I notice this changing of the seasons when I feed the owls in that the evenings are already shorter. At the height of midsummer I could walk confidently down to the farm at eleven o'clock and still not need a torch. Now I am hurrying down before ten and on a cloudy evening the farm is already swathed in a darkness that seems unfamiliar and leaves me alert and edgy How quickly I have forgotten the deep hues of a Fenland evening in December.
July brings a quiet calm to the owl's behaviour. The youngsters are beginning to hunt for themselves and as such the adult's urgency for food quickly dissipates. Midweek I decided to wait behind after feeding to see the owl's movements and glean clues from their farmyard when they assumed I had left. I found the perfect spot; a concrete block in the shadow of the grain store with perfect views of both nest boxes and also the combine shed. The air was warm and still after rain and I hugged my knees and smiled to myself. The anticipation of the show that was about to unfold in front of me still grips my attention with the fascination that it did from the start.
Within minutes the youngest owlet began hissing from the nest box. It is capable of flying but has learned that if it is present at the nest site it will be fed. It was reassuring to hear it calling so urgently and my satisfaction was compounded when it was joined by its sibling that flew haphazardly from a nearby tree and crash landed on the nest box. I sat captivated as the two youngsters greeted each other with a cacophony of sounds, a loud scuffling and their usual tap dance on the wooden nest box floor.
Their antics were so engaging that I hadn't noticed the little owl on the roof struts but it had noticed me. Even though I could only see its silhouette I knew it was staring directly at me with those oversized eyebrows raised and an expression of disbelief at my actions. Before I could react a barn owl appeared to my left and sat surveying the yard from the shed door. I knew it was imperative that I remained motionless or it would hear me. I froze barely daring to breathe and willing the little owl to remain silent and not give away my whereabouts. With my eyes firmly fixed on the barn owl I detected a noise to my right, a low thud which unnerved me entirely.It resounded across the farm yard two,maybe three more times and with my gaze towards the owl I couldn't turn to face whatever horror was in the opposite direction. I reasoned with myself that the kestrel, who has learned to fly after dark, was helping itself to food as this version of events was one I could handle. The little owl continued to behave itself and as such I settled down for the show.
The barn owl effortlessly left the shed door and collected the food below before flying over to the nest box inhabited by the youngsters. Although they were now quite capable of flying down for food themselves they demanded to be fed. The adult didn't make it into the box, instead it was rudely mobbed on the porch and sent off for more. Six times it collected food from two feeding stations and flew to feed them yet the youngsters continued to hiss. The clamour was so loud I even considered whether there were also other fledglings from a different brood in the box.
When the owl adult bird decided that the youngsters were provided for, it took food into the shed but didn't stay inside to eat it. This could only mean it delivered supplies to its mate. It is quite plausible that she is building up her laying weight for a second brood and with the youngsters still at the first nest box it looks as if this pair have requisitioned the shed box for themselves. But what of the other pair that had a failed brood here in June?
The barn owl seemed still none the wiser of my whereabouts and I wanted to walk home without alarming it. I relish this game of cat and mouse which sets my heart racing and my adrenaline pumping. How to leave the farm yard without the owls realising I have been watching them for the past twenty minutes is indeed a challenge. Fortunately for me, it glided out of sight round to the house and I took the opportunity and swiftly left to walk home, satisfied with myself and the knowledge I had gleaned.
I was reassured that the youngsters were growing and thriving and that the adults were considering a second brood but I was puzzled as to where our second pair were. As I sat motionless that evening an owl had flown in for food and rather magnificently flew directly past me, so close I could feel the draft from its wings. Was this our second male taking food to his mate? I wondered about the owl that flies in from the north. Had our second pair grown tired of the competition especially with the kestrels behaving so dominantly this year and moved away only to fly back in for supplies? Yet as quickly as I considered this possibility I discounted it, as this individual has flown in for a good few years including times when we have ringed both broods. I scoured the farm for possible nest sites. The beehive box has stock doves in it and the kestrels are still using west nest box. With youngsters in east nest box and their parents in the shed all the nest boxes are occupied.
There is an owl that flies to the freshly stacked hay in the dutch barn by the road. I look carefully and find perfectly owl sized holes that could easily house these secretive birds. With a start I realise that on more than one occasion I have watched an owl fly here and anticipated its exit from the farm only for it to disappear. A nest here would be a new venture for the owls. Then I remember the chimney. We've had brood raised here before and my neighbour told me of the fuss the jackdaws had been making upon the chimney pot. On investigation I find a fresh owl pellet on the drive, a clue to their whereabouts or a total red herring? I am avidly watching.
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