Watching the Neighbors: Look Who's Here

Watching the neighbors is a long-time suburban occupation that has become even more important, at least to me, as people stuck working indoors or with small kids at home take to the streets in greater numbers during this time of coronavirus to keep from going stir-crazy. 

Cooper's hawk nest, 2020 (Margo D. Beller)

I keep the shades open on sunny days and so I am frequently distracted at my work by all the passersby, wondering if they are neighbors and, if not, who they could be. There are also the service trucks pulling into neighbors' driveways, landscapers doing the annual "spring cleanup" lawn service and the occasional herd of deer I have to go outside and chase off.

It was because my office shades were open one day this week that I saw a large shape fly over the house and wondered what it could be. That evening, when I went outside to take in the bird feeders, I learned what that shape was and I was less than excited.

I've had bird nests in my yard, including a robin's nest for a good hunk of last summer. The house wren box is a nest I provide. I've even had hawks of different types in my yard, but they are usually passing through, hunting for a meal.

But to discover a Cooper's hawk, with mate, building a nest high in my next-door neighbor's maple tree with a birds-eye view of the feeders, I knew this was trouble.

Cooper's hawks are accipiters and, like their smaller relative the sharp-shinned hawk, are very nimble hunters in parks, woods and backyards. Unlike the bigger and bulkier buteos such as the redtail hawk, accipiters can maneuver through tree branches and bushes after their prey, especially after the hawks have matured to become better hunters. I have seen mature accipiters catch and kill birds and I've also seen immature accipiters miss and then sit on the lawn or atop the bird feeder looking, to me, puzzled.

Watched like a Cooper's hawk, the larger female on the right.
(Margo D. Beller)

About the only "good" thing about having Cooper's hawks rather than sharp-shinned hawks around is the former prefers medium-sized birds rather than, say, a titmouse or chickadee. Cooper's prefer mourning doves and one of my least favorite birds, the European starling. But they will also go after other medium-sized birds including common pigeons, robins, jays and flickers, according to Cornell's Ornithology Lab. Cooper's have been known to eat chipmunks, mice and squirrels. (I can do with fewer chipmunks.) 

But a cardinal would be just the size for a Cooper's and I have a pair that use my house-shaped feeder daily, the male prone to taking a seed and then jumping on top of the feeder pole to eat while showing others this feeder is his. When he did that the day after I discovered the nest I watched nervously until he left. After that I noticed no other birds came to the feeder and the squirrels high stayed in the trees.

The hawk pair seemed to be more concerned with building their nest of sticks the day I found them. They flew to a nearby oak and laboriously broke off smaller twigs to add to what had already been built up in the V formed by two branches high in the tree. Again according to Cornell, "Nests are piles of sticks roughly 27 inches in diameter and 6-17 inches high with a cup-shaped depression in the middle, 8 inches across and 4 inches deep. The cup is lined with bark flakes and, sometimes, green twigs."

Robin's nest, 2019 - I don't mind nests like this in my yard. (Margo D. Beller)

Typically it takes two weeks for a nest to be formed, so this one couldn't have been started that long before (bird traffic at the feeders had not appeared to be down, tho' since I was working I couldn't be completely sure).

Once I realized what was going on I grabbed my binoculars to confirm my guess as to what kind of hawk these were. One look at the prominent "eyebrow" confirmed they were Cooper's. Then I got my camera and used the telephoto lens in hopes of getting a decent picture of the nest. (My picture above was taken the next day.)

The next morning, around 7 a.m., both hawks were back to their nest building. I heard robins, cardinals and Carolina wrens calling as usual, except nowhere near my yard. When a Cooper's is in the area, birds like low. So do squirrels, which were not their usual boisterous selves chasing each other around the yard. I got my camera and started taking pictures again, especially when at one point in their twigmaking both hawks were on the same branch.

They looked at me intently. Then the male left and I heard it call "kekkekkek" from another tree. The female looked at me a little longer before leaving. I checked the nest throughout the day but they never returned.

Typical male cardinal behavior, photographed through
the backdoor screen. (Margo D. Beller)

That afternoon the squirrels were back looking for dropped seed under the feeders and the house finches, woodpeckers and cardinals were back eating. The danger was gone.

It was likely the hawks realized I had discovered the nest, or perhaps they didn't like me taking pictures. Unlike the redtails "Harold" and "Maud" whose nest I discovered many years ago in another town, this nest was in plain sight and close by. Seeing me taking pictures these hawks were likely as unhappy to have an intrusive neighbor as I was to have a bird-eating menace. It was easier for them, and safer for their prospective young, to abandon the nest and start over someplace else. Cooper's hawks are not an endangered species and I am confident that eventually the female will lay anywhere from two to six eggs in her one brood of the year.

Had these birds picked a tall Norway spruce or some other type of evergreen where the nest (and they) would be hidden, I'd never have seen them and perhaps not realize the danger to the feeder birds until too late. But they had picked a maple tree that had not leafed out yet, and even as I was taking pictures fish crows were cawing and circling the tree. Crows don't like having hawks in the vicinity either.

So the Cooper's hawks are gone and the danger is past for the cardinals and other feeder birds, at least from this source. My human neighbors, however, remain as noisy as ever. 

In the Fog

The future is a fog that is still hanging out over the sea, a boat that floats home or does not.  
-- Anne Sexton

The fog hung thickly around me as I walked a road through woods near my home early in the morning on the first day of spring. The air was cool and moist on a day that promised to rise into the mid 70s, even though we are still in the middle of March. 

Morning fog (Margo D. Beller)

The fog grayed out everything including the still-bare trees, the shrubs and grasses starting to go green. It obscured the street lights from the nearby food pantry and the cars that were invisible until nearly upon me.

Birds seem different in the fog. Their calls and songs seem louder. I walked and heard a Carolina wren, a little bird with a big song. I stopped to look up and there it was, a small, dark shape on a high branch. It was not perturbed by the fog. Its instinct says it is time to announce its breeding territory. This bird was not alone. By the time I got home an hour later I heard at least five Carolina wrens as well as a number of other birds including fish crows, cardinals and a few robins.

There was no one at the dog park. Is it the early hour - just after dawn - or the fog that has kept people and their pets away? Or something else? I wondered. There were few cars driving this road, too. I had my solitude but had to walk quickly because I didn't have much time before I had to start work.

It was 7:15 on a Friday morning in the age of COVID-19.

Normally, the road and the dog park would be busier. Early on, the few people I saw during my walk either traveled in a different direction or, if we passed each other, rigorously stayed on the other side of the street to give us "social distance." If we made eye contact we smiled or nodded our heads. One man gave me a little wave. On the way home the runners came out, most staying in the street but a few were on the sidewalk. I gave those a wide berth.

(Margo D. Beller)

This is a dangerous and uncertain time. MH has been ill and the day before this walk I had begun feeling strange, perhaps unwell. To me this felt like a cold. The common cold is caused by a coronavirus, after all. But THIS one, COVID-19, is a different beast. Too much computer work gives me a headache. Is this what caused today's. The weather has been cold and damp. Is that why I can't feel warm? I haven't the foggiest idea.

MH, in that scientific manner of his, reasons he has a mild form of COVID-19. He has stayed home and rests in the guest room. He reasons the flu shot we had in October is helping his immune system fight this virus, and I hope that is the case for both of us. 

I am taking the attitude of an old friend, who said his way of dealing with illness is to ignore it. Unfortunately, it is hard to do when the news seems to be nothing but this virus, how nations are reacting to limit its spread and how many have died. Those of us with mild symptoms are told to stay home and avoid emergency rooms, and I am more than happy to do that. I am lucky I can work from home and continue to be paid. Many, many others can't stay home because of the nature of their jobs or because if they don't work they don't get paid. I was in that situation until a few months ago.

The morning fog lingered into afternoon as the temperature rose and children who have been blocked from school, sporting events and even gathering in town parks kept their playing to their yards or took walks or bike rides with their parents along my side street. I could see and hear them through my open office window. I don't blame them. I need to get out or go crazy, too. 

Overnight it rained, the fog lifted and the temperature fell to a more seasonable level. The birds were waiting for me this dawn to come out with the feeders, particularly the male cardinal that flies to a nearby bush as I hang them and then rushes to eat at the house-shaped feeder when I am back on the porch.

Empty dog park, streetlight through the trees (Margo D. Beller)

This Saturday morning I waited for the sun to break through the clouds as I  watched him and the other birds. At one point I heard a hairy woodpecker, an uncommon and skittish visitor. One appeared at the suet to eat but I kept hearing the call coming from another direction. Then she flew off and the male appeared. A pair! I'm supporting a breeding pair of hairy woodpeckers! I am protective of hairys. I rarely see them except at the suet feeder. This is why I put out suet, I thought.

This is why I feed birds.

Life goes on, these hairy woodpeckers were telling me. You might have your virus scaring the hell out of you but we have other things to concern us. We must mate, build a nest that is hidden and inaccessible - perhaps in one of these big trees in your yard - and create a family to carry on our species. Your feeder helps us, yes, but if wasn't here we'd do what we always do and find food to survive.

We all have to survive, I agreed as I watched these birds with tears in my eyes. I hope we all do.

Birding in the Time of Coronavirus

Sitting on my porch, I am glad to hear the robins, cardinals, Carolina wrens and other birds calling at dawn, even if dawn is now an hour later thanks to Daylight Savings Time. The forsythia, daffodils and hyacinth are in bloom, the shrubs are budding and the crocus and snowdrops are fading.

It is a wonderful time of year. But it is also the time of coronavirus.

The wide-open space of Great Swamp (Margo D. Beller)

This virus is not new, but the strain, found in 2019, is - highly contagious, easily spread, first found in the Chinese market city of Wuhan when it passed from animals to people.

So, unfortunately, we have a new word in our vocabulary - COVID-19. 

This plague has been virulent in coastal cities, including New York, because they are hubs for travelers and commuters who have brought the virus in from elsewhere or bring it home. There is no vaccine for it and most who will contract it will have mild, almost flu-like cases. Those who are particularly vulnerable to being deathly ill are older people with pre-existing conditions.

While people in the cities have been freaking out, the suburbs with their office parks have not, at least to me. But with many schools closed and markets selling out of bread, toilet paper and cleaning supplies including hand sanitizer, that may change. MH went to the market for cans of soup, as he did before Hurricane Sandy. But this time he was too late - shelves were depleted (except for two cans of soup he found) and lines at the register were long. He said everyone was calm.

Last Monday, having two risk factors and having to travel to work on public trains where an increasing number of people have been wearing masks (or an equivalent) and gloves, I was getting very worried about my health. I stayed home Tuesday. That day we learned someone in our building tested positive for the virus. My office was ordered to work from home for the foreseeable future.

Start of a boardwalk trail at Great Swamp (Margo D. Beller)

So I've been at home, relieved of my backpack burden. But after the first few days of taking dawn walks or sitting on the porch after putting the feeders out in daylight rather than darkness I started feeling cabin fever and knew that I would have to get out at least one weekend day.

While MH refused to budge, I left Saturday morning for the wide open spaces of Great Swamp in hopes of finding one of the earliest returning migrants, the phoebe. I was not disappointed. I was also cheered by finding bluebirds and a tree swallow. Overall, as far as birding went, it was quiet. But to my surprise I found a lot of people who also felt the need to get out, either to go birding (with binoculars or large-lensed cameras), walk their dogs (on leash in a natural wildlife preserve) or travel with their children.

Normally I don't like being around other people while I seek out birds, but this time I was glad to see others had decided, like me, to put aside their concerns, stay away from their phones and televisions, and just get out for some fresh, cool air and sunshine.

The Passaic River as I listened to frogs from a bench (Margo D. Beller)

My first stop was on a boardwalk trail, which always draws people. A few of them pointed out the phoebe I'd been hearing, giving me a chance to see this welcome visitor. At my next stop, however, I was completely alone except for the chorus of spring peepers, tree frogs, the occasional pickerel and the small turtles known as sliders. I sat on a bench looking at the Passaic River and listened to the sounds of spring.

My last stop was the Great Swamp tour road, which also had many people walking or driving through. On my way home I drove through Jockey Hollow and was amazed by the large number of people, alone and in small groups, hiking the tour road or the trails. These were not birders - no cameras or binoculars - but people who felt the great need to GET OUT on a very nice day. Like Great Swamp, Jockey Hollow is a federally run facility and I was glad both were open. (Other parks, such as Duke Farms, had shut their gates and closed for at least two weeks because of the virus.)

I got home to MH tired, hungry but glad I had been out for a few hours. I would advise others to be careful, wash your hands but go outside and get away from the bad news every so often to save your sanity.