Hiding In Plain Sight

Three years and three nests on the same cedar branch

Her yellow eyes tell you she is a female, and in this case, quite probably the momma. She and her team (her dark-eyed daddy and a handful of ‘helper’ aunties and uncles), are currently, surreptitiously raising their first brood of the year in this masterfully engineered nest, hiding in plain sight, a cozy, stretchy and nearly invisible, hanging bag made of spider’s webs and bits of moss and lichen, and tufts of hair, and cottonwood fluff, where all of them can pile in to huddle for warmth and sleep together during our yet cool nights. The photo, as seen here is actually a multiple exposure, two different images, taken less than a second apart which I then combined in my computer to show where the entrance/exit is and to help explain how these diligent little poets come and go.

They have nested on this same branch, in this same Deodar cedar tree for three years now and are currently ferrying meals of spiders, caterpillars and gnats past the ever watchful eyes of the crows whose territory it is to the fifth brood that they have managed to raise here without corvid detection. During the previous two years the genius little pair of bushtits who preside over this deliciously covert operation have managed to successfully raise two broods of miniature songbirds each year, with family help and without detection. I know this because I’ve watched. Carefully. Ever so carefully.

The pair of crows who consider this area their personal territory and whom I see and talk to multiple times each week watch me like a hawk. They pay close attention, they study me watching other birds and presumably listen to me talking to them. I know this because I watch them back. They seem to miss nothing, knock on wood. But so far, they have missed this little miracle of engineering and disguise, and so far, I have managed not to carelessly clue them in or give the plot away.

I am horrified at the thought.

Last year I watched another Bushtit family build a nest about a quarter mile from this one, watched the crows who stalk that territory as their own, observing the comings and goings, to and from that nest and took some comfort from the fact that they seemed content to leave things be.

What a fool I was. They weren’t just leaving things be, they were waiting …patiently, letting the parents and extended family gather and ferry meals back and forth to the nest until the babies were fully fattened up, ready to test their wings and leave the safety of their spider web and lichen nursery. Then, before they scattered with the winds and once they had finally attained maximum, Bushtit-fledgling meal size, those crows moved in, tore that nest to shreds and carried off the babies to feed their own brood. The level of calculation and planning gutted me. I have learned that one must never, ever underestimate a crow.

And so, yesterday, while the crows were occupied, hunting their little stretch of rocky shoreline just beyond a row of pines, I paused for a careful moment beneath this blessed little enclave and waited. And when I heard the faint, high-pitched ‘chits’ of a food-bearing parent I glanced up and saw this momma quickly disappearing into the nest. I raised my camera, framed up my shot and as soon as I saw her bill emerge from the entrance hole, recorded a quick string of pictures, two of which you see combined into one, here (above).

I quickly lowered my camera then and turned away, thanking the momma bird but loathe to give her secret away. And as I began to walk, before I’d taken even ten steps, one of the crows appeared, flying in my direction, weaving between two pines. I quickly raised my binoculars and peered high into a tree to my left, a ploy to momentarily deflect any unwanted attention.

That was close.

Be careful, my bird loving friends. Careful what you look at, and for just how long. As much as possible, be aware of everything going on all around you. Chances are good, especially during nesting season …you’re being watched.

Ever watchful and crafty beyond your wildest imaginings…

By the way, two of my very talented, nature writing friends here on Substack have been posting up beautiful stories about their recent adventures with Spring bird migration, and especially, their encounters with an absolutely enchanting variety of warblers.

Bill Davison, who writes Easy By Nature has an exquisite new piece up, entitled, How The Warbler Descends, a magical, picture-rich meditation.

And my East Coast biologist buddy, Bryan Pfeiffer over at Chasing Nature just posted up a wondrous essay, entitled, Warblers Redefined.

Both are absolutely worth the click and a few minutes of your time.

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