On a small family farm in Fenland.

I leave my house and set off along the single track road that links my house to our family farm in the heart of The Fens. Its nearly eight years now since I first began walking out each evening, always at dusk, intent and purposeful. I whistle the same familiar two notes and pan the torch ahead of me. Invariably an barn owl, sometimes two, fly to my bidding, circling close before flying back to the farm yard to wait impatiently for me to arrive. No matter how often it happens, that acknowledgement thrills me to the pit of my stomach. They know that I will feed them as soon as I catch up with them.

The Fens are a stronghold for barn owls. the dykes and ditches that stitch this unique landscape together make perfect wildlife corridors for them to hunt over. The lack of busy main roads safeguard them against one of their biggest enemies; traffic. There are also people such as myself who are delighted to find themselves living alongside these magnificent birds and whilst few people feed the owls that live within close proximity to them, many provide nest boxes and hunting grounds for them. Fenland folk are fortunate to regularly see a barn owl quartering its territory both by dusk and dawn in their travels across this unusual landscape.

 In June I run my errand well after 10 pm and still the vast horizon sports the most brilliant of colours. Blue fades to turquoise then white before hues of yellow ochre and finally scarlet paint these skies. It is my favourite time of year for owl feeding when conditions are mild and hospitable and the owls are particularly keen to see me. Their urgency is palpable because June is the month for owlets.

I feed at four places across the farm. It gives them a little space as barn owls can be territorial. Since I began feeding them however, we now have two pairs that nest side by side, plus kestrels in a third nest box and little owls between them all in a hole in the straw. As I reach the first feeding platform I pan the torch again and see with satisfaction that the owls are assembled. One is perched high above me in the ash tree whilst a pair sit companionably together in the nearby walnut tree. As I leave they need little bidding and fly straight in. With wings held upwards and talons outstretched they grab at the food and within a split second are gone upwards and away into the darkness.

I rarely pause but continue onward across the farm, past the open sheds that provide dry hunting opportunities throughout the winter and past the zinc shed which one pair of owls have commissioned for themselves. It has a door that has dropped on its hinges to offer a perfectly sized entrance and exit for an owl and as it is rarely used by us, they favour this nest site. I leave food just outside on another makeshift platform before continuing to the dutch barn. Here we have two more nest boxes and I listen with huge satisfaction at the soft, insistent hissing of the owlets inside the first box. They are used to my whistling and know that it signals the arrival of supper. Their excitement is tangible. The cacophony of noise that grows louder every evening tells me this is a thriving brood. I eagerly anticipate the days in the not too distant future when these owlets will be flying to greet me too. It is marvellous to stand and watch as the farm becomes awash with these elegant beauties.

Feeling satisfied that all is well I continue on  to the furthermost end of the dutch barn. This final platform is underneath the box used by the kestrels. They too fly by night. Only last week one flew past so close I could have reached out and touched it. The little owls take food from here too and one sits in the trees along the dyke side totally unperturbed by me  and glaring indignantly, a little pepper pot of fury yet so incredibly endearing.

My job is done yet the spectacle is by no means over. As I walk back to exit the yard, an adult flies up to the unruly barn owlets with food and I hear their noisy clamouring. The adult totally disregards me and flies over to the shed for more food. I play my part in the charade and continue walking,not wanting to intrude for the farm belongs to them after darkness has fallen. At the gate I pause and watch the shed intently. Sure enough an adult bird appears on the door frame and surveys the area taking her time, weighing up the situation. Only when she is satisfied all is safe does she alight upon the platform just below her and choose her supper. She takes it straight back into the shed. Her owlets are younger. I know this as she has only just reappeared from brooding the eggs. Soon I hope there will be hissing from this box too.

There is one bird left I haven't seen. I am a little early and so I wait patiently by the farm gate for it to arrive. Every summer we are visited by another owl.It must surely be a youngster from a previous year that knows about my evening offerings and that now has hungry youngsters of its own to sustain. Perhaps it enjoys the challenge but every evening it bravely flies against the sunset and into the yard. Without delay, it swiftly snatches up its share of the bounty before flying directly, low and keen in the direction from which it came. Our farm owls are incensed by its presence and show their territorial instincts with blood curdling screeches. I admire its courage and secretly wish it well.

Its time to leave, to walk the way I came and I smile as I go. I have no idea how long I will continue to do what I do but I know that I am extremely privileged to be able to observe this spectacle each evening, on a small, family farm in Fenland.

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