Barn Dance

When we first moved to Forest's Edge several months ago, one of the things I looked most forward to was the different types of wildlife we'd be able to see. Our former home sat in the midst of a suburban development, surrounded by other houses to the sides and front, and by a highway on-ramp to the back. Wildlife was limited to squirrels, an occasional bunny, and -- every now and then -- a cardinal or blue jay.

The first morning here, I looked out the kitchen window and saw a bird I'd never seen before. Dark blue, with an orange belly, the bird sat on one of the two deck hooks that had come with the house. The bird perched there, happily looking out over its domain, seemingly unaware that humans now inhabited this long-empty house. I had never seen a blue and orange bird before and wondered whether this was the elusive Eastern bluebird that our realtor had excitedly pointed out at another property we had visited. After a while, the bird decided he'd had enough perching and flew away, flapping its wings and circling in large swoops throughout the backyard.

That was my first encounter with a barn swallow.

It took a long time for me to identify the bird. The three bird books I had showed nothing that came close. The bluebird was too light blue, the tree swallow too white of belly. The barn swallow looked right, except that the photo showed a short, stubby bird rather than the large, graceful swooper that I routinely found perched on the deck every morning. I was stumped. Then the goldfinches arrived.

The finches didn't arrive out of some natural instinct to investigate the new humans on the block. They arrived because I'd set out my first bird feeder, on the hook usually not occupied by my blue-and-orange friend. When the first goldfinches arrived, I was amazed at their brilliant yellow color. "Wild canaries," the books said these birds were also called. Rightly so. They were as lemon-yellow as if I'd taken a Crayola and colored them in. I had always loved finches -- they were by far my favorite bird at pet stores -- and, to attract even more goldfinches, I went and bought a finch sock, a white mesh tube that cinches closed on one end... kind of like a teeny weeny laundry bag. It came filled with nyjer seed, a skinny black thistle seed that finches find irresistible. And boy, did they! The next morning, the finch sock was literally covered by pecking goldfinches.

The blue-and-orange bird was not amused. It swooped and flew at the goldfinches, squawking at them in an odd, squeaky voice that sounded like someone rubbing fingers along the side of a wet bathtub. This squeaky call helped me finally pinpoint my feathered friend as a barn swallow.

The exchange repeated and escalated every day for more than a week. The barn swallow would start the day perched on the hook, enjoying the morning sun. Then a few goldfinches would arrive to munch on nyjer seed. The barn swallow would swoop at them, chasing them away. The goldfinches would return en masse, a dozen of them, standing up to the swallow and remaining on the finch sock. The swallow would then return with one or two friends, and they would swoop acrobatically at the finches, occasionally unsettling a finch or two but never making them all leave. Eventually, the swallow consented to sit on his hook while the goldfinches fed below him. After a month or so of this, the swallow disappeared.

I was distressed. Had the goldfinches scared the barn swallow away? I had never heard of goldfinches being antagonistic towards any bird, much less a much larger barn swallow. And I wanted barn swallows in my yard! Historically a good friend to farmers, barn swallows nest in old wooden buildings and structures, often old-style barns, and keep the acreage free from bees and wasps, the barn swallow's favorite food. With two children and myself allergic to insect stings, this was exactly the kind of bird we wanted around. I hopped online to see if there were special barn swallow houses I could put up to keep these playfully swooping birds around.

I quickly learned that barn swallows don't nest in cavities, but rather, nest in mud cups they painstakingly build and attach to old wooden structures like barns. I also learned that the barn swallows' habitat was threatened, not by invasive species as the bluebirds' and purple martins' habitat was threatened by starlings and sparrows, but by man. Man was taking the easy way out. Instead of building those old wooden barns, mankind was building metal-sided pole barns. Instead of frame houses, man's houses were now faced with brick or stone, or vinyl siding. There were thus fewer nesting areas for the barn swallow.

That afternoon, I carefully examined the entire underside of our back deck and gazebo, as well as the inside of the gazebo, searching for mud cups. I found a robin's nest and, to my chagrin, a large paper wasp's nest, but no barn swallow cups. As I searched, a pair of barn swallows landed on the gazebo roof, feasting on the paper wasps that were unfortunate enough to be flying up there at the moment. I was doubly glad: the swallows were back, and they were serving as a natural insecticide. Now, how to keep them here?

Online, I found a gentleman who seems to be one of the country's leading barn swallow experts. He reassured me that the goldfinches most likely did nothing to chase the barn swallows away: barn swallows like to hang out in large groups, and a large group of feeding finches was not going to other them. No, more than likely, we were the ones that chased the barn swallows away. He pointed out that by mowing the back acreage and putting down Weed-n-Feed to improve the lawn, we had decimated the insect population, taking away the swallows' main food source on our property. That they were back, and feeding on wasps, showed that they liked being here. We only had to make them feel welcome. He also informed me that, while nesting season was usually in May in my area, it was never too late to put up nesting cups: little wooden cups that mount on eaves, walls, etc., allowing barn swallows to line them with mud and focus on raising their broods rather than transporting mud, beakful by beakful, to their chosen nesting site.

I purchased four of these nesting cups and, with 6-year-old JTR's assistance, installed them one sunny morning. They had to be high enough off the ground so that nestlings and eggs would not fall prey to predators. I installed three of the cups on the underside of our deck, carefully screwing in their backing as JTR held the stepladder and screws for me. Each had to be at least four feet away from the other, to give nesting parents their privacy. The fourth cup I installed in the gazebo, near the paper wasp nest. With the bare ground beneath the deck as a handy source of nesting mud, I was certain that the barn swallows would move in shortly.

The barn swallows, however, had already nested for the season. My guess is that their chosen nesting spot was in the old abandoned chicken coop across the road from us, a run-down structure that wouldn't safely house a fly. Prime insect hunting ground, however, continued to be our acreage. The barn swallows' antics were a source of amusement to all of our family. Whenever 16-year-old M mowed the lawn, two or three barn swallows would circle him on the riding mower and swoop playfully at him, following him all around the yard. There were times that the swallows swooped so low I was afraid their wings would get caught in the mower blades, but always the swallows glided out of danger with seconds to spare.

In the back yard, more swallows did their aerial dance around the playground, driving Sean the bluebird to distraction as he attempted to chase them away. I could almost hear the barn swallows laughing at him as they continued to swoop and glide. The swallows also liked landing on J's fire ring, which sat out in the back waiting to be installed (something I prohibited until the bluebird babies had fledged). I could only guess that they liked the ashy mud there for their nests, or simply to play in.

Every now and then, when I was at the kitchen sink washing dishes or preparing dinner, I would look up on the gutter and see two or three long, forked tails -- a key characteristing of the barn swallow -- sticking out over the edge. Several times, I hauled out my kitchen stepstool to peek and see what the barn swallows could possibly be doing on the gutter... building a cup nest in there? No sign of anything met my gaze whenever I climbed up to look. The mystery lingered, until one recent morning when I went out to monitor the bluebird trail earlier than usual.

To my delight, the air was full of waxy squeaks - the barn swallows seemed to be out in full force! As I came around the back of the house, I was shocked to find not two or three, but close to two dozen barn swallows perched on the gutter of my house. They seemed to be just sitting there, enjoying the morning sunshine, just like my original barn swallow friend did when we first moved in. Then I saw three or four larger swallows swoop in from the field to the north, approaching the perching birds, whose mouths suddenly gaped open to receive the insects the larger birds were carrying.

I ran for my camera.

For an hour, I watched as the adult barn swallows transported food to the two dozen fledglings on the gutter. It was mesmerizing. The fledglings were fun to watch as they shifted from side to side or scrambled over one another, trying to get in the best position to receive the incoming food. One little fledgling hopped down to the deck rail in an effort to be closer to the adults (he was ignored and finally returned to jostle for position with his siblings). The adults were equally entertaining to watch, as they swooped towards the gaping mouths, every now and then passing right by and flipping over in mid air to return to the bypassed youngsters. One adult seemed to purposely ignore the gaping mouths and head for the fledglings who didn't have their beaks wide open. Some adults landed beside the babies, resting momentarily in their ceaseless hunt for baby food, taking off again after being harassed by the hungry fledglings to their sides.

I could have stayed to watch all day, but my own parental duties called. I'm not sure how long this barn dance continued, but the next day, they moved to a new venue: the pole barn facing that insect-filled field. I'm not sure how much longer I'll have the swallows around, as August -- when the swallows begin to gather to migrate south for the winter -- is just around the corner. Until then, I'll enjoy their squeaky calls and their playful swoops... and cross my fingers that they'll find the nesting cups ready and waiting for them next spring.