Secrets.

From my utility window I see them. The first owl butterflying upwards in the farm yard lights. It almost glows as it twists and its brilliant underside catches the light. A second is following flying lower and more direct. I lean on the worktop and watch. The second bird alights on the shed roof apex. I can imagine its face, those intent eyes, that indignant expression cocooned in a heart shaped ruff, the turn of the head and its upright stance. They are back.

I know that I will not be privileged to watch them in the numbers that waited for me during January. Those times will reoccur but for now I am content to see two or three each evening. As I walk and whistle one reassuringly flies above me and continues ahead of me to wait in the trees by the house. I am not sure why it is so incredibly satisfying to have this happen each evening but there is something in the consistency of its behaviour that sits well with me. Tonight there were three waiting tolerantly together for the food they know I will bring. I talk to them, pan the torch low and walk rapidly away. They have their secrets to keep.

I know, from previous years owl watching that the females are at the nest boxes. I have seen our very light male return with food to the shed. One evening recently I asked Rob to escort me. Our farm had seen hare coursers and  I wanted back up. When the owls heard his deep voice two absconded from east nest box. This pair sit tight for me but that evening their secret was laid bare. Intriguingly, I often see three owls and another one waits at west nest box. Do we still have autumn owlets visiting if not who can these other birds be if our females are now sitting on eggs?

Sam is now home and walked down with me on his first evening back. We waited on a straw bale with grand views of the shed and east nest box to see if we could glean any more information. Immediately one flew to the rafters, a fine vantage point, before choosing its food. Within seconds it had seen us. Despite the gloom we both knew it was glaring at us, unflinching and furious at our very presence. We sat motionless, not daring to move, every muscle taut, breathing low and steady, both waiting for that screech which would penetrate to our very core. For some reason it didn't come but that indignant stare continued.

Suddenly from the east two owls flew in. The first was obviously the shed male as it expertly darted in the gap at the top of the door. Its pursuer flew into the dutch barn and unintentionally directly above us, shrieking and whirring as it went. Whether it saw us or whether its rage was directed at the first owl I am unsure. Although I have rarely felt threatened by the owls this encounter was as nerve wracking as they come. We knew we would gain little more by staying and headed home.

They continue to wait, two, three, sometimes four of them, still they guard their secrets well. But watching closely means I am a little concerned about the hostility between the two pairs. During 2018 the owls that shared the farm showed a familiarity with each other that was remarkable and there was little territorial posturing. We then lost our original male bird from 2014 and the younger male took on both females for the summer of 2019. When his first mate died it left us only one pair yet by autumn we had two broods of owlets. It became evident that  a totally new pair had moved in. As we move ever closer to young owls once more I am watching avidly yet anxiously that all remains well.

Absence.

It is a full two weeks since I wrote my last blog. That week is thankfully beginning to fade from my memory but I am still travelling out grimacing at every discarded wrapper and craning my neck to identify anything crumpled in nearby fields. As the weather has settled the fatalities have lessened although I was sorry to see yet another road casualty along the A47 today. A dyke running perpendicular to such a busy road meant certain death for this owl that had quite obviously chosen to hunt its grassy banks.

The calming weather has lifted my mood but the owls are not bestowing upon me those fabulous winter fly pasts. We know some of my visitors have been lost to the terrible conditions and the remaining youngsters are now out there somewhere having to fend for themselves but this scenario is not all about despondency. Empty skies at dusk mean the owls can finally hunt for themselves. They will always revert to this if they can and I am heartened to see that times are once more a little easier for them. However the most obvious and very exciting reason for an absence of owls is that the females are now in the nest boxes. If they aren't sitting on eggs they are spending time establishing bonds with their mate. Not only are the females no longer flying but the males have become extra secretive. More than once I have walked into what seems to be a deserted farm yard only to hear a strangled screech from the shed eaves or a nearby tree. They will not compromise their mate's safety by returning to her whilst I am close. Their loyalty is humbling. Tonight two were sparring as I entered the farm. One waited by the house and the other left east nest box porch. I watched from the road side. The one from near the house returned to the combine shed, deftly diving through the door gap with a chick in its talons. This is early for barn owls but hardly surprising. Our owls laid their first egg in 2018 on the 4th march as the "Beast from the East" gave us its worst. This morning my neighbour sent a video of her owls mating. The signs are all there.

 I thought back to last year. We began the year with the adult male taking on both of our female birds and making really hard work for himself before tragedy struck and his original mate was found dead along the riverbank. By autumn we had two pairs on the farm again but this rivalry has been noted before. It would seem there is an uneasy truce between the two pairs who only tolerate each other because of the abundance of nest sites and the extra food. I anticipate a brood in the shed and in east nest box as we did last autumn. You saw it here first.

If my barn owls are staying out of sight the other raptors on the farm are making sure I am not too bereft. The kestrels greet me each morning. Sometimes there are two males and I wonder if they are my youngsters from last summer. On other occasions a male and female sit closely together on the ploughing watching me intently. These birds are easily spotted, a chestnut figurine atop of  the chocolate curled clay. They wait until I leave the field before flying deftly in and taking a chick. Midweek I returned from the field and disturbed one of the males. It flew to the second shed and tiny bits of day old chick down drifted to the ground. That afternoon as I rounded the shed a kestrel appeared from west nest box, popping out of the door like a cuckoo from a clock. It was still quite breezy and he chose to stay, poised and alert, never taking his eyes from me until I was a good distance away.

There are also the little owls who wait in the trees. You can easily mistake them for a branch as they sit motionless close to the tree trunk but if I walk closer I can see them, their indignant expression and disproportionate eyebrows. They seem to puff themselves up as if making up for their tiny stature. Their straw roost is still intact but I often catch them dart into the nest box we made for them at the end of the shed. One of them waits here for me each evening, standing to attention, a little sentinel on  guard through the night.

I miss my fly pasts, my avian acknowledgement, but I am now accustomed to their movements and their annual habits. I will continue to feed and continue to watch as avidly as ever for clues and signs that all is well.

The saddest week.

This week has seen the harshest of times and this blog is undoubtedly the hardest that I have had to write. But life cannot be all sweetness and light and in my dealings with the owls I have to face those difficult moments alongside the amazing highs that I so avidly share with you. The saddest of weeks has however, been punctuated with moments of beauty. As the sun appears fleetingly and seemingly more beautiful between the heaviest of rain clouds these moments have reminded why I continue to do what I do.

                                                                     Golden hour

The weather has continued to conspire against the owls and reports of birds starving are widespread. Their hunger drives them into ever more precarious situations, hunting by day and close to roads. It was with a heavy heart that I saw the owl I had watched close to a nearby bridge now crumpled on the grass verge. It was impossible to stop with traffic everywhere but we agreed to look on our return journey. By then, despite scouring the area and nearby fields the owl had vanished. How I wished I had turned back initially. I had felt sure this owl was one of our youngsters but now I couldn't check for a ring. I convinced myself that perhaps it wasn't dead that it had been mantling over prey but my husband is not in the habit of humouring me. He assured me it was dead and that another well intentioned person had recovered the body. If it was one of ours I know the information will reach me through Paddy. How sorry I was to think I would not see its beautiful buff form quartering as I drove that way.

Sunday continued in a similar vein with gusty winds that nearly took my legs from under me as I walked the dog. At dusk Nature took pity upon the owls and the wind calmed. All at once owls appeared as if summoned by some unknown piper. We drove out as one of our males flew alongside the car. Thrilled to the pit of my stomach my delight continued as we headed across the fens. Within five miles we had seen as many owls, all quartering, composed and intent. To watch their languid flight you would not imagine the turmoil that they have endured in these infernal conditions.

                                                 This grey bird flew alongside us.

These sightings carried me through the start of the week but on Tuesday I returned from work to find a sad bundle waiting for me. It was the frailest little body I have ever seen yet absolutely perfect without a feather out of place. It had simply faded away. The ring told me that it wasn't one of ours but belonged to a nest site down the road. The owl in its weakness must have found our open sheds where it was discovered too late. I shed a tear over its perfect form and wished it had realised that there was food within metres of its final roost. I had seen an owl in these sheds on Saturday. I often see them in here so hadn't thought to check but how I wish I had looked now. Sadly recriminations and retrospection are little use to it now.

                                                                         Perfect

There was however, metaphorical sunshine on Wednesday when I was called upon to help with the location for a barn owl release. This one had argued with a van in a nearby village and been rescued by a local lady. The man responsible for its rehabilitation met me and together we chose a good spot. Once it realised that it was free it flew beautifully silhouetted against the sun. As we stood discussing the year gone by and our individual owlish endeavours we watched two owls quartering the dykes and ditches. Had the released bird so confidently found its wings already?

                                                         Great focus on the box front!

I drove that way over the next couple of days with the intention of looking out for this owl and making sure as best I could that it wasn't in trouble. As I drove past the spot where it had been involved in the van collision I whispered a curse as I saw the all too familiar form of a crushed owl on the roadside. Surely it couldn't be? I abandoned the car and ran avoiding the lorries that sped past yet feeling the tug from them and imagining that force on the slight form of a barn owl. On reaching the pathetic pile of feathers I was relieved that it was unringed as our released bird was sporting a fresh silver ring with its own individual number. Nonetheless it was beyond sad to feel its fragile little body, too thin, pushed beyond its limits and I contemplated that perhaps the collision it had encountered was preferable to the slow agonising death that starvation must bring.

                                                                      GY00516


I didn't have time to dwell on this sad find. There was one more that for me that would prove far more poignant. For some reason my dog walk took me upon a different route and back to the yard along the riverbank. I caught sight of something owl coloured along the bank and casually raised my binoculars. I so often pick out old pieces of hessian or cardboard that I wasn't expecting to see an owl and gasped with shock as the heart shaped face and flayed wings came sharply into focus. I knew from this distance it would be one of ours and set off to with the grisly job of identifying exactly which one it was. GY00516 was the third oldest fledgling from the combine shed. In my distress I moved the body and quickly took photos before covering it with reeds and leaving it. But something didn't seem quite right. A seemingly single wound to the upper wing and subsequent blood loss was a strange injury. I wondered about predation yet other than this wound the bird was flawless. It's condition told me it had died that day and we had seen an owl sitting on the hedge that very morning. I should have seen that its close proximity was a sign that all wasn't well. Summoning up all my resilience I closed my heart to my usual sentimentality and rang the bird of prey monitoring scheme. I returned that evening and collected it. This body will be analysed and I hope to have some answers. It is the very least I can do for one of our own.

                                                                   Happier times.

I couldn't imagine this time just a week ago that I would have so many little tragedies to record and I sincerely hope that I never have to experience another week such as this. But it has shown me that I am not alone in the emotions that these magnificent creatures evoke. My sad tales have been met with sympathy and kind words wherever my story has been shared and those around me have shown a genuine concern as the sorry, lifeless bodies have been recovered and pored over. The owl release that lifted me mid week was carried out with a surge of genuine happiness from all involved and here too I recognised the strength of emotion that arises around these sentient beings. I will hold closely these moments of gentle compassion as a soothing reminder that there are good times ahead.