Commiseration.

It is done. The urgency and vibrancy as the young owls found their independence has passed. It is only two weeks since I last wrote my blog yet the changes over the farm yard can be seen and felt almost daily. For those of you who joined me to watch as I fed the owls over the Christmas period, you were lucky. Already there is an eerie calm settling at dusk over the flatlands, over the dykes and ditches, and the patchworked fields that I call home.

This is my eighth spring with the owls and I anticipated this next, very necessary, chain of events. Some of the reason for this lull in activity comes from the settled weather. Calm, dry nights allow the owls to hunt for themselves. My offerings are reassuringly a last resort, a lifeline in the harshest of times, a dependable source of sustenance but they prefer to follow their instincts. However previous years have taught me that January is the month when the autumn owlets begin to disperse and truly find their wings.

As the year turned I was still greeted by a flurry of activity. The incessant hissing from the owlets never failed to make me smile as they reacted to my whistling and I rewarded their impudence with a ready supply of food. As their flying skills improved they could be seen in all directions across the farm, flying from sheds and straw stacks, often almost bumping into me in their haste and then screeching that half formed articulation that told me they were neither owlet or adult. I loved these evening walks, my favourite of the past year, and was proud to share them with my visitors.

As January nears its end, some of the owls have undoubtedly left the farm. I am still greeted by numerous owls but they have learned to wait patiently, to fly in for food in an orderly fashion and to behave as is expected of such a regal bird. Invariably my whistling is met with birds lifting up into the farm yard lights and heading over to the house, to where I first feed. Tonight there were six sitting companionably around in the trees, eager but reserved, waiting for me to leave. I watched them fly in and deftly take their share before flying to trees or sheds to eat. One unintentionally flew unbelievably close and I was thrilled to the pit of my stomach. My most melancholy moment comes as I walk over to the straw stack. The barn that the fledglings roosted in now houses just one owl and only occasionally do I hear the softest of hissing, an instinctive reaction almost like an imprint. I miss them tumbling out one after the other from the gap above the door and eyeing me warily. I miss their antics entirely.

On work days I walk the dog before dusk. Two weeks ago there were four owlets hunting in the farm. They sat on the shed roof, balanced in the straw and perched expectantly in the bleached branches. All stared intently at the ground as if they could will a vole to appear. The following week there were just two that circled round as soon as they saw me. This week only one sat watching me from the ash tree. As I returned it flew from a pile of zinc and sat expectantly on the east feeding platform. I was heartened that it knew me but sorry it was hungry and that I couldn't oblige it.

But there are commiserations. The adult owls have begun to show a consistency in their behaviours that indicates they are pairing up and considering nest sites for the coming spring. Barn owls begin to reestablish the bond with their mates very early in the year and I am hopeful that we will have two pairs once more. As I peer through the shed door I see an owl roosting on the shed eaves perhaps indicating its preference for this highly sought after nest site. Another regularly flies out of east nest box, a sure sign that this too is being considered. Once more, after weeks with barely a sign  the little owls are also showing more readily. I see them both morning and night perched motionless close to a tree branch with those piercing eyes fixed intently upon my movements. Their reappearance gives me huge pleasure and consolation.

Today I drove the Thorney by pass with the deliberate intention of looking for road casualties. As I neared the final stretch my heart lifted as I had seen no little lifeless bodies but my optimism was premature. There, on the central reservation was a buff coloured pile of feathers. A gap in the hedging that borders this road had allowed it through and to its death. This was most likely a youngster dispersing. I will it not to be one of ours that I have watched with such affection. I fervently hope those are safe and growing in expertise in their brave, new worlds and I anticipate that they are close enough to know that in the harshest of times there is a little corner of fenland that will always welcome them.

Wolf Moon

I didn't see it initially. As I plodded around the muddy field margins my interest had been taken with a female barn owl quartering the dyke side ahead of us. But with a mug of tea in one hand, a Labrador to contain with the other and a camera with settings to adjust she saw me first and headed in the opposite direction.The farm owls are fortunate to have numerous paths to hunt upon and can outmanoeuvre me every time.

It was the Wolf Moon that I had missed as it began its shy ascent appearing on the north eastern horizon. I forgot about my owl and hastily paced the field perimeter knowing if I was in position in time I would get a photo of it looming majestically over my favourite trees. The rapidity of its ascent and the change in colour that accompanied it was astounding. It morphed from white through yellow to a burnt orange in minutes before resuming a brilliant white that lit up the winter skyscape and made a torch at owl feeding time quite superfluous.

After a few nights of suspicious activity at the farm Rob accompanied me and we sat under the Horse Chestnut tree to watch as the visiting owls took turns to fly in for their tea. One after the other they arrived with effortless elegance and barely a glance in our direction. The straw stack was also awash with owls and we sat upon a bale to watch the younger birds alight on the platform to choose the tastiest of morsels. After two rainy evenings the still, clear conditions were perfect both for ourselves and the owls.

I was heading over to Peterborough and knew it was an evening for owl spotting. I didn't have to scour the fields for long. Before I had driven one hundred metres into the Lincolnshire fens I glanced my first owl. It crossed the traffic on the top bank road and flew into my waiting headlights. I recognised this bird. It was the incredibly grey barn owl that we have seen hunting along the road sides here in the past month. I am unsure of its roost but it will undoubtedly be one of our youngsters. Although the farm makes for a perfect roost site the autumn fledgling's instinct will already be telling them to literally spread their wings and leave for territories of their own. We often see them still within a short distance of the farm and it is both terrifying and wonderful to watch.

This particular bird seemed undaunted by the cars. My dilemma was whether to keep my headlights on full beam. Would this blind the owl or would they light it up and warn other vehicles of its presence? I tentatively edged out onto the main road and drove at a snail's pace with the owl quartering beside me. It held itself steady, wings at a horizontal and head down as it stayed intent upon its hunt. As I met car after car in the next few minutes I willed the young owl to stay safe in its foray for food.

Within a couple of miles I happened upon my next owl; another familiar bird. This one was hunting from a post across Thorney fen on the northernmost border of Cambridgeshire. As an experienced bird it was wisely conserving its energy by waiting for prey on this favoured post. It could almost have been another species to the one I had seen just minutes previously. Its deep amber feathers were flecked with grey and I was reminded of the time last April I stopped along here. I had seen an owl on the dyke edge in the pouring rain one lunchtime. I scaled the water and got within a metre of it before it flew quite capably through the tussocky grass. My initial concerns that it was injured or starving had been allayed and I kept watch instead from a respectful distance. What I remember most from this encounter was the singular beauty of this owl's feathers. With the rain jewelled across its back it had the beauty of a peacock as the vibrant rust accentuated the grey flecked tips of each feather. This encounter gained extra significance when I found out that this territory belonged to one of our 2016 owlets that was recaptured in July last year. As I watched her staring and engrossed on the weather beaten grass it seemed amazing to think that perhaps I had once held her and been part of the process of detailing those all important details, that I had watched her fledge across the farm, perhaps viewed her with that now familiar anxiety as she too made her way into the wider world.

                                                             2016 youngsters

My final sighting was close to Eye. An owl flew just within the periphery of my vision, a flurry of white beating upwards and away from its tree perch, a flamenco turn dressed in haughty disregard. In 2014 I had the pleasure of being part of something very special here too. Teaching at this village school I undertook a project about barn owls and we were given an owl box. 2014 was a bumper year for barn owls. We erected the box in March and it was occupied in May. I had read the now classic "Owl Babies" to sixty four year olds in the shade of the trees only to find out we had our very own owl babies roosting quietly above us. I arranged to have them ringed and we found three bundles of fluff as in the story. Some of the very youngest children came with me to hold the owlets.I still remember the assembly where we shared the photos with the whole school. Silent awe and wonder filled the hall. It was undoubtedly one of the highlights in thirty years of teaching. Watching this owl so close to the school made me wonder if it was one of this brood's predecessors. How lovely to think I may have made an impact in this part of the fens despite the sprawl of Peterborough relentlessly encroaching upon the area.

The moon continued to cast her glow,  painting the fields and the ditches and the hedgerows with its silvery light. When I returned along the same route after a couple of hours the owls had gone. Undoubtedly they had caught their supper and returned to their roosts until hunger forced them out again. It filled with me optimism for the forthcoming year to watch these elegant raptors, to see their assured quartering, to know they were there.

Triumphs and tragedies.

 How can it possibly be 2020 already? I love the new year with its air of new possibilities and promise but I also enjoy reflecting on the year just past. As I recall events over the last twelve months I can barely believe that such a lot has happened with the owls in this short space of time.

Out of all the years that I have been involved with our barn owls, 2019 has seen the most tragedies. We began the year knowing we had lost one of our adult males and I wondered if the remaining female would find a mate. It seemed amazing to watch as the resident male took her on as a second wife which made hard work for him in the earlier part of the year as he helped to raise two broods. My delight at this arrangement was short lived when we found his original mate dead along the riverbank.as her first brood fledged. It seemed that we were indeed down to one pair for the first time since 2014 and I spent a morose summer imagining a winter farm yard  bereft of owls. I had very few sightings during high summer and missed my visitors enormously.

We had other casualties too. The female youngster I found starving in the dyke in April seemed fortunate to have the care and attention she needed from our local rescue centre but my delight at her release quickly turned to horror as I found her drowned in the river. She simply wasn't strong enough and I felt implicit in her death. Similarly my delight at rescuing a tumbler from the autumn brood in the shed, hidden in the woodpile, led to sadness when I found one from this same brood dead in the shed and another predated in the field. These two unringed youngsters were very unlikely to have survived so late in the season but having watched them and willed them so hard to adulthood I took both of these losses hard too. Our final casualty was one of Debbie's fledglings that was hit by a car along the road between our houses. I had been present when this brood were ringed and was so very sorry that an otherwise healthy owl had to be euthanized. It is at times like this that I doubt my involvement with these beautiful birds. My own resilience is tested and I feel each loss far too keenly.

But it has not all been doom and gloom. 2019 proved to be a bumper year for voles which in turn led to a glut of owlets. We were due a good vole year and it was extremely welcome as I was certain that sightings of barn owls across fenland were down since the last good year of 2014. We had two broods of two owlets early on in the year, so early that the adults couldn't take advantage of the forthcoming glut of food. In autumn the owls produced two broods of five despite the loss of the original female who, amazingly, was replaced by a third bird. Whether our Casanova resident male was daddy to both broods is debatable. I am beginning to realise that I may not be as assured as to who is living on the farm as I think I am.

It was also a year for some firsts for me. Although the cycle of events continued along a pleasingly familiar pattern I saw things this year that I couldn't have anticipated. I watched in terror as the male bird was tackled by a buzzard for its prey. He flew back to his roost site that day and stayed there. I also watched in amazement as the owls tired of the kestrels and ousted their youngsters from the nest box a week before they were ready to fledge. I learned a great deal about this delightful little falcon as I kept a close eye on them over the next few weeks and still feel a pang of pleasure as I watch kestrels hunting across the fields. As the autumn progressed I observed the second brood owlets with pleasure as they roosted together. We installed a fourth feeding station directly outside their shed to alleviate any hostility but as yet they seem very contented with each other. I also could not have anticipated catching a flying owl and still smile to myself at the thought of that event. One of the youngsters was out by day, confused and hungry.I can still vividly remember it launching itself towards me and instinctively grabbing it as it flew past. I was determined to return it to safety but had some nasty wounds on my hands as thanks.

The year has ended on a high as I am greeted by a farm full of owls. I could not have anticipated such a greeting in the owl famine that was summer 2019. The youngsters still hiss upon my arrival. The adults wait patiently staring hard at me with those large obsidian eyes full of trust. Just last night I stopped over by the house and looked around me. I was completely surrounded by them as they sat waiting expectantly in the trees. The closest was perhaps only ten metres away, two youngsters sat together in the furthest trees whilst the shyer birds sat partially hidden by the walnut tree branches. I cannot tell what 2020 has in store for us but I do know that I will continue to play my part in the dramas until circumstances force my hand. Happy New Year to you all.