Observations from the Horton Nature Center

   Here at the Horton Nature Center, also known as our front and back yards, one can wile away the twilight hours marveling at the antics and activities of assorted creatures that share this space with us; a small sanctuary located near the heart of Downtown Fowlerville.

   Depending on my mood, I might be reposing in the rocker on the front porch, in a lawn chair next to the large shrub at the southeast corner of the house, or else in another chair situated next to the garden.

   Occasionally, when in the back yard, I’ll spot a rabbit nibbling on the grass. The cottontail population, residing in the village, seems to be at a high tide this year. I’m constantly seeing them, out and about, during my morning walks. I assume the lack of nearby predators and disease has resulted in a successful breeding season. When one of them pauses, standing upright on its back haunches, silhouetted at a side view, the rabbit looks just like one of those chocolate bunnies sold at Easter time by Sherry and Les, the proprietors of Sweet Sensations.

   A pair of chipmunks can also be spotted, racing from the protective cover of greenery that’s grown along the privacy fence to an opening under the back porch. In a bolder moment, one of them will go up onto the porch to investigate that terrain. If I’m noticed, sitting in the chair several yards away, the chipmunk will stop, become motionless, and stare at me. I stare back, motionless as well. I often prevail in these standoffs.

    Not so with the resident squirrels. They often bound across the yard in a graceful canter, scamper effortlessly up the side of the maple trees, when the busy tail suddenly realizes I’m in the vicinity. The other day a squirrel had done just that, spotting me in the rocker on the front porch after it had reached a low-hanging branch. It sat there, without any movement, resembling a statute, staring intently at me. I returned the glaze, but its beady eyes and insolent attitude unnerved me. I finally attempted to spook the critter by waving my arms and speaking aloud. My effort was to no avail. The stare continued. Calling him a bully and telling him to “pick on someone your own size,” I got up and went inside. When I returned to the porch a couple of minutes later, the squirrel had left.

    I realized that I had treated the tiny chipmunk in a similar fashion, and vowed to be better behaved. Turnaround is fair play, I told myself, and wondered if the squirrel and chipmunk were in cahoots on putting me in my place.

    Unlike the more ambitious residents in town, we do not have an immaculate lawn. In fact, a number of weeds have established a presence among the blades of grass. Among them is the white clover. Even after I’m mowed my lawn, a number of the blossoms have survived the cutting.

   I could set the mower lower, but from what I’ve read a scalped lawn is not a prudent choice. I could spray, however I don’t see the value in this approach. I have no overriding compulsion to impress the neighbors too much, although I do feel pangs of guilt when I fail to keep up the place by having a tidy-looking landscape.

    Any pangs about the white clover disappeared when I noticed a bumble bee hovering over a blossom, sucking out some nectar for use at a nearby nest. Of course, I hope this nest has not been established inside our barn or near a doorway where the protective bees might feel threatened by our human presence.

   Otherwise the sight was a welcome one. The bumble bees, like the honey bees, have been under distress in the past few years. Certain species of bumble bees are even threatened with extinction due to habitat loss. Getting more notice has been the large number of honey bees in the commercial hives that have died off.

   While the bumble bees were once important pollinators of crops, nowadays it’s the honey bees, raised by commercial beekeepers that play an indispensable role in agriculture. The keepers, along with selling the honey that the bees produce, rent out their bee colony to growers to pollinate their fruits and vegetables. Until their numbers severely declined, putting this vital service at risk, few of us realized how dependent we were on these insects—both house kept by bee keepers and their wilder, free-roaming cousins like the one I saw in the front yard.

     Illustrating that importance is a statement made in 2014 by Agriculture Secretary Tom Vilsack. "The future security of America's food supply depends on healthy honey bees," he said. "Honey bee pollination supports an estimated $15 billion worth of agricultural production, including more than 130 fruits and vegetables that are the foundation of a nutritious diet. Expanded support for research, combined with USDA's other efforts to improve honey bee health, should help America's beekeepers combat the current, unprecedented loss of honey bee hives each year."

    The main entertainment at our Nature Center, however, is not the bees--or even the rabbits, chipmunks, and squirrels--but the perching birds. One reason for this is that there are many more of them around to view, and also they are constantly flitting about.

     Recently, I saw two feathered critters fly to the shoulder of South Collins Street, make a couple of feints at each other, leap up a foot in unison, both of them doing a sort of kung-fu maneuver, repeat the show procedure, and then one of them took off to the low branch of nearby tree while the other bird paused for a moment, took stock of the situation, and headed off in another direction.

    I had no idea what all of this commotion was about. I speculated that they might be a pair of young males with the affections of a female at stake. On the other hand, perhaps this was a courting ritual and what seems like a physical altercation was, in fact, a display of affection. I’ve seen this sort of response displayed between human couples. I’ve since changed my mind and think it might have been a battle over territory.

    A confession is in order. I possess a limited knowledge when it comes to bird watching. Not only do I not know much about their behavior, other than the well-known fact that some of them fly south at wintertime, I’m not too good at identifying the different types that frequent the neighborhood. I do know what a robin red-breast looks like. A few of them visit our back yard in search of food and nesting material. It’s easy to see where the songwriter came up with the lyric “When the red, red robin goes bob, bob, bobbin’ along.” They do a lot of hopping about.

   One evening a flock of crows were passing by, and one of them landed on the telephone line near our house. The size and haughty demeanor of a crow makes them easy to ID.

   I’m also familiar with the looks of a cardinal, blue jay, red-winged black bird, and humming bird as well as an owl and buzzard, even a kill joy, but that’s hardly impressive. It’s distinguishing between sparrows, barn shallows, starlings, larks, juncos, and wrens (just for starters) that stumps me. I have the same problem with trees. Get me past maples, oaks, birch, and pines, and I’m on shaky ground.

    I’m assuming one of the aforementioned bird species decided this spring to establish nests in the narrow gaps between the tops of our upstairs windows and the overhanging eves. Those window tops, more specifically are ornate pieces of trim. Due to the pitch of the roof, there’s only an inch or two between the outside edge of the window and the soffit. However, there’s ample room in back of that narrow opening, coming in from the side entrances, for a nest, and the birds had done just that.

   The three windows chosen happened to be on either side (east and west) of the front bedroom where our son studies and sleeps, and on smaller window of our bedroom. Soon the three of us were falling asleep and awakening to the sound of bird chirps.

   I’m a live-and-let-live guy on many matters concerning wildlife. While I don’t want a woodchuck digging a den under the garage or an opossum or skunk setting up housekeeping anywhere nearby, I’m quite tolerant about the rabbit and chipmunks that are apparently living under the porches or have a burrow in the thick covering alongside the property-line fence.

   The bird nests above the windows concerned me. All of those scraps of twigs, weeds, and grass—packed in tight—appeared like they might push the soffit out of the j-channel, allowing the birds or, worse yet, the bats entry underneath the roof and into the interior of the house.

  Curious, I went on the internet and, believe it or not, also consulted the encyclopedia. I concluded that the predominant bird species at our Nature Center is the English Sparrow. The small birds occupying our yard and nearby trees, including my two kung fu combatants, resembled the photos on the internet and in the encyclopedia in both their size and coloring. In addition, their behavior had all the hallmarks of this prolific species that is a common presence near human habitation.

   From my study, I learned that this sparrow is not a welcome presence for many other bird species or for homeowners. The following quote illustrates its threat to the former and nuisance for the latter:

   "Without question the most deplorable event in the history of American ornithology was the introduction of the English Sparrow." -W.L. Dawson, The Birds of Ohio, 1903

   These feathered creatures have been referred to as “rats with wings.” They invade bird houses, intended for blue birds, killing the occupant and destroying the eggs or fledglings. To add insult to injury, the sparrows sometimes build their own nest atop the corpse. They also attack many other species, killing some and driving others away. Unlike those birds that head to warmer climates, the sparrows hang around and take over the bird feeders with their aggressive behavior. They are also prolific breeders; the added numbers helping them dominate the territory they occupy.

    As I had discovered, they build nests in the nooks and crannies of homes, including the interior if an opening is present. Their waste as well as the debris from the nests are both unsightly and can pose health concerns.

   While it is against the law to remove an active bird nest, this does not apply to either English Sparrows or Starlings since they are considered “nuisance birds.”

    One of the windows with a nest happened to be situated above the side porch, while the other two windows with nests were conveniently located above the front porch.

    Armed with the knowledge that an English Sparrow was not a welcome guest at the Center and carrying a broom, I climbed up onto each of the porches, using the broom and then my hand to remove the offending nests. I then swept the residue onto the lawn below. I later learned that I should have worn gloves since a sparrow’s nest may have mites in them. I marvel, at times, how I’ve managed to survive 64 years with my ignorance of possible threats to my well-being as well as my questionable behavior.

    Satisfied that I had adequately protected the integrity of my home and struck of blow for bluebirds and chickadees who have suffered from this bully, I resumed my observations. Within days I noticed that the nests had begun to re-appear. Consulting my references, I discovered that this species is a determined lot. There might be the need to remove the nests three or four times before the English Sparrows building them decide to re-direct their energies to a new site.

  

   Since the birds had not caused any structural damage to the eves or windows, I decided that repeatedly climbing up onto the roof was not a task I wished to pursue. The sparrows—small in size but strong in will--have proven why they are so successful, a nuisance though they may be. I now observe them, and their antics, with new respect and interest.

   Nature, even from one’s yard, is a fascinating mosaic.