The Daily Bucket is a place where we can post and exchange our observations about the natural happenings in our neighborhoods. Birds, bugs, blossoms and more - each notation is a record that we can refer to in the future as we try to understand the natural patterns that are unwinding around us.
Seattle. May 24, 2012.
"How did you find them?" the man asks. He's peering through my binoculars at two young Barred Owls, almost hidden up in the branches of a old Douglas Fir. I answer as I usually do, "I listened to the crows".
Those of us who walk regularly in the Forest begin to monitor the Forest's two Barred Owl nests in late April. Over the years we've come to expect the appearance of youngsters 10 days on either side of Mother's Day. This year's first kid emerged from the southern nest on May 6. A second fledged from that nest shortly afterwards. A week ago I found them about 200 feet from the nest tree, gorging themselves on rodent bits delivered by both parents. Ten days out of the nest, these two are confidently making short glides between branches. They appear to be doing well.
May 17, 2012. This year's southern nest Barred Owl kids.
We've spent many combined hours watching the northern nest tree this year - sitting, listening, watching, sharing what we've seen and heard. We've agreed that there's not been a lot of activity at that nest. A few weeks ago both adults were perched away from the nest tree. Last week they spoke to one another from deeper in the forest, beyond the tree. A baritone: Who cooks for you? Who cooks for youu? A tenor: Who cooks for you? Who cooks for youuaaaaa? The consensus among the walkers was that this pair of owls had taken the year off.
Big crow talk last Monday brought me up to the place where the snags came down this winter just west of the northern nest tree. Many crows yelling, their voices rising in pitch and intensity back and forth from the mid canopy. Above the trees a half dozen more fly in from the west, three more arrive from the north, land up there where I can just glimpse their fluttering wings.
Caw! caw! caw!
Caw! Caw!CAW!!
CAWCAWCAWCAW!!!!!!
In answer, the growl of an adult Barred Owl and the hissy whines of one, two, maybe even three youngsters. I bushwhack, knowing that going off trail is not a good thing, but pulled by the crows' screams and the owls' response. I teeter along the downed snags and step down to tread gingerly across layers of Fern and Salal and Nightshade and Dewberry. Creep on hands and knees under low hanging Hazlenut branches. Step over nurse logs, as gently as I can. And there, crammed up against the trunk of a Cedar tree, is an adult female Barred Owl ringed by a scrim of screaming crows. The crows go silent in my sudden presence, fly off one by one until it's only me and the owl, looking at one another.
Above us, owlets cry:
Kseeeeit??
Seeeeeeeeit?
Queeeseeet???
She looks up. I follow her gaze but can't find owlets anywhere. They've hidden themselves too well. I want to stay. I need to keep looking, but the sky opens up and puddles my binoculars in less than a minute. The owlets go quiet. Mom looks away. Time to go.
I've not been able to relocate this family since then. On Tuesday the area was protected by a family of Pacific Wrens and I dared not pass. Wednesday brought more drenching rain.
May 21, 2012. Barred Owlets from the Forest's northern nest have fledged.
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Your turn. What's new where you live? I'll be in briefly this afternoon, then away on and off until Monday evening.