All about our owl neighbors, what I’ve learned and how!
At our home in New Hampshire, we are blessed to live amongst one of the state’s most common birds, the Barred Owl, Strix Varia. These are the “who cooks for you” type of hooters you may have heard before. They’ve been here longer than us, but the relationship has recently deepened.
Sure, these fellows look a little creepy with their black pit eyes that seem to stare through you. The truth about the pics I’ve posted is that these are just dumb, bold babies. For years now we’ve heard them, mostly at night, though they don’t seem to sleep throughout the day like I might previously have believed. They are active at dusk and in the morning, too. The thing about the owls, the adults at least, is that when you hear them, you don’t see them. And when you see them, you don’t hear them.
They don’t hide their hoots- they can be heard from the woods surrounding our home from near and far. When we’ve been lucky enough to catch sight of them, they’re usually dropping out of a tree to glide silently through the forest. We have dense, swampy woods: their favorite. They slide between the foliage as expert rodent assassins. I’m sure there have been plenty of times when they were near and unseen.
One time we had a campfire with friends well into the evening. A fully grown adult flew over to check things out, landing in a tree branch above us. It watched for a few minutes before moving on.
when you hear them, you don’t see them. And when you see them, you don’t hear them.
I’m sure G might have made fun of me a few times for stepping outside at night to listen to them. The call and response from various parts of the forest makes me feel more connected to the nature we’re blessed to live amongst.
The calls change throughout the year as they follow instinctual patterns. Sometimes they make a raucous cacophony of nonsense. I remember sitting in my baby girl’s nursery shortly after she was born and hearing the owls go mental about something. This was in late April, early May, right around the time their own babies hatch.
Fast forward to mid July. I had been hearing screeching at night. I remember specifically hearing it from high in a tree after coming home from work late at night. We live in the woods, so I scratched my head and kept on. Even though I’d like to, I don’t know everything that goes on in the woods around our home. We have a bear family or two that follows a wide migration around town (these are what I love local Facebook groups for). I’ve seen foxes and heard coyotes (have some stories about them, too). One evening, one of our cats went nuts staring out the back window, and that’s how I found out turkeys sleep in tree tops. We have tons of deer that eat our hostas and jump our fence for other snacks. Squirrels, chipmunks, hummingbirds, hawks, turkey vultures, herons, etc. etc. etc. I love it here.
So I didn’t think too much about the screeching. If you’re curious by now, this website has many of the sounds our owls make that you can listen to. I’m referring to “Juvenile Calls.”
One morning in mid July, G woke me up. “You have to see this.” Three owls had flown by the back window and landed on our roof. Then they hopped down to land on our deck, ten feet from us. We had never seen two together, much less in the open or so close. That’s the picture above. I was very glad she woke me up. We witnessed them making this terrible shrieking. I’m not sure if that’s the only sound they can make, but on researching I learned this is a cry for mom to feed them. We didn’t know that at the time, but I recognized the cry from previous nights.
Well, from the picture you can see I didn’t know right away that they were babies. Three owls together on our deck! Was it some weird omen? A blessing or curse? Owls have a rich history in folklore and spirituality. What could it mean? I watched intensely. When they flew to land in trees around the yard, I broke out the binoculars to watch. How lucky was I? One sat on a log and ripped apart a rabbit. Right in the open. What was happening in our yard?
I came to see their focus shifting between us and some tall grass near the woods. Something was fumbling around, maybe hunting. The three owls watched it closely. Perhaps there was an injured comrade, and they were telling me. Maybe they needed my help! Ever vigilant and against my wife’s advice, I struck out to see how close I could get.
I found a fourth owl in the tall grass. It let me get as close as I dared without startling it too badly, about twenty feet. They all stared at me. I had to search through the trees to find their beady eyes, but they were trained on me. I couldn’t tell if this grounded owl was hurt, hunting, laying eggs. I had no idea.
So I called NH fish and game. I explained the story and learned so much from a quick conversation.
It was fledging season. These were babies learning to fly! I was encouraged to let them be for a few hours. The official told me what likely happened is that three siblings figured out how to fly, and the fourth did not. I hung up after promising to give Fish and Game an update later; they’d be happy to come rescue the bird if it was still there after a few hours.
Then the show became really funny. One owl hopped beside it on the ground. “Come on, brother. Like this!” They sat in three different trees right above their grounded sibling, watching and screeching. “Damnit, Fred,” we joked.
Eventually they moved on, and I must assume it learned to fly like its friends. We haven’t seen all four together since, but we’ve heard them. They still screech at night, begging Mom to do the hunting for them. The other night, coming home late from work, I was startled to find one sitting right on top of our mailbox watching me. They don’t know to hide yet!
I don’t know if there’s any magical significance to these baby birds blessing us with such a wild visit so soon after our daughter was born. But what a cool experience. The mating pair (they’re mate-for-life birds) hatched four little ones, so that must mean the mice, rabbit, squirrel and chipmunk populations are abundant. Yes, that’s how it works, and not just a neat lesson I taught at Nature’s Classroom.
I’ve come to learn that around September the babies become self-reliant. They will leave us soon to find their own territories, and leave the screeches behind in favor of the familiar “who cooks for you.” It makes me a little sad that they will once again become elusive, a rare sight we’d be lucky to catch.
I love our owls!
Z