Watching the Neighbors: The End(?)

Squirrel on nest April 19,2020 (Margo D. Beller)

This Sunday morning, when I put out the bird feeder as I always do on nonrainy days, things were the same and yet very different.

The Cooper's hawks were gone.

Up until Wednesday, the hawks were acting as usual. The male flew to the nest with twigs at first light, the female sat on a nearby branch facing where the sun would be if it wasn't cloudy. Every so often they noisily mated. At some point the male must've flown off because of what happened next. Two fish crows flew to branches close to the nest. The female Cooper's, comparable in size to the crows if not a bit larger, flew at them. They left and she sat in the nest for a long time, so long I thought there might be eggs in there. But after 15 minutes or so she, too, left.

That's been it.

Squirrel at work
(Margo D. Beller)

I have done nothing to prompt this. The yard birds and I had been adapting to the presence of predators. I had out only one feeder. When the male cardinal came after singing from a nearby tree, he would not stay long. His skittish mate came by even less frequently. Squirrels stayed up in the trees until the hawks, as usual, flew off for the day. For the past two weeks or so, the hawks had returned to repeat the process at dusk before going off to roost.

It took three days to realize there was a lot more activity in my yard. Squirrels were digging in the lawn for buried acorns. An assortment of bigger birds that would make more of a meal for a Cooper's - redbellied woodpecker, jays, mourning doves - returned to the feeder. Each morning I had looked at the nest and seen no activity. Then, yesterday afternoon, I watched as a squirrel climbed the tree to the nest with a bunch of leaves in its mouth.

Cardinals in apple tree, pre-mating (Margo D. Beller)

It had claimed the nest. While Cooper's use sticks and line the nest with bark, squirrels tend to use leaves and other softer materials. No squirrel would dare climb into an active hawk nest.

This morning, unusually cold for mid-April (frost on the roofs and some of the plants), I looked up at the nest and it was a different shape - piled high with leaves. The squirrel sat on the branch beneath it. Then it climbed down for another bunch of leaves.

When the male cardinal came to the feeder he was back to his usual habit of grabbing a seed and eating it atop the pole. At one point he flew to his mate and I thought he would give her a seed. Instead, they mated far more quickly and silently than the hawks.

Frost on quince leaves; most of the flowers are gone (Margo D. Beller)

What prompted the Cooper's to abandon the nest the male had spent over two weeks building? Was it the heavy rain we'd had for several days this week? The unusual cold? The lack of sun? Had the female felt threatened by the fish crows discovering the nest? Did one or both die in an accident or attack from something larger, either winged or human?

Or was it simply these were two immature birds that, after being prompted to mate and build a nest by that internal process triggered by longer, warmer days, couldn't continue the work of raising a family?

I have no answers. It could have been any one or more of those things. What I do know is I have more birds in the yard and may now be able to put out more feeders again. Unlike the cloud of coronavirus that continues to hang over the world for the foreseeable future, the uncertainty caused by the hawk nest appears to be gone.

The hawks may be elsewhere, of course, and there will always be other predators either passing through or nesting nearby. The yard birds and I will have to remain vigilant.

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.

Watching the Neighbors

On Thursday, June 28, we had an intense thunderstorm. I was up early and sitting on the porch before going to work. The house wren young were chattering, calling for food. They were big enough that I could see a bill or two coming out of the nest box opening. A parent would fly there, the chattering would intensify, the parent would fly off.

That afternoon, hours after the rain ended and the sun came out, they were gone.

It took a while to realize this because I was working, but later in the afternoon I came out and did not hear chattering. I stood under the apple tree, next to the box. No chattering. No scolding parent. Gone.

A week after this picture, the birds were gone. Note the tell-tale
twig showing the box is occupied. (Margo D. Beller)

I had expected this. The birds were not happy with all the squirrels and birds going after the apples in the tree. They were not happy with me picking them either. It had been over a week since the little peeps became an almost constant dry rattle, and I admit the sound was getting annoying. Any day they were going to fly from the box.

Once I realized these birds had flown, and knowing a heatwave was coming in the next day or so, I got my extension pole and knocked down close to 30 apples, adding them to my bucket filled with close to 100 more. There may have been one or two left in the highest part of the tree then but I can tell you that now all the apples are gone. Even the apples I had dumped around the yard were gone. (I used what I picked for sauce and a couple of cobblers.)

A couple of days later, as I was sitting on the porch in the early morning with my coffee, a house wren flew to the top of my feeder pole and sang. And sang. It sang all over that part of the yard. From my vantage point I saw it fly to the birdhouse in my neighbor's dogwood tree. Last year, when it looked like chickadees got to my nest box first, a house wren had gone to that birdhouse. (Another one later came to my nest box and evicted the chickadees.) This year a house wren took over my box just a day after I put it up. Now I saw the tell-tale sign of occupancy at my neighbor's - a plastic strip waving in the breeze from the box opening. 

Now there is wren song at dawn again, but from elsewhere as the bird stays relatively close to the nest. 

It made me wonder, why not my nest box? House wrens can have two broods in one summer but I've never had two broods in the box. Are these new wrens next door or the ones I hosted that decided they didn't like having all those creatures around the nest? In past years the brood would fledge and the apples would need to be picked a few weeks later. Not this year when we had sudden heat and the squirrels didn't wait for the apples to fully ripen.

Were these new wrens put off by the twig sticking out of the box, thinking the box is occupied? I pulled out the twig but no wren has come. Meanwhile, the two wrens next door are shuttling to and from the birdhouse. Soon there will be eggs, then young, then fledglings. By then summer will just about be over and the wrens will fly south.

Here in the suburbs we watch our neighbors' yards to make sure there is nothing illicit going on. I mean more than Neighborhood Watch groups. I'm talking about the garden variety sort of looking at what's going on nearby. When I hear the sounds of mowing or drilling or sawing, I make it a point to see where this noise is coming from, to make sure my property won't be affected. I admit, I am rather territorial and sometimes my watchfulness isn't appreciated. Had my neighbor come out and seen me on my porch with my binoculars pointed at his house, he might have become concerned. He has small children to protect. 

Well, he also has a family of young house wrens as neighbors that he may or may not be aware are in his birdhouse. So in my own watchful way I am trying to protect them, too, from afar.