Goodbye Daddy Kestrel.

 There is something extremely special about  forming a bond with a wild creature. We are now so far removed from the natural world that to be lucky enough to feel that connection is a truly special thing. I suppose this is what keeps me feeding the owls on a daily basis; this chance to watch them swirl in silent acknowledgement of me. Over time feeding the owls led me to build bonds with the shyer Little Owls and also the kestrels that live on the farm, but none have been quite as trusting and looked to me so readily as Daddy Kestrel.

It was only when we lost him and I recovered the ring that I realised that he had been with us throughout the entire time I had been feeding the owls. I knew he had been ringed a couple of kilometres away as a nestling by Alan Ball as at some point we had recaptured him at our farm but I had no idea that he was the grand old age of sixteen and a half years old when he died, and the oldest wild kestrel on record. This prompted me to look back through my blogs and collate his adventures,to tell his remarkable story in its entirety and to celebrate his life.

We have always had kestrels at the farm, living alongside the Barn owls. The two species coexist quite happily sharing a similar habitat and nest site, so I was initially unsure when he joined us. I began feeding the owls in October 2012 at which time I now know that Daddy Kestrel had apparently already been at the farm for three years. The owls would nest first in their chosen box and then the kestrels would take the other box to rear their young in. It all worked well and without me knowing the kestrels began helping themselves to the food I left out too.

2014 was a bumper year for Barn Owls and for the first time we had two pairs living side by side in the boxes on the dutch barn. This left nowhere for the kestrels to nest and they did their best and nested in the straw. Sadly, the farmers didn't realise and moved the bales and the eggs were lost. Despite a glut of voles there were no kestrel broods that year. My first mention of the kestrels waiting for food is the following year when, in 2015, I mention seeing a kestrel perched on the roof struts eyeing up the food I was leaving. Daddy Kestrel was already six years old at this point and, with an average lifespan of four years in the wild, he was doing well. He had happened upon a lucrative site and was to stay with us for the rest of his life.

After this year, the owls gave each other more space. We added a box over by the beehive and in time another in the barn, so the kestrels were able to take either east nest box or west nest box where, without fail, they would rear three, four or five youngsters. Nesting later than the Barn Owls they simply took the spare box and quietly reared their family.

In 2018 my blog tells me that the kestrels took west nest box for their nest site and it was about this time that I realised that our male bird was ringed and much braver with me than the female. I try not to name the wild birds but over the years he simply became Daddy Kestrel without me realising what I had done. In 2019 they took east nest box only for their youngsters to be evicted by a Barn Owl. We found two youngsters unable to fly and returned them to the nest box only for them to be ousted out again. It became apparent that our second pair of Barn Owls were looking for a nest site for their second broods and were too impatient to wait. I watched these youngsters avidly to make sure they fledged successfully and thankfully they did. This incident also led to my funniest ever faux pas in a message to Paddy when I wrote that the kestrels had;

"Darted under the shed door" only for autocorrect to change the initial D to an F. That kept me laughing for days. 

In 2020 I realised that the kestrels needed a box of their own and I ordered them a special open box that was positioned on the east side of the dutch barn siding. Daddy Kestrel gratefully took to this box and never used the owl boxes again. I am so glad I gave them their own designated spot after the pleasure they have given me over the years. The kestrels would roost on top of it all year round and from this vantage point Daddy Kestrel learned to fly in after dark to help himself to the owl's tea. I don't know if this is something that kestrels usually do but his familiarity with the farm certainly helped. Although he only flew in when he was very hungry or when he had young to feed I recognised his hunger and began to put a chick or two out for him each morning. It was another job to do but wonderful to see him perched waiting each morning and to witness his strong, straight flight in to the feeding platform. When he had young kestrels to feed I left more food and it was a delight to see them all flying in squabbling to get their share and chasing each other across the farm yard. This fledging behaviour never lasted long enough for me, and eventually they dispersed further and further from the yard. Within a month they'd always be gone leaving me with a huge feeling of satisfaction that my brave little falcon had, once more, raised his family successfully.

Summer 2021 saw me name a second kestrel in the form of Harry Kane. This year Daddy Kestrel raised five strong kestrels but as they fledged, the youngest fell from the nest box still unable to fly. I fed him for a good ten days as he hopped around the farm yard with his parents watching me intently. As this was world cup year he became Harry Kane and we all celebrated his successful fledging from a scruffy ball of feathers to a magnificent, soaring raptor as avidly as the fans cheered on England. 

By summer 2022 Daddy Kestrel was still rearing young and produced another brood of four. He was much braver with me by now and would wait for me, sometimes even flying down the road to wait upon the telegraph pole outside my house. he often met me by the gate and flew ahead in anticipation of the food I had for him. During windy weather he would tuck himself safely up in the shed eaves but mostly he chose a high vantage point such as the barn apex, the grain store vent or the uppermost tips of the ash trees from which to watch me. I never tired of looking out for him and marvelled at how he could clasp such tiny twigs between his talons and still maintain his balance. Max the dog was very jealous and if he saw him flying in to the feeding platform would chase after him. Daddy kestrel quickly learned to watch for Max's position in the field before flying in. 

Calamity struck in 2023. I suspect Daddy Kestrel got too brave around the Barn Owls as I had watched him sitting on their nest box porch just as the owlets were ready to fledge and laughed at his bravado. He disappeared for a good two days before reappearing on the machinery near the shed and gazing at me imploringly. His right wing hung by his side and he could barely fly. I remember running home for food which he fluttered down to. I found him and fed him morning and night until his wing healed and he could fly strongly again. He still fledged four kestrels despite this injury and continued to produce a successful brood in 2024. During these years his mate would fly in for food too but was nowhere near so brave and I have no idea how many different mates he has had over his long life.

2025, was sadly to be his final year and he struggled with his brood this summer. He still flew in for food each morning and evening and I increased the food to help him feed the nestlings, but one evening he flew into the shed and in a weakened state he fell to the ground. He lay splayed in front of me on his back, vulnerable and beaten before recovering himself enough to take off and fly to the straw. The following morning I watched him take food and fly onto the floor of the dutch barn. In feeding his ever growing family he had exhausted himself. I took food down four times a day until I could see him flying confidently again. When his family finally fledged, he stopped flying in for food  realising that he was too weak to withstand the barrage he would receive from their attentions. He sat back and let them help themselves before taking his share. I was however in awe of him and his mate as I watched them mobbing a Red Kite that came too close to their fledglings. They wheeled and circled until it left the farm and I marvelled at their acrobatics. Daddy Kestrel still had some fight in him.

A couple of weeks before he died he began waiting in my garden and when I saw him, I fed him on the hedge. He knew me instantly and flew in for my offerings but he also continued to wait at the farm. I think his ability to hunt for himself was compromised by his incredible age and he used his wits to make sure he was well fed. On his final morning, he flew from one of his favourite vantage points, the ash tree halfway down the field. I watched as he flew straight and true and deftly took his breakfast up onto the top of west nest box. But all was not well. A friend found him in the grass field later that afternoon and called Rob out to him. Daddy Kestrel had been attacked and had injuries to his eye. He flew back into the straw and perched on the combine. As soon as I received this alarming news I rushed down to look for him but I couldn't find him. The following morning he was dead in the straw.

I've spent a long time trying to piece together that final day. Who attacked him and why? Eye injuries would point to the crows that are always marauding around the yard but I'd be surprised if they'd attack a healthy kestrel. Was he weakened? Perhaps he'd taken in poison? Perhaps it was avian flu which I had reported to Defra in swans on the river? Perhaps it was simply old age? Whatever the cause he was gone and nothing more could be done for him.

For the first time in all those years, I touched his feathers and they were soft and dense, tinged pink on his breast and flecked with brown. His wings seemed strong and true, and I wondered how many miles they had carried him. He was also well fed. I may not have been able to save him but I hadn't let him down in this sense. I carefully took the ring that had shown me it was him each time I walked down although his trusting nature and familiarity did that anyway. The ring would give me the final piece of the jigsaw and an exact age for this special boy.

With avian flu a real possibility we decided to burn him and, wearing gloves, I bagged him and carried him across the yard to the incinerator. It was a beautiful morning, the sort he would have enjoyed as he watched and waited for me. As I walked the crows took off from their viewpoint in the largest ash tree and the fieldfare exploded in their hundreds from the hawthorn hedge. As I continued the finches and larks that have banded together for winter spirited upwards from the grass and for a brief, beautiful moment the sky was filled with wings. It was as if they too had come to say goodbye in a celebration of his long and fruitful life.

I miss him terribly. I catch myself looking for him at all his favourite spots before I remember he has gone. I almost expect him to fly in for food after dark and flutter upwards above me as I wait for the owls. One of his favourite tricks was to scatter the down from his food onto my head as I tried to stand still to watch. It is with huge sadness that I come to realise that I will never experience his companionship again and probably won't be lucky enough to build such a bond with another wild creature as I have done with Daddy Kestrel.

But I hang onto the word lucky. I was lucky to have him and a few days after his death I was stunned to receive an email telling me his age. He was fortunate to have the privilege of six thousand and nine days of soaring across the skies, of wild forays and adventures, and the longest life of any wild kestrel known to man. As I head across the Fens close to home I see one, two, three sometimes four kestrels hunting the grass verges as I drive. Some of these are undoubtedly his descendants, and I smile as I watch them soar.

Autumn broods

 After our first broods fledged in May the farm yard was very quiet. Its always quieter during the summer months when the owls have plenty of food and rely upon me very little but this was extraordinarily quiet. I walked down night after night to an empty farm yard and I fed less than ever. There were also moult feathers everywhere which usually happens when the owls are finished with rearing owlets.

With the weather continuing so dry, I had resigned myself to the owls only producing one brood this year but then I heard reports from Yorkshire were one of the ringers was reporting a bumper year for Barn Owls. Sure enough, it transpired that by midsummer, the boxes in his part of the country were doing well. We had rain at the end of May which had made the grass grow. There was a harvest of hay after all and the grass field, ditches and field margins were lush and now a perfect habitat for the field voles too.I began to wonder if we might be lucky enough to have second broods after all.

                                                               From previous year.

I began watching more closely as midsummer came and went. The weather settled again giving us dry conditions by day and by night. Ever so slowly the owls returned and I scanned the sunset skies for their arrival but more importantly for their departures. If they had owlets I needed to see which boxes the adults were returning to. I soon determined that one pair were flying across the farm to the beehive pole box while another were heading into the combine shed. It wasn't long before I heard faint hissing from here. Now I was keen to find out which pair had nested where.

It was the ringed female that helped me piece all the clues together. She is the oldest female that has been with us since 2012 and I watched her fly in first and head over to the beehive box to her young family which meant that the darker female had used the far more superior site in the shed. This worried me. Our older female had reared both her broods out of the main area and away from the feeding stations. I couldn't help thinking that she was feeling her age and having to succumb to the will of the younger and stronger pair. As she had started waiting for me on the first grain store, I began to throw some food up onto a lower roof close by. She soon saw what I was doing and has waited here for me most nights ever since simply flying to the shed when I get too close but otherwise watching me through those ever trusting eyes with her head slightly tilted. 

By mid October both broods had fledged. I never got over to the beehive box to watch but was amused to see the youngsters from the shed negotiating the gap in the door as they branched out into the big, wide world.  I watched young owls peering at me from the grass field and willed them to fly to a safer vantage point. I was pleased to see them waiting in the nearby trees, screeching uncertainly at me as I arrived. I think they knew they should screech at me but also knew I was bringing supper and their confusion was audible! I offered my camera up to the gap in the door whilst I walked past on my walk with Max and saw them sleeping on the roof eaves or the wood in the furthermost corner. I finally watched them fly in for food themselves and felt satisfied that they would be sustained through the winter if they stayed close while they continued to gain their independence.

There have, of course, been anxious moments. There was the time one took its food over to the bridge and as I passed by it seemed to plummet downwards and I spent a good few worrying moments panning my torch along the river. There was the windy evening when one inexperienced owl flew too high and was carried out of the yard by a gust of wind. This week as I walked past one morning I whistled in daddy kestrel and one of the young owls came out of the shed, probably confused by the call I usually use after dark. It panicked and flew to the north of the house, right into the path of a buzzard which was waiting along the riverside. I didn't see it return but as my feeding times have been filled with half formed screeches and some rather insistent hissing I can only assume the buzzard never challenged this young interloper.

Rather pleasingly I have also had news of a third pair less than one hundred meters from the farm. A man nearby had situated an owl box and until this year had been unlucky. However he was thrilled to tell me that this spring he had a pair using the box and by midsummer he had heard faint hissing.Sure enough he had owlets fledge into his garden. Being situated so close I like to think that at least one of this pair were probably some of our youngsters from last year. It would explain why during the early part of this summer there was a disproportionate amount of screeching from the farm. I imagine these owls were popping back in for food and receiving a frosty welcome from their parents. The owner of the nest box was over the moon to have a successful pair on his land and asked me what he could do to help. |He has since erected a second nest box and the youngsters are now roosting here. He has cameras to watch them by and is feeding them just as we do at the farm.  What a satisfying end after such a tricky start to the year.

Summer broods.

 Summer 2025 will be remembered for the long, sunny days, and , here in the Fens at least, the lack of rainfall. From early March onward, we had the pleasure of clear blue skies and warmer than usual temperatures. As I write this in October, we continue to have dry, settled weather with just a few brief breaks in the sunshine to provide some much needed moisture. It has been an exceptional year for holidaymakers but not so good for Barn Owls.

2024 was a glut year for Field Voles. These rodents which are the main food source for Barn Owls seem to be numerous in some years but this is often followed by a poor year and so 2025 meant lean pickings for owls. When you factor in the poor weather which meant less green shoots of grass for the voles to eat on it meant a real lack of food for Barn Owls early on in the year. I was first made aware of this when Charles kindly messaged me to say his preliminary checks of boxes in the area showed no signs of owls laying eggs or brooding young. I was grateful for this information as I was then able to increase the feeding at a time when I would usually decrease it. 

Our pairs reared young nonetheless, encouraged by the supplementary feeding. I realised in May that the very dark female had reared young in west nest box and our older female had chosen the chimney on the farm house for her brood. The west nest box family consisted of three owlets all females and very dark like their mother. I watched these little beauties as they ventured out of the nest box and wobbled their heads from side to side trying to make sense of their surroundings. For just a few short days they were unafraid of me and I dared to fire off a few photographs as I walked Max. No matter how many broods we rear I always feel immensely privileged to be watching them as they appear with their feathery down replaced by the most beautiful plumage and wings.

The chimney brood were too high up to properly observe but I watched carefully when the west box owlets fledged for similar activity upon the farmhouse roof. I saw two young males cavorting about but otherwise this brood fledged quietly under the cover of darkness. For a while they confused me by hissing noisily from east nest box as I approached it I suppose it was a big ask to get back up onto the house roof and why go to the effort when there is an empty nest box close by.

It would seem we had a successful early season but sadly it wasn't all positive news. One of the beautiful dark females somehow got stuck in grain store of the combine. How she managed this we are all baffled by. Perhaps she saw the pipe that led to it and dived inside but was unable to get back out but when she was discovered by the farmers we thought she was ok as she raced into a straw gap and I confidently threw food in to her thinking this was the end of things. Sadly, we found a dead owl here a couple of days later. It seems she was too weak to make it and I was cross with myself for not being more proactive. Our second casualty was most likely one of the chimney owlets. I always worry about how vulnerable they are as they sit in the long grass and it would appear that for one, its fledging was short lived. I just found a wing, close to the house and assume it was predated soon after leaving the nest site. I hate losing the owlets, especially when I have watched how much hard work has gone into rearing them but I am becoming more accustomed to the everyday tragedies that unfold in the natural world.

There was a turn of fortune later in the year for Barn Owls across the country as Field Vole numbers increased. I will blog about our second broods very soon. 

Kestrel days

 Although I began by feeding the Barn Owls, the Kestrels quickly realised there was a good thing going on at the farm and dovetailed into the proceedings. I've no idea how long I have fed this family but they are as constant and endearing to me as the owls themselves and, as with the owls, I have watched their behaviour over the year for long enough to know what will happen next.

Daddy Kestrel is, of course, my favourite. He flies in for breakfast each morning but has also learned to fly in after dark and is usually the first to take a chick from the shed roof before the owls have barely gathered. I first realised that something was amiss this summer when, one evening, his deadly accuracy failed him.Instead of alighting on the zinc he crashed clumsily at my feet and lay on his back in the inky dusk staring helplessly up at me. It was then I noticed that he wasn't able to carry the food I left up to his usual high points such as the nest box roof or the shed vent. Instead he flew low, labouring, barely managing to reach the bales and would sit vulnerably wherever he could to sate his hunger. 

It was useful to know that vole numbers were low. I guessed that he was either weak with hunger or an old injury from two summers ago was affecting him. I knew could do little about the injury but I could help with food. I walked down four times a day, leaving food each time and reassuringly he flew in each time. It was then I noticed that his mate would immediately take the food from him. Her main concern was feeding her quickly growing brood but with scarce pickings this was seriously weakening him. I was persistent. I continued to feed throughout the day, whistling him in and watching to make sure he got at least a little something and very slowly, over the days, his condition improved and it couldn't have come at a better time as his family were ready to fledge.

I heard them first, though  they hunkered down on my approach, an excited chittering emanated from the nest box which told me they would soon leave the nest box. One Sunday morning I found that in the excitement of anticipating breakfast it had been just too much and one had been jostled from their nest high in the shed eaves. It was too young to fly but too fast to catch and spent the day cavorting around the straw stack. There was little chance of disturbance and I felt confident should it find a safe roost for the night, that in a day or two it would fly and hopefully rejoin its family. 

Yet the quiet of the farmyard was about to be shattered as the following day the farmers had planned to cut the hay. In one sense this was good as it meant that the young kestrel would have plenty of food to find while the voles ran for cover and it would be less susceptible to a fox with the clear fields, but it did mean it could easily get caught up in the busy machinery. I was in school so all I could do was keep my fingers crossed and hope it stayed safe. 

By teatime the following day the hay was laying in neat rows across the grass field and the young kestrel had been joined by all three of its siblings. I'm not sure whether the extra activity had sent them all scattering out from the nest box in a panic or whether they really were ready to fledge, but there they were, hopping and jumping aimlessly around the field. The adults behaviour was predictable. They completely disappeared from view with the aim of not drawing attention to their young family. I did however see them when any other bird of prey appeared. Both the male and the female would appear as if from nowhere and fly ferociously at them, persisting until the interloper was clear of the farm. I watched one of the young owls receive this treatment and also a Red Kite get hounded away. They were devoted parents and  I willed nothing to go wrong after all their hard work so far.

There was one memorable morning when I walked down to the farm to find all four sitting on a piece of farm machinery close to the nest box but after a couple of days, the clueless youngsters disappeared completely. I searched for them as |I walked down for my dog walk but saw nothing and seriously began to wonder if we had lost them, but before the hay was baled up and carted away I realised that as soon as they could fly they had hidden up in the ash trees along the farm border. It was the perfect hideaway, close to the farm to keep them safe from predators yet hidden away from humans too. Gradually over the next few days they began calling to the parent birds as they flew in for food. The parents waited until I was into the next field before they took the food up to their family but it was reassuring to know they were safe and well.

This year's fledging hasn't involved much raucous chasing and squabbling over the food. I watched the family as, first they hunted the open grass field and then they waited for me at various points across the farm yard itself. They flew confidently very quickly and still I often see them hovering and chittering excitedly as I approach. Some of them take food from the platform themselves while others steal from the others. Its great to stand at the bottom of the field and watch them. Usually they begin to leave the farm after a couple of weeks, but with less voles this year they seem to be staying close and I have decided to feed them until they stop flying in. 

Their plumage is developing now from the flecked brown that all fledglings sport, and showing their adult plumage. The males are developing their grey/blue heads and wings while the females are losing their fluffiness and their wings and tails are elongating. As I walk the fields in the intense July sunshine, two of them take flight from the field ahead and fly in a southerly direction towards a neighbouring farm, and disappear out of sight. Its an odd feeling watching them, wanting them to spread their wings but also wanting them to stay close and safe. Kestrels only have one brood of youngsters each year unlike the owls who are already caring for their second broods. I will enjoy watching these youngsters as the summer burns on.

Who's who?

 I love working out exactly where the owls are nesting. I have so many questions. Where from the six nest sites have the owls chosen to rear their babies this year? Do we still have two pairs? Can I recognise any of the adult birds and is our beloved adult female still with us after fourteen years?

I am astonished to find that our first pair of owls have chosen the chimney to nest in this year. This happened about seven years back when the owls had a second brood but I am amazed that they chose this rather unusual site when other more suitable boxes were available. I had noticed an owl waiting on the house aerial and seen them flying back and forth so I hid behind the barley store and sure enough both male and female were seen busily ferrying food into the farm house chimney. The fireplace is disused and I assume there is a wide shelf that works perfectly for the owls. I do wonder if the other pair which are braver had perhaps intimidated the more reserved birds which had encouraged them to nest further away. They have been lucky that the weather has been settled too as I assume that rain won't go down the chimney but the dry, settled spring certainly has certainly benefited them. As I watch the bird that sits patiently on the aerial I realise that this is indeed our old female. The way she sits and holds her head slightly to the side, her patience and quiet confidence convince me that she is still with us and I am excited to think she is rearing another brood.

                                                           (over exposed but I like it!)

I watch the second pair avidly too. I also recognise this female. She is the very dark bird from last year. I hadn't noticed her during the winter and assumed we had lost her but she is quite obvious as she glides in the half light. She flies to greet me and circles low and keen before dismissing me with a flick of her wing tips. She is also usually the first to fly in for me, hitting the shed with a dull thud before flying away with the food. One evening I waited in the shadow of the shed to see where she headed to when she thought I had left. I watched as two adults ferry food up to west nest box. I am ashamed to say that this one is held together with baling twine and owl dropping, another unsuitable site, at least in my eyes. Having been used by second broods last autumn it was occupied as a roost all winter and although we knew it needed mending, the owls beat us to it. It will hold up I am sure but it isn't ideal. I continue to watch the box closely and am delighted to see these two fluffy youngsters sunning themselves one morning in the porch

Daddy Kestrel is also keen now that his female is sitting and he braves the owls after dark much to their annoyance. The Little Owls have also returned and can be spotted across the farm waiting patiently too. If you told me that these serious little birds hibernated each winter I would believe you as they are never seen but come summer I spot them readily. I see them in trees, perched on machinery and in the dutch barn eaves. They too have their own nest box and also use the straw.The farm is busy and I am in my element.

By mid May, however, something changes. The owls keenness hints at desperation. They now fly incredibly close to me and fly to the nest sites regardless of my presence. There is a tension between the two pairs too. I begin to wonder if the dry spring is actually now having an adverse affect on the owls. Voles eat young grass shoots and we haven't had more than a few milllimetres of rain since March.No rain will mean no fresh grass shoots which I assume could impact the voles breeding. I watch the owls that are now hunting by daytime and despite keenly observing them I don't see them hunt successfully. I then receive a message from one of the local owl ringers that confirms my fears. Whilst out checking nest sites locally recently he found nothing. No owls and certainly no eggs. His inquiries countrywide seemed to indicate a similar picture elsewhere. Last year was a good vole year which is always followed by a slump and it seems the dry weather is impacting this situation too.

This was valuable information for me and I increased the food I left for the owls. It benefited the kestrels too. I noticed that daddy Kestrel was having trouble flying. He was fine as he flew in but couldn't get any lift once he took a chick. He seemed either weak or injured. I put out extra food through the day and noticed his mate stealing the food from him time and time again. As their box is high in the eaves I think she was taking it from him for the youngsters but this wasn't helping his dire situation. I am now taking food again and again and I do believe he is improving. This morning he flew into the straw with his breakfast and tonight he waited on the platform to eat but when an owl flew too close he managed to  get high up onto the shed vent. These feisty little falcons will need both parents to fledge successfully and I will do my upmost to help them through these lean times.

Midweek we had 28 mm of rain. Both man and nature needed this soaking and I walked out in the rain reveling in the freshness of it all. Lets hope this will encourage the new growth and make things easier for the owls and kestrels as their families continue to grow and flourish.

Patterns

 After fourteen years of feeding the owls there are reliable patterns in their behaviour that I see as the year progresses and these patterns are most obvious in the spring. It's reassuring and satisfying to anticipate the owl's next move as it tells me that all is well with them and reminds me of the many happy years I've already enjoyed watching them.

As soon as the new year begins the adult birds begin to re-establish their bonds. They spend longer at the nest site, preening and fussing each other. Up until now they have been tolerant of their Autumn broods but this very quickly changes and as I walk out each evening I can hear the adult birds screeching at the youngsters and showing a real animosity towards them. Whilst it sounds alarming it is also almost comical to watch these young birds as they continue to fly in and face the rage of their parents. I've stood for many evenings this spring as a young Barn Owl careers out of the yard with a day old chick in its talons. Initially these youngsters stay close. I watched one hunting the busy bank within a few hundred yards of the farm ,whilst another roosted in a disused stable. Eventually they must get tired of running the gauntlet each night and, as the weather improves they disperse further afield. I miss their antics.

The next thing I notice is that the females are far less noticeable as they spend more time at their chosen nest site. The males continue to fly bravely in and sometimes take food in to the females but the females continue to show briefly even after they have laid eggs. Our Barn Owls usually lay their first eggs in early March. We work this out when the owlets fledge, counting back the thirty to thirty-two days it takes for an egg to hatch and adding on the sixty-three days it takes from an owl to hatch until they fledge. Last year's owlets appeared on the 20th May which meant the first egg was laid late February. From March this year I noticed our females far less. They recognised my whistling and knew food was left when they heard me depart. It was an easy option to leave their precious eggs and pop out for the food and I played my part by leaving the farm quickly and quietly.

Once the owlets hatch the adult owl's behaviour changes again. Now the owls are far more secretive and for a while I barely see them at all. It is of utmost importance that they safeguard the location of their nests and that includes keeping it secret from me too. We have six possible sites that the owls could use and I watch them all avidly for clues. Furthest away is the beehive box which, as its name suggests, is close to my beehives. It is the oddest shape, like a small house with a covered porch. The inspection hatch is too small and often blocked with debris but the owls love it. It is a quiet corner of the farm surrounded by trees and always a popular choice. Next is a box that was gifted to us and situated in the walnut tree. It should be popular but as yet, the owls haven't used it. It is however, popular with squirrels and not wasted at all. Next is the farmhouse itself. It has two large and disused chimneys which the Jackdaws have used and as such have the perfect platform for our owls to use. The chimneys have the advantage of not being accessible and so there is no fear of interference.There is, however, the worry of owlets falling down the chimney itself. Heading across the yard we next come to the combine shed, as I call it although the farmers know it as the hay barn. An older box that was taken down from the dutch barn was considered too good to scrap and so was popped inside this disused shed and it quickly became a favourite site which is used for first or second broods every year. Finally, there are two boxes on the dutch barn, both facing south onto the grass field.They are tucked up high in the eaves and are the original nest sites having been used for nearly thirty years now. East nest box is. on the eastern corner of the barn while west nest box is obviously on the western corner.  This dutch barn also houses a Little Owl box on the western side and a Kestrel box on the eastern side, both of which are used each year. It is a very  busy building and where I feed too.

After a couple of weeks of quiet as the owlets grow and become hungrier, I notice other familiar signs. The owls begin to hunt during the daytime, especially after wet or windy weather. This is a real treat for me as our owls rarely need to hunt by day at any other time and I love seeing them gracefully quartering the grass. They also start to show more keenly again at feeding time although they are still careful not to visit the nest sites until I leave. I watch eagerly to see where they go and listen carefully for the urgent hissing that tells me there are owlets close by.  I currently have no idea who is where or how many owlets they may have but I am watching closely and enjoying every moment.

Winter wonders

 The Fens are at their best in the winter. I tend to think that these big skies and vast open spaces are best appreciated during the colder months when the greys and browns of reeds and rushes are backlit by the setting sun. We are also lucky enough to have a myriad of winter migrants join us across these flat fields and among them are the Short-eared owls.

I adore watching these birds. They appear as if from nowhere, flapping those huge wings in an almost lazy fashion, and meandering from side to side. Facially they are beautiful with ear tufts that give them their name and the most remarkable yellow eyes that are lined with a smokey darkness and indicate that these owls are diurnal and hunt at dawn and dusk.

We've always had Short-eared owls on the farm. My late brother in law often told me how they disturbed them from the tussocky grass each winter when the dykes and ditches were dredged and cleared. In more recent times my son remembers going for a run and having one of these beauties fly alongside him, and so of course, each winter when I walk across the fields I keep a keen eye out for them.

I first saw them this year in October. They are clever birds, and always one step ahead of me. My first sighting was close to the straw stack when an owl was hunting from the parked up digger. It flew in front of me as I walked making sure I was always a suitable distance away. If it landed on the dyke side, it was immediately hidden, if it watched me from the field I had to keep an eye on it or it would have blended in against the dark clay. We walked a complete circuit of the field like this with the owl tantalisingly close but always a safe distance away until it ended up where it began, perched on the digger bucket and I left it to hunt in peace.

After this first encounter I saw Short-eared owls on a regular basis. I say owls because there were at least two hunting the field borders and margins. They would suddenly lift up from the dyke edge and fly ahead of me. It seemed that when I walked without my camera they would fly close and perch nearby yet when I took my camera down with me they either never appeared or simply stayed two fields away. They quickly became my nemesis this year making me even more determined to capture a good photo before the winter was through.

However before too long my owl watching was interrupted by more of our winter migrants. First the Whooper swans came to feed upon the sugar beet that had been harvested next to the farm quickly followed by pink footed geese. Although we have been lucky enough to have the swans for a number of years, pink footed geese were a new species for us and they were impressive as they numbered a few hundred. I loved watching them swirl in each morning and the sound they made was incredible. Whether it was swans or geese it meant that I walked a different route in order not to disturb them. This meant that for the majority of the winter I also avoided the best area for the Short-eared owls. I do however remember one memorable occasion when the geese took flight and as I busied myself taking shots of the action a Short-eared owl flew up from the grass right in front of me. My camera was set wrong and all I could do was gaze in awe as it flapped across the field and disappeared over the hedge

The swans have flown now, the geese have too I suppose and so, during late February and into March I have kept a look out for the owls. I know that they will also soon be leaving for the moors and I rather hoped for that photo. My last sighting was on March 5th when I suddenly realised an owl was hunting from a post just a few metres away but since then, nothing. That was until this afternoon when I took an impromptu walk across the grass field and Max put up a Short-eared owl that flew over onto the ploughed field to watch us indignantly. As we walked closer it flew across two fields and watched us from the hedgerow. The sun was beautiful so I decide to take Max home and return with my camera. I was only absent for five minutes but in that time the owl had returned to the rough grass and I had missed my chance. Rather than risk disturbing it a second time I returned home.

There was, however, a winner in the whole affair. When I left Max at our house I gave him his tea. Before I returned Rob arrived home and Max asked for his tea again. Much to his delight was given a second one. I am sure he will be hoping the Short-eared owls stay just a little longer.