The pages of my journals contain a fairly complete record of the events that have transpired in my yard over the past ten years. I have a set of “red” journals, which are daily diaries that contain information on weather events and wildlife sightings. My oldest red journals contain only sparse notations and the volume for 2005 is almost half blank.
With each passing year there is more and more information recorded in the pages of these books. It was sometime in 2008 that I started recording high and low daily temperatures. It was on Dec. 10, 2011 that I started keeping track of the numbers of each species of bird that I saw on any given winter day and with every passing year since then I have found it easier and easier to compare the events of one year to another.
2011 was also the year that I first started keeping a second set of notes in what I call my “black” journals. Rather than being diaries with one page for each day, these black journals are filled with more extensive notes that I take whenever the weather is especially nice, especially unpleasant, or when something of particular interest happens in the yard. In 2011 I filled the pages of one black journal, in 2012 there were two volumes, and starting in 2013 I have filled three of these books with my notes and thoughts.
One theme that has become very clear to me as a result of this process is this: things stay the same, but every year is different. For example, I have always had towhees in my yard, but there have been years when they were extremely prominent and other years when they were most definitely in the background. I have observed the absence of extremely predictable species after severe weather events and I have rejoiced at their return sometime later.
Change is everywhere. Some summers have lots of thunder and lightning, while others don’t. Some winters have lots of snow, while others (like this year) have hardly any. Some springs are rainy, while others are fairly dry. But throughout it all, the species of plants and animals that live across the landscape seem to remain fairly constant. As long as the changes are small and short-lived then the overall average will stay fairly constant.
Then there are the slow steady changes that shift what is “normal.” When I first moved into my house there was an unobstructed view to the north of my deck where I could look out onto a sunny, open garden that I had planted. This was wonderful for observing hummingbirds in the summer, but in the winter my house had a distinct “planted” look.
I put out birdfeeders and attracted some winter visitors, but there was an entire group of birds that was reluctant to cross open spaces to sit in exposed feeders. I decided to add a few lilac bushes around the deck to provide the birds with a sense of security and today those bushes are bustling with all manner of winter birds. But an even more important planting was the wild self-seeding of a cottonwood tree along the north railing of the deck.
In the past ten years this tree has gone from a tiny seedling to a substantial specimen that is now much taller than the house. Best of all, however, is the fact that as the tree has grown and spread its branches it has made the vicinity around my house much more attractive to the birds of the woods. The variety of woodpeckers at my feeders has increased and some quintessential woodland species like tufted titmice have started to spend more and more time by my window.
Then, on Nov. 8 of this year, I was particularly happy to see a female white-breasted nuthatch (sitta carolinensis) appear at my feeders. Growing up in Amherst I had always thought that the nuthatch was a given. My parents’ house is nestled in a wooded area filled with maple, beech, cherry and one huge oak tree, and white-breasted nuthatches were fixtures in the yard.
When you live in the middle of a field, however, you realize that nuthatches don’t stray far from the woods. From the deck of my own house I could hear nuthatches singing down in the forest, but only once in a great while would a particularly adventurous individual visit my feeder. There was food aplenty, but the conditions just weren’t comfortable for these wonderful birds. That all seemed to change on Nov. 8.
I started seeing nuthatches almost every day. I was delighted to see that the female continued to visit my feeders, but I knew I really had something when I noticed that there were three nuthatches at the feeder. Two males were vying for her attention and this planted a seed of hope in the back of my mind. Will I see nuthatch fledglings at my feeders this summer? By Darwin’s beard, let it happen!
Female white-breasted nuthatches can be identified by their gray caps and slightly grayer body feathers. Males have a black cap and the feathers of the back are sometimes bluish in color. This difference might not jump out at you if only one bird is present, but if you see them side-by-side, the difference is obvious. It took me three months to finally get a photo of the female in the classic “head down” pose with her gray cap easily visible.
White-breasted nuthatches are nonmigratory residents and they are also extremely territorial. Unlike species like the American goldfinch that are reliant on plant foods that are patchy and variable across the landscape, nuthatches rely heavily on hibernating insects for food. As a result, nuthatches are able to defend a territory and the food therein. Pairs work together in this effort, but males are always dominant over the females.
The white-breasted nuthatch nests in forests of mature trees that have ample tree cavities and abandoned woodpecker holes to choose from. I don’t have the right kind of trees in the immediate vicinity of my house, but there are trees of the proper age in the area. Down to the south there is an extensive track of forest that goes on for miles. Off to the east there is a fairly decent patch of woods that might also provide the necessary housing.
Somewhere out there, in the coming weeks, a pair will agree on a desirable nook in a desirable tree and in that secret little hideaway the female will lay five to eight speckled eggs. Both parents will share incubating duties, but the female will do most of that important work while the male is out guarding their territory. The eggs will hatch after an incubation period of about 12 days and then the real work will begin.
Eight little nuthatches would require a great deal of food and the male will be hard pressed to provide enough. At some point, when the chicks have sufficient feathers of their own, the female will have to shift her attention to food gathering as well. This onslaught of activity will only last for about two weeks, however, for the chicks will be flying just 14 days after they hatch. The resulting explosion of little nuthatches that occurs on fledging day is what I hope to see as the frazzled, desperate parents are followed by their boisterous, ravenous offspring to the easiest food in town…my feeders! I will keep my camera at the ready and if I manage to see these feisty little creatures I will most definitely share the news with you!