Great Neighbors - Horned and Otherwise

by Dale Browne

I met a neighbor this evening in the city park behind my house. Any other night, he'd be just a guy walking home with a pizza and I, a strange lady in bare feet looking at the sunset. Any other night, we might smile awkwardly or exchange a guarded “hello,” but tonight I found out my neighbor's name is Eric and that he lives one street over, all because he noticed I'd been gazing up at the trees.”What are you looking at?” he asked. I responded with the naturalist’s standby: "Want to see something cool?”

Allow me to back up a few months. Sometime in late November, I started hearing duets in the park. Hooted duets of two Great Horned Owls all through the night, made me crack the bedroom window open, even in the coldest parts of winter. This continued until early March when the conversation changed. While one continued to hoot, the other responded with raspy squawks. I was thrilled that my hopes throughout winter might be confirmed: Could there be a nest?! Food begging calls from the female likely meant she could not hunt on her own and was relying on her mate. I hoped this was because she was on eggs or with newly hatched young.

Going on my own hunt, I searched for a nest in the canopies of mature oaks and maples in the city park behind my house and neighboring suburban yards. Eventually I found a silver maple streaked with whitewash, a sign of regular owl activity. The uric acid of their waste was a beacon, indicating the tree they've been spending most of their time in. Following bright white streaks up the dark gray trunk, I saw a large cavity and was surprised to find two sets of eyes peering down at me! Immediately I backed away to give them space and with my binoculars, snooped into the nest cavity where I could see mom flanked by not one, but two nestlings so fluffy with down that they looked twice her size.

As a working naturalist, I get to meet a lot of wonderfully like-minded folks. Recently I met a Scouts leader who mentioned she and her husband had retired from my city government. She was able to connect me with the current Parks and Forestry Supervisor who assured me that the tree would not be pruned while the nestlings were present. Because Great Horned Owls may reuse the cavity in future seasons, he also promised they will make every effort to protect the tree from removal, despite the large cavity. Several days later the supervisor reached out again, asking if a co-worker could give me a call. He knew his colleague was an avid birder and photographer who might be interested in coming out. I agreed, and 5 minutes later I ended up in a delightful half hour conversation with a perfect stranger. We spoke about the challenges and excitement of the growing cadre of young birders. We discovered a number of other shared interests and he offered to return the favor if I could point out the nest to him. He’s been watching a couple of local eastern screech owl nests and would be happy to take me to see them (at a responsible distance of course). In gratitude, he also sent me some gorgeous photos of the new owlets. (Follow him on Instagram @stormbird_photography)

photo by Isaac Polanski

Photo by Isaac Polanski

One week later my next-door neighbor sent me a text. I hadn't seen him all winter, but we had messaged back and forth about the owl family. The spring-like weather had brought him and his son into the yard for some soccer drills when he noticed that right on the fence line an owl had been silently observing their play. My yard and its variety of deciduous and evergreen trees, shrubs, and last year’s perennial brush may have seemed like a safe place for the fledglings to make their first landing. A place with cover from the pestering mobs of Blue Jays, with layers of plants that could be climbed to safety until they learned to use their wings effectively. I brought my scope next door and taught his seven year old son how to adjust the focus wheel. We looked for the owl’s parents who were likely nearby and then practiced giving space to his new wild friend.

Photo by Dale Browne, taken through her scope.

Now we're into April and the fledglings are clumsily hopping from tree to tree. Mom settles in a tree just out of reach and calls to the two siblings with a clear, sharp bark. Squawking all the way, they leapfrog through the canopy reuniting with excited bill-clacking and chatter until she flies off again encouraging them to follow and stretch their wings. This is the situation when Eric, the guy with the pizza, finds me under-dressed for the sunset’s chill; grateful for neighbors and new friends, feathered or otherwise.