5-3-26
At 8:30 pm, the sky has already dimmed to an indigo blue with the first star peeking through the atmosphere. The mountains are hulking black forms spiked with trees. Ponderosa Pine needles jab at the sky, robins twittering in their branches. The owl box stands out in the deepening dusk, pale brown with a gaping-three inch hole near the top. Earlier in the day, I had fixed the spotting scope on the hole and watched the growing activity visible from the outside. Usually, all I could see was the round top of the female owl’s head, but occasionally her large yellow eyes appeared above the bottom of the hole.
Tonight, suspense hangs over my family and me. Will the male drop off another meal? Will we spend another hour staring at the empty hole? The cacophony of the robins dies down slightly with only a chirp here and there. As the time nears 8:50, I see movement inside the box. A mottled gray head pops out and takes a look at us. The female Western Screech-Owl fluffs her feathers and edges a bit farther out of the hole. The sky has darkened to a blackish blue, and more than one star peeks out. Without my camera, I barely make out her silhouette, the only sign being that the hole has seemingly grown larger and taller. The owl continues to watch us, fixing her yellow eyes on our spotting scope, binoculars, and cameras. She appears to hear something as she swivels her head to the left and then takes off into the night. Papa jogs towards the box, and Mom and Lucy follow him. He sets the ladder against the tree, climbs up, looks into the box, and starts to come down. Oh wait, he’s just getting his phone out. The light clicks on and quickly disappears inside the box. After the photos are taken, Papa hustles back down the ladder and jogs back to us. We all crowd around the image.
Inside the nest box, the final egg has hatched, and five fluffy babies huddle together. Their wings and feathers blend together seamlessly, so we can only count them by their heads. They have soft white feathers and stubby black beaks. The mice that crowded the nest box last week vanished, and only a couple Pine Siskin feathers stick out of the wood-chips. Pellets lie scattered along the corners.
. . . . . . .
5-4-26
For the first time in a month, we are spending a second night at the cabin. Tim, Deary, Dan, and Adair join us tonight, doubling the number of watching people. Eight chairs of all different shapes and styles sit in a semicircle facing the owl box. Lucy chills (literally, it is freezing) in a reclining seat, while Tim rocks in a unique camping chair. Dan, Adair and I watch in our own blue and white campfire chairs, which squeak every time you move. Mom and Deary relax in large chairs with cupholders, while Papa sits in the truck, eye fixed on the spotting scope. I talk to Dan about the female, how long they nest, and other owl-related topics. Barely 15 minutes pass before the female pops out. I turn on my camera’s live view and watch as she turns her head this way and that. Binoculars are passed down the line of neighbors, while Lucy and Deary leave to take a look through the scope. The owl pulls herself a little farther out of the hole, and Papa abandons his post at the scope to watch a known roost tree. He is attempting to watch the female once she leaves the nest to take her nightly bathroom break. Off to our right, the male lets out a soft tremolo. Suddenly, she leaps out of the nestbox and Mom whistles to let Papa know.
After another minute of talking and staring at a now-empty box, the woods off to our right explode with sound. Robins barrel out of the woods and chase a dark, feathery shape into the hole. The male! I can hear them exchanging soft hoots; Hoo. Hoo. Hoo. Sitting up, I join Papa, who sits next to the neighbor’s house. Walking over to the trees where we last saw the female, I begin scanning the silhouetted branches. Nothing. I make my way towards the cluster of chairs and end up walking near the box. Looking over, I see the male’s head peaking out, his eyes looking right at me. Within a couple of seconds, he shoots out and vanishes into the darkness. I spot his shadowy figure flying over the road and onto the neighbor’s property.
The crowd of neighbors slowly disperses, and soon we are heading back into the warm rooms of our cabin. The fire has almost gone out in our hour-long absence, so we start it back up again. With the stove crackling, I think about the number of mice the male must catch each night and, if it is a lot, why are mice still pooping in the grill?!
Until next week,
Dottie
Missoula Bird Nerds 