Don has been passionate about raptors, or birds of prey, since he was a teenager. He has kept owls, hawks, and falcons as pets over the years (with the proper permits, of course) and has a battered "hawk journal" that goes back to the early '70s. I've heard many stories about Baby Owl and the miracle of finding a goshawk nest in college. Since we moved to the farm, he has dreamed of having a pet kestrel again and putting our large sparrow population to good use as falcon food.
So, it was with great hopes that he mounted a kestrel nesting box on one of our livestock shelters in the pasture behind the house a couple of years ago. He knew it was a long-shot that these sensitive birds would find our offering acceptable, but it was worth a shot. After two springs with no one but starlings showing interest, he had almost resigned himself to being content with the bluebird families that enjoy our hospitality. Then, last week, the kestrels arrived.
We spotted the male first, in the large black walnut tree on the side of the house. Then the female appeared. She was soon inspecting the nest box to see if it met her criteria. Not long after, the two were back in the walnut tree, mating. I guess she gave the go-ahead.
They have now been here about five days, and we are on constant watch to see if they'll decide to nest. When they fly off to hunt in the afternoon, we anxiously await their return, wondering if we've seen the last of them. So far, so good. If they stay, it will be another couple of weeks before they lay eggs.
Falcons, and raptors in general, are not fond of people. Unlike songbirds, they prefer to nest away from human activity. So we know that the odds of this couple staying to raise a family are slim. Therefore, we're doing everything we can to accommodate their needs and play down our presence. The hawks are holding us hostage.
Before we go out in the yard, we check to see where the kestrels are. The dog's bathroom breaks are timed to avoid disturbing them. Don even looked askance at me yesterday when I headed out for my walk. I pointed out that plenty of other people walk down our road and that, if the kestrels couldn't handle that, they wouldn't last long here anyway. He relented.
This morning, while Don was at church (and I was home with a sick toddler), I decided to take advantage of the gorgeous spring day and hang diapers on the line for the first time since November. I planned to take a photo and post it here as a sure sign of spring. As I rounded the corner of the house holding the laundry basket on one side and Sarah's small hand on the other, I saw one of the kestrels fly from the nest box. I was gripped with terror. I didn't want to be the one to scare the kestrels away. I rushed to hang the diapers and get out of sight. Looking back, I wondered if the mere sight of the bright white rectangles would be enough to deter them. I ran back and tore them all down again. In a rare face-off, wildlife trumped environmentalism.
For the next hour, I checked out the window every five minutes hoping to see the love birds in the walnut tree or on the box. Nothing. I rehearsed my confession to Don, that I was the one to shatter his dream. What a relief it was when he walked in the door and said nonchalantly, "The kestrels were in the tree as I drove up." Whew!
I told him my guilty story, and he said, "It's kind of ridiculous to be held hostage in our own house." Maybe. It's also pretty thrilling. How many people do you know with "parakeets that eat meat" nesting in their yards? For as long as these beautiful birds honor us with their presence, we'll continue to walk on eggshells for them...and hope to convince them we're worthy hosts.
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