, but undoubtedly alive and well. We were amazed how the
nest, not overly big and rather flimsy looking, could hold all these birds. The
mother had been with the chicks at first, after all, and they all found room
somehow. What a wonderful experience to watch this family!
This was not to be all yet, though. I had noticed for a
little while already that the attention of the female was no longer fixed on
the nest or us; she was looking in a different direction. The sounds she made
had changed, too, the calls a little louder, closer together, but still no
hoot, more a brief call. A second large owl swooped in: the male had arrived.
He was doing what owl males do all through the nesting season: bringing a mouse
for his mate. He sat on a tree nearby, the female flew up to him, took the
mouse, and the male left right away again. The mother shifted the mouse until
it was positioned just right before it disappeared in her beak. A moment later
I watched her swallow, the mouse gone for good. How lucky we were to see all of
this in one single visit! After half an hour or so we turned back to the road,
watching a couple of brown backs receding through the bush, maybe fifty metres
away: two yearling moose, judging by the size.
Of course I looked up more information on the Great Greys and
found out that they are less shy and secretive than other kinds of owls, that
encounters like ours are not uncommon. The
owlets fall or jump from the nest when they are three to four weeks old, but
since they cannot fly yet for another two weeks they have to climb back into
the nest. This is when they are most vulnerable, of course, and the mother is
very vigilant during this time, ready to defend her young when needed. Once the
young owls can fly the mother usually goes off on her own, leaving the father
to feed the offspring, which he does until they are able to hunt on their own
by autumn.
