One of the joys of living in the country is having an up close and personal view of all things wildlife. I've had my share of raccoon and rabbit sightings. I still catch my breath whenever I see a buck. Just the other week I listened to the rooting and grunting of some ferral hogs just outside my backyard. But then something happened the other night that caught me off guard and I witnessed something I had never before witnessed...up close and personal.
Because we are enjoying our summer break from school we have been staying up late and sleeping in. Two nights ago I had just tucked in my daughter for the night. It was probably around 10:30 and the house was dark. The only light came from the glow of my monitor up in the loft. The guys were all outside in the barn. That left me upstairs typing my journal entry for the day. About thirty minutes into it I heard a quick succession of taps on one of the downstairs' windows (other than my keyboard the house was silent). My initial thought was that a raccoon was snooping around (they always visit our porch in the night...they are relentless when it comes to my hummingbird feeders!). When the tapping continued I started to think that perhaps it was my husband instead. I thought that maybe the back door was locked and he didn't want to startle me by knocking loudly??? Nevertheless I had a sense that it was a critter. I was determined to see what it was so I stealthily snuck down the stairs (in the pitch blackness) and crept over towards the window. I got in a position to glimpse the *raccoon* as soon as I flipped on the porch light. When the lights came on I was taken back. I saw one of *our* swallows (a young one) flopping and flapping against my window ledge (thus the tapping sounds). My family and I have watched and learned from over five generations of this particular swallow family. This spring we welcomed four baby birds. They had just started flying about a week and a half ago and were in the habit of leaving their nest during the days and perching on our back fence (where their parents still fed them). Every night they would cram their now overgrown bodies back into their clay cup of a home.
The frightened bird was actually one of the lucky ones. Up in the corner, where this particular nest has been affixed to our wall for over five years, a snake was feasting on the swallows. His head and a portion of his body were coiled and snug within the nest; the rest of his body and tail was trailing below along the rock wall. I was immediately torn: my gut reaction was to save the birds--my eyes *told* me to GRAB THE CAMERA!--my senses *told* me to RUN! I whistled for back up. Once I had reinforcement I went crazy with the camera shooting well over 100 pictures. We were amazed at how strong the snake was and how unwilling he was to be lifted (by a stick) out of the nest. In the end, despite our best efforts, the nest could not be saved. Once the snake was out of the nest and in the hands of my husband (he quickly assessed that it was nonvenemous) we saw that it had one of the swallows in its mouth. As sad as this was it was also extremely fascinating. We all marveled at *nature* and then released the snake outside of our yard. Forty-five minutes later the snake was back searching for more. My husband lifted it up to where the nest used to be and then released it back into the wild.
The next morning the swallow family was back--swirling in shifts in and out of the porch railings as was their usual routine. Each one would fly up to where its nest used to be, as if his flight pattern had not been changed, which, I suppose it had'nt--after all--don't we all have some sort of internal GPS when it comes to *home*? I am sure they will rebuild. Will it be in the same location? I don't know. But I do know this: No matter our losses we must all rally together, enjoy our little routines, and spread our wings every once in a while.
Because we are enjoying our summer break from school we have been staying up late and sleeping in. Two nights ago I had just tucked in my daughter for the night. It was probably around 10:30 and the house was dark. The only light came from the glow of my monitor up in the loft. The guys were all outside in the barn. That left me upstairs typing my journal entry for the day. About thirty minutes into it I heard a quick succession of taps on one of the downstairs' windows (other than my keyboard the house was silent). My initial thought was that a raccoon was snooping around (they always visit our porch in the night...they are relentless when it comes to my hummingbird feeders!). When the tapping continued I started to think that perhaps it was my husband instead. I thought that maybe the back door was locked and he didn't want to startle me by knocking loudly??? Nevertheless I had a sense that it was a critter. I was determined to see what it was so I stealthily snuck down the stairs (in the pitch blackness) and crept over towards the window. I got in a position to glimpse the *raccoon* as soon as I flipped on the porch light. When the lights came on I was taken back. I saw one of *our* swallows (a young one) flopping and flapping against my window ledge (thus the tapping sounds). My family and I have watched and learned from over five generations of this particular swallow family. This spring we welcomed four baby birds. They had just started flying about a week and a half ago and were in the habit of leaving their nest during the days and perching on our back fence (where their parents still fed them). Every night they would cram their now overgrown bodies back into their clay cup of a home.
The frightened bird was actually one of the lucky ones. Up in the corner, where this particular nest has been affixed to our wall for over five years, a snake was feasting on the swallows. His head and a portion of his body were coiled and snug within the nest; the rest of his body and tail was trailing below along the rock wall. I was immediately torn: my gut reaction was to save the birds--my eyes *told* me to GRAB THE CAMERA!--my senses *told* me to RUN! I whistled for back up. Once I had reinforcement I went crazy with the camera shooting well over 100 pictures. We were amazed at how strong the snake was and how unwilling he was to be lifted (by a stick) out of the nest. In the end, despite our best efforts, the nest could not be saved. Once the snake was out of the nest and in the hands of my husband (he quickly assessed that it was nonvenemous) we saw that it had one of the swallows in its mouth. As sad as this was it was also extremely fascinating. We all marveled at *nature* and then released the snake outside of our yard. Forty-five minutes later the snake was back searching for more. My husband lifted it up to where the nest used to be and then released it back into the wild.
The next morning the swallow family was back--swirling in shifts in and out of the porch railings as was their usual routine. Each one would fly up to where its nest used to be, as if his flight pattern had not been changed, which, I suppose it had'nt--after all--don't we all have some sort of internal GPS when it comes to *home*? I am sure they will rebuild. Will it be in the same location? I don't know. But I do know this: No matter our losses we must all rally together, enjoy our little routines, and spread our wings every once in a while.
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