Nature Club
The health of a farm is not judged by the reaped or profit, but by the vitality of each link in the food chain, from the single-celled organisms to the apex predators. Everything serves a purpose.
This is my favorite time of year when I get to assess the health of my ecosystem based upon who shows up to the summer party.Wild berry season has been on fire this year with an abundance of thicket rich with some of the finest sugar Mother Nature has to offer. With that much energy there for the taking it’s no wonder the bears have been regulars. I’ve tempted fate by hanging bird feeders, but so far so good. The last thing I want is a nuisance bear. However, I do like to catch a good glance at the locals at least once a year to check out their fur. The condition of any animal’s fur is a good indicator as to their overall health. The bears will only show up for the berry season before moving into the neighboring corn fields as that crop ripens.Another predictable predator is the coyote. From what I’ve seen of the ones who travel the waterways, their yipping and cackling changing pitch as they work their way along the same route night after night. The pups will grow louder and more animated as summer wears on.My favorite out of all the native predators is the Barn Owl. There are also Great Horned Owls and Screech Owls, but rarely do I get to see them—only hear them. However, the Barn Owl is another story.As a grass-based farmer, I have absolutely no use for the iconic concrete silo that sits next to the barn. Built in 1952 according to a date etched in the concrete foundation it served its purpose when the farm housed a dairy into the 1970's. For those who don't understand, silos are where row crops like corn that are chopped and fermented are stored. To use the silo requires lots of expensive and dangerous equipment, plus the quality of feed is greatly diminished when stored in silos. They are also very costly to dismantle and are often left standing until their inevitable decay requires removal. Today, most silage is stored in plastic bags that resemble giant white worms snaking in the fields near the barn.But the silo on this farm serves an especially important purpose. Each year it is where the Barn Owls nest. The eggs are laid on the floor of the silo in a depression of straw and twigs. Around June I begin to hear the telltale screeching of growing owlets. Once I tried to open the door to access the silo's ladder but was quickly rebuffed by an angry adult flailing me with its wings.
As the owlets grow the signs of their soon-to-be fledglings can be heard. If I'm truly lucky, I'll get to watch. The pitch of their screeching changes as they grow stronger hopping up the silo ladder. About halfway up there is a smaller vent window that a few years ago on clutch played peek-a-boo for a few nights before making it to the large window at the top of the silo from where they take their first flights.I'd been listening for their rise to the top, but this year they managed to make it to the top undetected until the echoes of their fearful calls to their mother perched on the power pole at the edge of the pasture drifted across the field. When I heard them I knew it was about to happen and took off toward the barn. My reward was witnessing all three leaving the silo for the first time, the first awkward hop from the silo down to the crab apple trees before instinct takes over, they spread their wings and take flight. They don't go far, often to the roof of the barn. Casting a pale shadow of enough light to see on the moonless night, there was one perched on top of the silo, one on the ridge of the barn and a third on the weathervane's banner atop the cupola. In unison they took off together along with the adult flying across the hay field toward the woodlot. I sat watching them until they grew quiet and disappeared. Walking near the edge of the woodlot on the way back to the house a single screech sounded almost next to me. Almost over my head in a large oak tree sat the trio of heart-faced owls taking a rest from their exciting night. The bull frogs were singing while the Milky Way shone brightly above. I wonder if the mother owl told her babies how lucky they were to take flight under the sign of a comet that their offspring would not see for a thousand generations.Young Barn Owls are very talkative and hatch asynchronously (not all at once). From the sounds of it, there was one younger owlet still in the nest who had not fledged. This morning when I walked to the barn there was a fledgling owl sitting on the ground next to the barn. Startled, it started to fly but failed to gain loft and tumbled into a paddock after slightly clipping the top rail of a fence and leaving a tuft of downy feathers wedged in the splintered wood.The paddock was not a safe place to be for a young and now possibly injured owl. Everyone wanted to see the new visitor—curious sheep and gregarious goats along with dogs and cats. Hissing with its wings spread wide and tail feathers in the air, the tiny raptor put on enough bravado to keep everyone, including me, at bay.How fortuitous that one of my friends is also a state owl biologist. Even better, she picked up as soon as I called. We had a conversation about the fledgling that was sitting on the ground with no more intentions of taking flight. Between the domestic animals, a heat advisory, and an impending thunderstorm it was decided the best option was to return the baby owl to the nest in the silo, a doable option. At first I was apprehensive about picking up the owl. “They’re pretty tame and you shouldn’t have any problem. Just pick it up like a chicken, only keep its beak and talons away from your face.” There was the briefest of struggled before the owl relaxed allowing me to safely carry it back to the silo where the three other fledglings and mother owl perched overhead in the old rebar and concrete structure with the window at the top.Four owls this year. Last year because of the unrelenting rains the hay fields got cut late. There were no owl babies. The system was out of balance. Woodpeckers are also more abundant this year.
Not as grand, but fascinating is the flowering milk weeds dotting the hay fields. The people who make the hay keep telling us to “spray and get rid of that stuff”. If they’d crawl out of the cab of those tractors once in a while and attend their nature club they’d see that not only are the milk weeds host to the Monarch Butterflies, there are dozens of ants and iridescent green scarab beetles also clinging to the delicate pink pom poms of the pasture.After battling snakes for the last few weeks, I’ll take bears, coyotes, owls and bugs for a change.