December 2, 2024
Over the weekend, I went into the woods behind the house to cut greenery from the variety of pine trees. As I collected branches, I had a feeling I was being watched. It’s not exactly the forest primeval back there. I can hear the dogs of not-too-distant neighbors barking and see a couple of houses, but it’s dense enough for a variety of wildlife to call it home.
I kept my head on a swivel for coyotes and turkeys (don’t laugh, turkeys can be treacherous) when I heard a rustling thud about 15 feet away from me. It was a hawk. He’d landed on the ground and was pretending to kill something. I say “pretending” because he clearly didn’t land with the force he would’ve used to stun his prey. Also, there was nothing there. One could call that a dead giveaway. *snort*
He made little jumps and pecks like he was throttling the life out of the leaves, all the while glancing over at me to see what I was doing. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years of living here it’s that our nosiest neighbors wear feathers. There’s a reason the expression “sticking your beak in where it doesn’t belong” was coined.
I decided to relieve him of his pretense and told him I was cutting pine boughs for the window boxes and planters out front. He turned to face me as I spoke and cocked his head. Satisfied with my explanation, and likely relieved he didn’t have to continue his charade, he hopped up to a low broken branch above him so he could observe me more easily.
I cut more branches, moving from tree to tree so that my pruning wouldn’t be noticeable and as I got further away, Mr. Hawk would deftly glide to a closer branch. He followed me as I walked to the front of the house and continued to watch as I trimmed the branches and made my arrangements in the window boxes.
His nosy fun was interrupted when a gang of chickadees and titmice noticed him and started to yammer. Soon blue jays and sparrows joined the chorus. If my hawk companion had any plans of picking off a snack at the winged buffet that the birdfeeder attracts, his plans were foiled. He screeched. I looked up. He screeched again, bobbed his head and flew silently away. As suddenly as he appeared, my supervisor was gone.
Or so I thought.
I turned from placing the last sprig in the window box to see a tufted titmouse sitting on the weeping cherry branch next to my shoulder. There was a new foreman on the job. He made a chipping sound. He was either letting me know that the big bad hawk had been dispatched and I was safe or chiding me for fraternizing with the enemy. Either way, I acknowledged him with a nod. Message delivered, he flew over to the birdfeeder for a quick bite.
I like to think we own this quiet suburban plot, but I realize that the feathered and furry denizens of these woods are the real holders of the land. We are merely squatters. It’s under their watchful gaze that we enjoy our short lease on this realm. Which reminds me, I’d better go refill the birdfeeder otherwise our feathered landlords will buzz my head the next time I go outside.
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