Transition

With the autumn equinox came a notable change. The settled, warm weather we had come to expect has been replaced with something far less predictable. I have exchanged my shorts and thin cotton skirts for jeans and my cosily padded jacket now hangs by the door. Nature is also acting accordingly. The swallows and house martins have flown south. My only sightings are a fleeting glimpse of a straggler hunting the freshly turned fields, scouting for a final meal. As these birds depart I feel lucky to have a close encounter with a newly arrived short eared owl that chose to quarter the river close to the farm for a day or two. Soon my evenings will be punctuated with the sound of  the whooper and bewick swans flying from Scandinavia to winter in the fens. The sound of their joyful calling from the darkness is wonderful to witness.

Our barn owls do not have such drastic changes in their year but, they too, will have to accommodate some startling differences in the coming weeks. I am certain that the abundance of voles is coming to an end. As field after field is turned and cropped ready for next year and as the temperature steadily decreases the voles stop producing young in such prolific numbers. With the weather becoming less predictable the adult owls also need to hunt when they can rather than when they wish to. They are now showing well after dark which tells me they are hungry and so are their families.

I should, and indeed do, feel sympathetic to their plight but am also deeply thrilled, especially when they hear me whistle and fly through the farm lights to wait for me by the farm house. They haven't done this since May and I doubted I would see such behaviour this autumn. My heart sang as I recognised daddy owl perched in his usual position in the ash tree, glaring angrily at the other owls flying in eager anticipation. Some of these owls are new to me. I can tell by their uneasiness with me, but it does not stop them flying in, even when I have a visitor walking with me. They dare themselves to take from the platform, with wings held angel-like and talons outstretched and we are suitably impressed.

There is also a satisfaction in watching the female from the shed. She has a platform by the door and delights me each evening by appearing even as I walk across the farm. She eyes me warily before dropping down to peruse the food. To me it all looks the same but she chooses carefully before flying vertically upwards and diving deftly through the door gap. If I wait I can see her do this time and time again, glaring at me each time, until the platform is empty. The pair with the older brood on the dutch barn frame feed their family barely glancing in her direction. If the shed female has paired with our male he is not supporting her. I have yet to see a second bird take food in for this family and if she is rearing them on her own she will need as much help as she can get.

There is one bird who is not helping but hindering her. Each night, without fail, it flies into her platform as soon as I leave it and before she appears. Without pausing it takes food and flies off into the field. I have no idea where it is going but I am reminded of Mr Swoopy who often raided the farm in previous years to take food back across our fields to the south. Perhaps last night it came back after I had left. I watched two birds spar in the shed lights long after I had left the yard and I suspected this individual was feeling the wrath of daddy owl. I secretly admire this bird's bravado and resolve to defrost a couple more chicks each evening.

With the warmer weather fading the youngsters in the dutch barn box have become more reticent but they are also learning to stay well hidden and curb their curiosity.I begin to anticipate their imminent fledging but am still surprised to see a moon-like face peering at me from the straw on Thursday night. It is quite a distance from the box across to the straw stack and I approach the area in trepidation the following morning yet all appears well and I assume the owlet has returned to the box. However for the past two nights I have seen it again. I know the parents should feed fledglings but still I leave food in the straw. Whether it is the same owl or whether it is a different character exploring its immediate surroundings, whether it returns to the box or whether it roosts in the straw I cannot tell but I hope its story continues to be a happy one.Their transition from helpless owlets to fully fledged adults  has some serious challenges.