Wednesday was a momentous day here at Forest's Edge (I've decided to name our home... given its size, I figure it deserves a name of its own, just like similar-sized properties in England have names like Thrushwood Manor or Pembersley). Anyway, my careful monitoring paid off and, on Wednesday morning, I was greeted by the sight not of five little pale-blue bluebird eggs but of scrawny pink baby bluebird chicks curled up inside their nest.
I quickly snapped photos while Sean and Bluette (I figured the bluebird female deserved a name, too, and I couldn't name her Robin after Mrs. Penn) wing waved at me and Sean took a couple of diving swipes at my head. I retreated to the accepted distance of the second bluebird box from the playset and watched as both Sean and Bluette took turns feeding the now-cheeping babies. Bluette proved she had some sense by digging into the saucer of mealworms I'd left. Sean shunned the easy food and flew off repeatedly into the forest to scrounge his babies' supper. Supposedly, male bluebirds feed female offspring more because male offspring may be competitors for mates in the future. I won't be able to tell how many chicks are male and how many are female for another week or so, though.
On Thursday, I managed to quickly snap photos of the babies gaping (beaks wide open) and was surprised to see that only four little beaks were present and accounted for. Where was baby number 5? I couldn't stay long, since Sean's diving attacks were getting close enough to make my ponytail swish.
Yesterday, there was a more subdued tone to the bluebirds. Bluette actually sat on the swing beam while I went and took the photos to mark Day 3 of chick development. Sean watched from the wild raspberry brambles. I wondered at this -- could they possibly, finally, be becoming accustomed to me? I scolded Sean for ignoring his mealworms, praised Bluette for being smart, and headed off to my back bluebird box, aka Wren Central.
I had held off on checking the box for several days to give the wrens some time to calm down from whatever had scared them... me? Sean? Something else? I knew from watching through binoculars that the wren couple had been flittering in and out of the box the past three days, and I'd high hopes that this meant the female would continue laying her clutch. Three eggs is rather rare for a wren clutch, although not totally unheard of. When I tapped on the box (to make sure no one was inside), then opened it, I knew immediately that something was wrong. The feathers that line the nesting cup behind the twig barricade were shoved up by the entrance slot of the box, and there was a stillness that hadn't been there before.
The eggs were gone.
Anxiously, I carefully moved the barricade forward to check if perhaps the eggs had fallen beneath the nesting cup. Nothing. Not a sign that there had ever been any wren eggs at all. The nest was empty. It was a failed nest.
But why? At first, I entertained the thought that perhaps the wren couple was so put off by Sean's aggressiveness -- or, unfortunately, my monitoring -- that they got their eggs and up and left for quieter nesting areas. The image of a little wren flapping with an egg in her talons just didn't cut it, though. How was she supposed to land with an egg in her talons? No way she could carry an egg in her pointy little beak, either. I was mystified. I checked the ground around the nesting box for pecked or broken eggs, a sign that another bird or a predator had snacked on the rosy little trio. No eggs, but about a dozen soft, fluffy brown feathers were scattered around the ground near the nesting box.
Something got the eggs, all right. There was no snake curled up inside the box, resting after a nice meal. No shed snakeskin nearby. My remaining guesses are that a raccoon climbed up the pole and helped himself to eggs over real easy and, when the wren female tried to defend her nest, the raccoon swatted her, causing her to lose her feathers.
Sadly, I cleaned out the little abandoned nest and scraped the nesting box clean. I feel bad for that poor little wren and her clutch but, on the flip side, I'm glad this didn't happen to the bluebirds. In part, I placed blame on the wren. After all, I have three little wren houses aound the yard, waiting for inhabitants. At least a tufted titmouse showed interest in one a couple of days ago. Then again, I knew I was inviting trouble when I placed that back box so close -- about 40 feet -- from the tree line. It was only 20 feet from where one of our wild turkeys met his end a month ago. Having reflected on this, I chose to move the entire kit and kaboodle, continuing the bluebird trail along the meadow's edge on the north side of our property. Hopefully, it'll have better luck there and, hopefully, the nesting box on the south side of our property that now has a wren male's partial nest will also have better luck.
I'm hopeful that other birds will find our property to be a nesting oasis for them. I know that we have two nesting pairs of Baltimore orioles. I have been unsuccessful in finding their nests, especially given that these are usually high towards the canopies of deciduous trees. I have left lengths of string -- cord cut from the too-long pulls on our den blinds -- for the orioles, which use string, yarn, twine, and vines to hang their nests. I've put up four nesting cups for barn swallows, the very first birds to greet us when we moved here (I think they saw us as interlopers). I'd like to get nesting shelves for the robins, and I recently discovered a site that sells hummingbird "houses" - contraptions that mimic the exact angles of the branches in which hummingbirds build their nests, complete with synthetic "leaves." When my budget allows, perhaps. I haven't had any luck locating the hummer girl's nest, although it must be nearby given the time she spends at my feeders. Kind of hard to find something the size of a walnut covered in lichen, though, which is why the hummingbird house attracts my attention. I'd love to be able to watch the hummer girl nest. It's on the outskirts of too late this year, unless she broods twice in a season (nesting for hummers in June, occasionally July).
As for our other babies -- Fuzzy, Wuzzy, Fluffy, Wuffy, Bedoof, and Larimar, our sextet of infant groundhogs -- they've gotten quiet large over the past month and are now foraging independently all over our property, although they still return to their original warren. A couple of them have shown interest in our HOSP trap, to the extent of climbing on top of it and peering down. They'll be leaving soon, from what I've learned, to establish their own warrens and raise their own families. I'm sure J will be happy to see them go, since he's positive that Waltina, the mother groundhog (she was Walter until she emerged with her troop last month) is damaging the foundation of the house. My argument is that she was here first, her warren is not right up against the house, and we moved out to the country to enjoy the wildlife. The boys will be sad to see the babies go, though. M wanted one as a pet and, last night, N and JTR were laying claims to them (Wuffy for N and Bedoof for JTR). B hasn't shown much interest since the day he wandered outside and was found by a panic-stricken M seated next to the groundhog hole, calmly waiting for the babies to emerge.
Hopefully, he'll find the bluebird babies just as interesting, although he was somewhat perturbed -- read that as screaming mad -- that he couldn't play on his playground set because of the nestlings. JTR reported that B ran out to the playset and climbed on, scaring Sean and Bluette away. J grabbed him and brought him back before Sean could start his diving attacks. I wonder if Sean would. After all, B is a babe in our woods, too.
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