The Dangers of Youth

"The energy of youth is infectious, but its inexperience is dangerous."

-- Charles de Gaulle

As every parent knows, there are many dangers out there. You give birth, you feed your young, you keep them clean and you try to protect them from predators as best you can. But in the end there is only so much you can do to prepare them for leaving the nest. The young will have to learn to fend for themselves and, with luck, survive to create a new generation.

This is true for all creatures, including birds.

Parent feeding young (This and other pictures from 2020.)
(Margo D. Beller)

The other day, from my porch, I saw two male house sparrows attacking the house wren nest box hanging in my dogwood tree. Had the opening been large enough, one or the other would've gone in, dragged out the wrenlets, killed them and taken over the box. Why there were two males instead of a male and a female, as I saw a few weeks ago, I don't know.

But there they were, so here I went outside to clap my hands to chase them off. When they were gone I heard an angry chittering from the box and then one of the parent house wrens flew out - it had blocked the opening to protect its young. "You're welcome," I said as I walked away. Soon the parents went back to shuttling food to their young.

I did not immediately go back on the porch. I walked to the driveway because I heard the high-pitched screaming of a robin and I sensed something was wrong. Two birds were going at it across the street, or so I thought. I've seen robins fighting each other before in territorial disputes but this turned out to be different.

One of the birds, a young robin (the breast spotted rather than red), flew across the street to the bottom of my yew hedge and hid under one of the small, bare branches near the ground that stick out and prevent me from weeding in that area. The other bird flew at it and I knew by the fanned, striped tail it was no robin but a similarly sized male sharp-shinned hawk. It must've seen me standing there because after the one attempt it took off. Then the chickadees and titmice in the neighbor's walnut tree started their alarm calls. I walked around the hedge and there was the hawk. It was a brown juvenile. Had it been a gray adult that young robin would've been supper. I clapped my hands, the hawk flew off and the little birds went quiet.

(Margo D. Beller)

Hawks have to eat, too, I know, but not in my yard.

Which brings me back to the house wrens.

For the first time since I started writing about the house wren nest box (in 2011; unfortunately, the link no longer works), I happened to be on the porch and saw the young fledge.

I knew that time was coming soon. The young birds had gotten so big they were being fed by the parents from outside the box. It must've been very crowded and uncomfortable in that box, especially when the temperature soared into the upper 80 degrees F to 90 degrees this week. A parent would occasionally push the young aside to go inside the box to remove poop. When an adult was near I could hear the young begging for food. Lately, the head of a curious wrenlet had been coming partway through the box opening.

I watched this last part with trepidation. Years ago, when the nest box was in the apple tree, a wrenlet fell out of the box and was snatched up by a jay before I could get outside to rescue it. Jays, like their cousins the corvids (including crows and ravens) are among those that will eat young birds. So will squirrels, one of which I saw being harried all over the yard by an angry house wren parent.

So when I saw the little head looking so far out of the box I was concerned, especially when a male sparrow flew to the dogwood. 

I walked to the window and rapped on it. The house sparrow left. That was when I saw that along with the house wren looking out was another small house wren on top of the nest box.

Close to leaving.
(Margo D. Beller)

I had no camera with me. The best I could do was take a picture with my phone from the porch. (It was easier photographing the nest box from outside when it was in the apple tree, and the pictures for this post are from 2020, before I moved the box.) I wouldn't have dared missing anything for a camera anyway.

The first wrenlet flew to a higher branch of the dogwood. The second got closer and closer to leaving the box. A parent came to feed it, then the adult flew to base of the bushes on the other side of the flood wall. I could hear the male parent calling to the young. Finally, the second wrenlet left the box and jumped to a side branch, where it did a little climbing and pecked at leaves. It stumbled a bit but did not fall.

Then, a third head poked out of the box. 

One by one its siblings flew from the dogwood down behind the flood wall, where I'm sure at least one of the parents was waiting. The third one didn't bother jumping to a branch, it flew directly to where the others had gone. No doubt it was hungry and the male's calls told the three they had to fly out if they wanted to be fed.

Now the box is quiet, unless there is a second brood later in the summer. 

The wrens aren't the only young in the yard, of course. I've seen a male cardinal fly to the feeder pole with one of its young, which was the same size and brown like a female but without the red crest and beak. The scared chickadees and titmice were the first indication there were families in the vicinity of my yard since I stopped putting out bird food. 

Not the greatest picture but if you look close
you'll see one wren in the opening and
another atop the box. 2025
(Margo D. Beller)

And, of course, there are young deer. Earlier this week a doe was in the next yard with a tiny fawn drinking her milk. When the doe saw me standing in my yard and looking at them she led the tiny fawn away. For now my yard is safe from curious young nibbling at my plants, learning what tastes good.

Like the fawn, the young birds will be fed by their parents for a time and then will have to fend for themselves. Some, like the juvenile hawk, will need a lot of practice grabbing supper. Others, like the wrens, will be helping my yard by catching a ton of insects. But the young birds will also learn they must avoid predators to survive, and that includes other birds, cats, dogs and humans. 

They will travel with their parents for a time but eventually they will be on their own.

Something Is Happening

One early morning, a female downy woodpecker, the smallest type found in the U.S., climbed up the dogwood tree as she has done for months. She looked over at the suet feeder hanging on the nearby pole. She calculated the distance as she prepared to fly over and expertly turn upside down to get at the suet. (The feeder is designed specifically for woodpeckers. See photo below.)

But on a recent May morning as she climbed the tree she found a small, wooden structure. As she came close to it, a small, brown bird flew out from the nearby bush and attacked her. She spread her wings to make herself look larger but the smaller bird was not put off. She left and he - for this was this year's house wren protecting the nest - returned, singing, to the bush.

From 2020: A female house wren checks to see
if the coast is clear before leaving her
young to get food. (Margo D. Beller)

Shortly, the downy flew back, but to the bottom of the dogwood. She climbed a bit and recalculated her approach to the feeder. The house wren, meanwhile, flew to an upper branch near the nest box and sang. The downy came to eat at the suet feeder but soon flew off.

Watching the wrens from my screened porch is my usual morning entertainment. When I last wrote, the two wrens had put in enough twigs for the nest and were flying in the yard looking for food. Every so often the female would go into the box and the male would sing nearby. 

Then I went away for a few days. When I returned, things had changed.

In the first couple of days after I returned the female would be in the box most of the time, only coming out to eat. The male would usually fly close to the box and sing. Maybe he was telling her the coast was clear? I don't know, but she would go out for a time and then go back in. The male would sing from the nearby bush. He did not go into the nest box.

Downy woodpecker demonstrating how it hangs
beneath the suet feeder. (Margo D. Beller)

Then I saw something interesting one recent morning - the female flew out of the box holding a big blob of poop. That could only mean one thing: The eggs had hatched and now there were young to brood, feed and clean up after. So I wasn't surprised to see the female now making more frequent trips out of the box. The male did not participate in the feeding but I know from past years the two adults should soon be shuttling back and forth to feed the young, which will have grown to fill the box.

For now, however, both parents are defending their young. If another type of bird is in the dogwood and comes too close to the nest, as the downy did, the wren behavior becomes more aggressive.

I am not an ornithologist. I only know what I observe. And it seems to me the wrens' behavior is different depending on the size of the other type of bird and whether that bird has a long, pointy beak. 

So a downy or other type of woodpecker would be chased off because it could, if it wanted, put its beak in and grab a young wren with its long tongue. However, a cardinal, with its stout, seed-cracking beak, didn't seem to be a threat. (The pair I saw one morning that flew to a branch were more interested in that bonding activity known as "the kiss.") A smaller finch, such as a goldfinch or house finch, gets chased off even though they are seed eaters. 

However, a blue jay or its cousin the crow would definitely not be welcomed. (Years ago I saw a jay snatch a young wren that had fallen to the ground.) Neither would squirrels.

A blue jay is a predator of baby birds such as house wrens.
(Margo D. Beller)

Another unwelcome bird is the all-too-common house sparrow. These birds don't want to eat baby wrens but they have been known to pull out the young and take the nest for themselves. When house sparrows flew to the dogwood one morning the male wren flew at them while the female came out of the box and blocked the opening. When the sparrows refused to leave I came outside and they took off. I'm not sure if the wrens appreciated my help but the female went back into the box while the male sang from the nearby bush.

I reckon that sometime in the next week the food shuttling will begin. In the meantime, I've removed the feeders that hung closest to the dogwood. It is getting to that point where the birds will want protein from insects more than they'll need fat from sunflower seeds. Plus they'll have to take insects back to their own young. I still have one feeder out for the birds but that will soon be inside for the summer, too.

My Friend, Mr. Slither

First appearance of Mr. Slither.
(Margo D. Beller)

When the Cooper's hawks abandoned the nest they had worked on for weeks in an oak tree just off my backyard, I was relieved a predator was gone so the birds could continue to visit my feeders. But I was also disappointed. I had hoped the hawks might've indulged in some chipmunk dining. These rodents dig everywhere and regularly ravage my plantings. 

But it turns out this year Mother Nature provided me with some relief - a garter snake, so named because tits striping makes it resemble stocking garters. 

MH likes to joke about the first time I, a city kid, encountered one of these harmless snakes found all over the eastern U.S. We were hiking in the woods and I thought I was about to step over a stick. The stick moved. Snakes were not something I grew up with in Brooklyn, NY, Snakes were dangerous, one bite and you're a gonner. But MH knew these snakes from the NJ suburbs when one would occasionally come into his basement bedroom. Harmless, he assured me, not like NJ's timber rattlesnakes or copperheads.

Second appearance, photographed from inside looking down.
(Margo D. Beller)

Since then, I've looked upon garter snakes as a friend, not a foe. I've even rescued one caught in the deer netting. I got my gloves and scissors, carefully cut it out of the netting, grabbed it by the middle (while not poisonous, these snakes still bite) and put it in the lawn to cut away as much of the netting from its middle as possible. So I guess I've earned the right to call myself a snake handler. I walked to my front door and the snake moved off.

Except for the occasional garter snake I've encountered in my walks, I hadn't seen one until recently. I soon learned Mr. Slither had had an immediate effect on the chipmunks.

Not only did the chipmunk backfill its tunnel, it even
added a small rock. (Margo D. Beller)

One warm late afternoon I opened the front door to check the mailbox and there, on the paving blocks, lay a garter snake basking in the sun. Being a reptile, it can't regulate its body heat as well as we mammals so it found a place to warm itself. Where it sat happened to be near the opening of a known chipmunk tunnel.

We have pavers lining our front walkway. Long ago MH attempted a project and then could not get all the blocks back in as they were. There were some gaps where there were no pavers. Last year an enterprising chipmunk realized it had found a way to tunnel into one of my netted garden plots, ideal because the netting keeps out most predators like hawks. I would fill in the tunnel, the chipmunk would dig it out again. This went on for some time. Finally, I just left it. It didn't impede anyone coming into or out of the house but I would think of ways to get rid of the chipmunks, some involving dynamite.

The other day I came outside and discovered the hole had been filled in, and not by me.

Snake hiding place (Margo D. Beller)

I can guess why. Mr. Slither was still around. 

He showed up in a different garden plot, which I discovered only by accident when I bent down to pull out some weeds. I went inside to look down on it through the window. The snake was fascinating to watch. The tongue would flick, its head would bob, its body would undulate and it would move. It tested whether it could get out of the area if necessary, then rested. I let it be and at dusk it had left to find shelter for the night.

That got me wondering - was the area under the bay window, which is filled with years' worth of leaves I can't really get to without great effort, a suitable home? 

I didn't see the snake for a while after that. But this week, getting ready to come back into the house after a bit of garden cleanup, I saw movement in the leaves just off my front door, near the bay window overhang. I thought it was a chipmunk, but the snake quietly slithered away to the area under the window.

I am guessing that with a known predator in the area, the chipmunk abandoned the tunnel, or at least backfilled that entrance to keep the snake from sliding in for a meal. (This garter snake is not that big. Garter snakes, such as the one I cut out of the deer netting, can grow much larger.)

Snakes can be helpful in the garden. Besides scaring away the chipmunks they can eat many of the insects that harm plants. And it's a really cool-looking creature. As long as Mr. Slither stays outside, we can co-exist.

Garter snakes can get quite large but the one in my yard is not as big as this
one I saw sunning itself on a nature center boardwalk. (Margo D. Beller)

Of course, there is always the chance Mr. Slither is really Ms. Slither and suddenly 20 to 40 baby garter snakes (or perhaps more) will appear in and around the garden. That would definitely be too much of a good thing.

Watching the Neighbors: Mother's Day

This has been a topsy-turvy, Bizarro World type of week. On May 9 there was snow falling in upstate New York and much of northern New England. In my part of New Jersey the temperature fell to around the freezing level, making some of my sun-loving perennials less than happy.

Meanwhile, the strong wind made the high of 45 degrees feel like 30 degrees.

Map of conditions around 11 p.m. ET by Cornell University Ornithology Lab,
 screenshot by Margo D. Beller

That's why the migration forecast radar map put out by Cornell, seen above, shows a big, blank area over my part of the country while all the migrants are hitting the midwest, as the yellow and pink shows.

Did I mention it's May?

This week would be when, in years past, MH and I would've taken some time off to travel and look for northbound migrant birds. The coronavirus put an end to any planning. Like everyone else, I've had to make do and stick closer to home. That includes birding. But with work taking a lot of time my birding is mainly on the weekend.

MH and I have found some interesting birds - worm-eating warbler, a Blackburnian warbler, an American bittern posing for the camera I didn't have on me - but so far we have not seen some birds I've seen more regularly such as the northern parula and the indigo bunting. There has been a house wren in my yard but it is not using the nest box I hung in the apple tree. For a time some other small bird that could fit inside, perhaps a chipping sparrow, was using it but now it seems to be empty.

The weather had not helped either. When we had a rare warm and sunny day the crowds (most of them nonbirders and minus face masks) hit the state parks just as the birds did. (We stuck to a smaller, local park.) But most of the time it has been rainy, cold, windy. In those conditions you can't plant many types of vegetables and during a recent dawn walk through my town's community garden before work I saw most of the plots filled with weeds or cold weather crops such as lettuce.

That's where the law of unintended consequences comes in.

With less human traffic in the community garden (and, until recently, at the nearby Central Park of Morris County) creatures have become emboldened, and they sometimes wander out of that area and into my neighborhood.

"Fox pup" by gm_pentaxfan is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Deer are a given, and usually in May I watch anxiously for pregnant does that might want to drop a fawn or two (or three) in my yard, as has happened in years past.

This time it's a different type of mammal.

For the last two mornings, around 6:30 a.m., I have gone outside with the feeders. A small fox, likely a female (vixen), has popped up from behind the flood wall in the corner of my property and then trotted quickly away. We've had fox pass through before, which might be the reason we haven't seen a rabbit in the yard in many years.

This morning, however, was quite unusual.

I was in my porch chair, relaxing in the sun with my coffee, when I heard a house wren sing, loud. I slowly got up, turned and saw the bird on the patio. Then it flew to the top of my garage. The next time it sang it was somewhere in the front yard. Since I had my binoculars with me - I had hoped for migrants in the seeding oaks - I walked to the end of the back path and scanned the trees across the way from the top of the driveway.

There was the vixen, across the street, quickly trotting in a neighbor's yard not far from the community garden. She stopped to give me a long look and I quickly saw why.

A couple of playful pups in a nearby backyard. Then another. Then another. Four baby foxes.

Mom took off, spooking some nearby squirrels. The pups continued playing until a neighbor's dog barked. They stopped playing and huddled together. You must know they were in the yard of the neighbor who had put the hole in the sky and would not think twice about calling Animal Control. But never underestimate the power of a mother. To my relief, when I turned to go back to the house Mom must've called her pups to her because when I turned back for a last look they were gone.

At the time I took this picture, the sticks poking out from the bottom
showed an occupant. But lately the nest looks abandoned.
(Margo D. Beller)

And to think, I was worried about deer dropping fawns.

It is obvious to me now the vixen behind the flood wall was hunting to feed her babies, just as the nesting birds are doing once the eggs hatch, presuming the recent cold didn't kill them. It is also obvious to me the den is somewhere in the woods that are on the other side of the community garden from the side that abuts the neighbors across the street.

Why should I care about foxes? Besides the fact they are really cool animals there's the down side. According to the field guide to mammals co-authored by Kenn Kaufman, foxes eat rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, lizards and birds.

Birds. Oh boy.

Did I mention I saw Mom and babies on Mother's Day?

I thought I'd dodged a bullet when the Cooper's hawks abandoned their nearby nest. I guess not. If it ever stays consistently warm and more people are in the community garden growing their tomatoes, peppers and zucchinis, the foxes will stay hidden. They are smart enough to know to stay away from people.

At some point my plants will go out on the porch or in the yard and the feeders will come into the house for the summer. The birds will go farther afield for food since they'll have no reason to drop by at, say, 6:30 a.m. when there's a fox in the yard.

Perhaps I'll even be able to go farther afield, too.

Watching the Neighbors, Round 2: Coming to Terms

Once again I fell into the trap of thinking I, homo sapiens, knew more than a wild bird that evolved long before I did, in this case accipiter cooperii.

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

Not three days after I wrote my last post thinking I had intimidated the Cooper's hawk pair because I was taking their picture, they were back. For all I know they came back earlier but I was not outside to see it. This is why I should never presume. 

I don't know, I can only observe. 

Man may think he/she is at the top of the food chain but the reality is, all creatures must adapt to their circumstances. People used to shoot at Cooper's and other hawks. Now that is illegal. That has brought back the hawk populations, and with them the need for a good place to nest and rear young. 

That, for the Cooper's, increasingly means nesting in towns and suburbs rather than the forests, which are being ripped down for so-called development.

Here is how I described the return of my new neighbors in my bird log of March 31: "I don't know why I thought I could intimidate a hawk. Yesterday [March 30] circa 7 am, I was outside and heard a "kek." I looked up [and] there they were, working on twigs for the nest. I put out one feeder and stood by as the male cardinal, perhaps sensing why I was there, came to feed as usual, jumping to the top of the pole. His mate called to him from the dogwood. When he flew off I moved so she would not see me but I could be seen by the hawks. They weren't interested, and the female cardinal stayed put. Only after I went back on the porch did [the female and then the male again] both come to eat. After they left I got the feeder."

Since then any hope of "normal" has disappeared. As with the coronavirus, there is a "new normal" in my yard. The nest, like the virus, like the clouds that have rarely departed over the past week, hangs over my thoughts and has changed the feeder birds' behavior - and mine. After several days of no activity at the caged seed feeder or the suet feeder I emptied them until winter. Now, I only put out water and the house feeder, which can accommodate all the birds large and small. The cardinals have not deserted me, not just because I am feeding them (I would like to think) but because I think the pair has its own nest nearby.

Now, at dawn, I go outside and hear the usual birds - song sparrows, Carolina wren, more robins, the cardinals. I hang the one feeder and usually the male flies from his hiding place to a nearby shrub, waiting for me to move away. He eats, then jumps to a high perch to sing his territorial song. His song used to cheer me, now it fills me with dread because I am watching that damned stick nest. Other birds might come by but as soon as we hear that "kekkekkek" I know one or both predators are back and so do the birds and squirrels.

Another year, another juvenile Cooper's hawk in flight (RE Berg-Andersson)

Still, I leave the house feeder out all day because the hawks don't seem to be hanging around the nest all day - yet. I have watched them long enough by now to think - not know - they are most active at dawn and at dusk. Yesterday I sat on the porch and watched the hawks on a stout branch of the next tree over from the nest tree. The male worked on the nest, flying up every so often with twigs. 

But he did something else, too - he mounted the female. Ten seconds of noisy avian sex. He worked on the nest and than mounted her a second time. As far as I know I am the only person who witnessed it, but the male cardinal was smart enough to grab some food while the hawks were otherwise engaged. Eventually, the male Cooper's flew south and, a few minutes later, so did the female. Then the birds and squirrels started returning, tentatively.

On the one sunny day we had this week, I had my office shades open. I am frequently distracted by noise and movement on my street, which is greater than usual at this time of year because of New Jersey's stay-at-home order. But I wanted the shades open to let in the sun, and that is how I saw one of the hawks flying around the front yard. Finally, I raised my shade and saw the male sitting on a branch on the tree in front of me, working to break off a twig! I took his picture. Eventually he left.

So, as with the virus and being forced to wear a bandana over my nose and mouth, I have had to make an accommodation. The hawks are not going to give up the nest and I am not going to give up feeding at least some of the birds.

I look on the bright side. Since the hawks arrived I have seen only one blue jay at the feeder. I have seen only one house finch. The jays bombard the house feeder, making it swing so wildly I fear it will fall to the ground. The house finches arrive en masse and make a mess while blocking other birds from eating - unless it is a bigger bird like the cardinal. There are fewer squirrels running around the lawn. I have seen no chipmunks, at least in the backyard. 

I am allowing myself to look at these visitors with wonder. Last year I enjoyed watching the robins at their nest. This year it will be Cooper's hawks. 

The day I photographed the male was windy, and I was amazed how aerodynamic the birds are. They seem top-heavy with their squared-off heads and wings compared with their relatively slender, rounded tail. The pair are juveniles - both brown-backed and streaked on the breast rather than the mature hawk's gray back and dense red streaking on the breast. But these juveniles know what they are doing. From the branch, the hawk jumps off and spreads its wings, allowing the updraft to carry it higher. Unlike the smaller sharp-shinned hawk, with its flap-flap-soar wing motion, the Cooper's seems to glide.

The male cardinal continues to sing from a high perch whether a hawk
is around or not. (Margo D. Beller)

I've learned where it got its name: It was, says Wikipedia, "first described by French naturalist Charles Lucien Bonaparte in 1828. This bird was named after the naturalist William Cooper, one of the founders of the New York Lyceum of Natural History (later the New York Academy of Sciences) in New York."

Here is how John James Audubon describes the Cooper's in his Birds of America: "The flight of the Cooper's Hawk is rapid, protracted, and even. It is performed at a short height above the ground or through the forest. It passes along in a silent gliding manner, with a swiftness even superior to that of the Wild Pigeon...seldom deviating from a straight-forward course, unless to seize and secure its prey."

It is that flying "a short height above the ground" that keeps the squirrels high in the trees when the hawks are around and the mourning dove - a favorite snack - away from the area under the feeder where the seeds are dropped.

Audubon says the male is 20 inches long with a 36-inch wingspan while the female is 22 inches long with a 38-inch span. This is much bigger than what David Allen Sibley says in his guide, although he gives only one measurement despite knowing the female is bigger than the male: 16.5 inches long with a 31-inch wingspan. 

Cooper's passing through another year
(Margo D. Beler)

While the Cornell Ornithology Lab does not give the hawk's dimensions, it does provide this handy tip:

"While catching smaller birds is just doing what comes naturally for a Cooper’s Hawk, many of us would prefer not to share the responsibility for the deaths. If a Cooper’s Hawk takes up residence in your yard, you can take your feeders down for a few days and the hawk will move on."

But what if that residency involves an honest-to-Audubon nest? In that case, here is what I can look forward to: one brood a year, two to six eggs, 30-36 days of sitting on the eggs and then 27 to 34 days of young in the nest. The Audubon field guide says the young "may climb about in nest tree after about 4 weeks, can fly at about 4-5 weeks."

That puts the time when both parent hawks will be feverishly seeking food for the young at around mid-May, peak songbird migration time. If the young hawks successfully fledge, they should all be gone by mid-summer, which is when the hummingbird feeder I still plan to hang and the house wren box I still plan to hang should be pretty busy.

And maybe this coronavirus plague will have passed by then.

It's going to be a long season.

Bearing With More Trouble

On Sept. 27, six months to the day after the last incident, I was making supper. It was a Sunday early evening, people were enjoying their backyards with their children or taking a late afternoon walk in the sunshine.

I turned around to see if any cardinals were at the house feeder. I planned to take it in by 6:30 pm ET, 30 minutes from that moment, as I have been ever since a bear came into my yard overnight and destroyed one of my feeder poles trying to get to the sunflower seed.

Well, there was no feeder. I cursed, ran out into the backyard and on the next street, ambling northward, was a black bear, about as big as the one MH and I saw from our car on Old Mine Road in the ridges and forests of Sussex County, NJ.

Old Mine Road bear (RE Berg-Andersson)

This time, the bruin had ignored the sock and the cage-enclosed feeder that were filled with thistle put out for what had become a huge flock of goldfinches. It went for the old house feeder. In pulling it the bear had taken off the wrought-iron arm, too, and MH thinks when it fell it spooked the bear off. The house feeder, which hadn't had that much seed in it at the time, was on the ground but unscathed.

After the last attack, I had taken in the feeders for a while and then it was summer and I put a hanging basket on the remaining pole. Eventually, I had gotten a new feeder pole to replace the broken one. Around Labor Day I had started putting out seed. The dry weather conditions made it hard for birds to find food unless they found my feeder, which many of them did.

So did the bear.

Rosebreasted grosbeak on house feeder,
when the pole still had two arms (RE Berg-Andersson)

I have no idea if this was the same one because I didn't see the bear six months before. That attack was overnight. This one was during daylight, when there were lots of people outside, as I said. While I called 911 to alert the police, my neighbor was atop his grandchildren's playground setup, watching. He gave me a thumb's up. His son told me he had seen the bear rip off the feeder arm and then lope off through my backyard, my backyard neighbor's yard and then to the street. A squad SUV drove up that street after the bear but whether it was confronted or just followed into the next town, I do not know.

My brother-in-law the naturalist in rural NH told me he always waits until the snow falls and the bears go into their dens before he hangs feeders - even if that's in December. His feeders are always inside by April 1.

But he is in rural NH. The migrants have long left there. I was feeding a lot of cardinals, goldfinches and chickadees (along with more annoying house sparrows) because seeding plants were dying and there were no bugs because of the drought. Where I live, it might not snow until February. And my last attack had been before April 1.

What to do?

Predators have always been a problem. Accipiters -- Cooper's hawks and sharp-shinned hawks -- and redtailed hawks often haunt the yard. Lately, a cat has been loitering. (It is not feral because it is neat and has a flea collar, but it is not from my street and I have seen it run off through yards across the street and over to another side street, where its owner may live. It doesn't let me get close enough to see any ID tag. I do not understand the old adage about putting out the cat. You don't do that for dogs.)

Cooper's hawk atop feeder (Margo D. Beller)

But I can go outside and chase off a hawk or a cat. When I ran out and saw the bear I realized that had I turned around and run out sooner we'd have been face to face. What would I have done? Would I have been as stupid as the time I went out to chase off a buck in my yard and then quickly backed way when it put its head down intending to charge? In my anger, perhaps.

There are people who love bears so much they would like nothing better than for my neighbors and me to tear down our houses and let the bears roam free, unhunted. That isn't going to happen. Yes, there are houses in areas where they never should've been built, but people are in there now and bears are dangerous. I favor a bear hunt, as I do the annual deer hunt for the same reason - restoring something of a balance.

After a day or so inside, I put the house feeder on the remaining pole arm and put the thistle sock on the other pole. Not having seed outside plus a strong northerly wind seems to have decreased the number of sparrows and goldfinches dramatically to more manageable numbers, thus allowing more of the birds I like to get to the feeders. (We've also had a significant rainfall.)

Is putting out feeders foolishness or an act of faith? I want to feed birds. But I must now be extremely vigilant, at least until a hard winter cold comes. Fool me twice, shame on me. It may not be six months until the next bear encounter.