It’s time to wake up,

 

and face the sun.

 

I’ve been gardening on this property for a dozen years, and in that time I’ve had plenty of failures (for the life of me I can’t grow clematis!) but one success every summer has been sunflowers. Each year I plant more, and make sure that I have plenty of variety in color, size and height.

 

 

(Note the jagged petals – birds eat them.)

 

I purchase

 from my local plant nursery. Always read the labels – although the “pollen-free” varieties are tidier in cut flower arrangements, there’s nothing there for the bees.

It’s not only the flowers which are beloved here. I give the stalks to the goats, who think that the leaves are delicious and that the tough stems are good for head scratches.

Not, yet, boys. The sunflowers will stay in the garden awhile longer!

The other day, a small drama played itself out in the Little Barn’s pen. Veronica, the Marans hen, has gone broody. Midday, she took her bad-tempered and ruffled-feather self out of the nest to eat, drink, poop, dust bathe and preen. Broody hens look different – their feathers not only stick straight up, making them look larger and of a different shape, but they’ve often pulled some feathers out of their breast (the better to incubate those eggs that they deludedly believe that they have.) Different is not welcome in a flock. The other hens pecked at her head and chased her off.

In a free-range situation, Veronica could have put distance between herself and the flock and all would have calmed down. But my girls are in a fenced pen, safe from predators (and my garden safe from them.) If it was a bare enclosure, Veronica might have been cornered and harmed, so to prevent carnage, I provide several escape routes. The one that Veronica chose was the old ladder roost.

 

It’s under the shade tarp, which makes it bearable on a very hot day. Even better, for a bad-tempered broody, it’s in full view of everyone, but safe from them. In between preening, Veronica yattered away. But, up on the ladder, no one took notice of her. Not even the goats.

 

*Notice Veronica’s bare bottom. It’s nothing that I worry about. The skin color is normal, there’s no sign of damage from pecking. It’s not due to external parasites. My best layers often have bald spots. After last winter’s cold, snowy confinement, my flock is looking especially ragged. The girls won’t replace the worn out patches until after the molt late summer. They’re not up to beauty pageant standards, but that’s okay with all of us.

It’s the last day of Phoebe Week, but I promise you that there will be more posts about the birds that have taken up residence on my front porch.

We’ve watched these slight little birds with the funny tufts of feathers on their heads,

 

build a stunningly beautiful nest and lay eggs the size of nickels.

 

Each day, in succession, another perfect egg was laid until there were five. They all hatched successfully.

 

I can’t say that the hatchlings were as pretty as the eggs, but no matter, even better, they show off their dinosaur ancestry. In five days they transformed from bare, wobbly, eyes-sealed-shut, helpless beings to these voracious and demanding creatures.:

 

Soon, they’ll leave the ledge on the porch.

Then these Eastern Phoebes will enter the wide world.

 

It’s not simply a bigger space, with food to find. It’s a community, and not just of other Phoebes. Birds are aware of and know other species of birds. They’re familiar with the squirrels and the chipmunks. The birds in my yard know my dogs and my goats. They know me. There’s a wonderful book, What the Robin Knows, that gives insight into these communities of animals and how birds relate to them and to each other. Once you, the human, knows what to look for, a whole world of interactions opens up to view.

Over the last couple of weeks, watching the Phoebes, I realize that I have more questions than answers. When I do school visits, I tell the children to put on their science thinking hats, and they all pretend to tie a cap to their heads and then look at me with serious thinking faces. I then pose a question like, What do birds not have in their mouths? The answer is: teeth. Then the next question, How do they chew? The answer is: by swallowing rocks that go into the gizzard, which grinds food. As I watch the Phoebes, I put on my science thinking cap. The more that I watch the birds, the more I don’t know. Where do the parents sleep? If they reuse the nest, do they repair it for the next year. If so, how? If I remove the nest, will they rebuild in the same place? How far away do the Phoebes look for food? The survival rate for fledglings can’t be very high – if it were we’d be overrun with Phoebes (ten babies a year!) What’s the biggest risk? Do the ones that do live stay in the neighborhood? Do they return home after they migrate in the fall? Have you read a book that answers some of these questions? Do you have a natural history book to suggest for my summer reading list? It doesn’t have to be about birds. I recently read Octopus! The Most Mysterious Creature in the Sea by Katherine Courage. Now that’s an animal I’d like to get to know.

It’s Phoebe Week, day Four!

 

It takes a lot of food to power the astoundingly fast growth of hatchlings. We see the Eastern Phoebe parents flying to the nest and then off again countless times during the day.

 

The babies are now so large, that even from a distance, I can see gaping mouths waiting for food.

 

What goes in must come out. The birds somehow have to keep that nest clean of feces. I hadn’t thought about how that was done, but then Steve caught the method on camera.

The baby bird turns it’s butt to the parent.

 

Out comes the manure,

 

which the parent takes hold of in his/her beak,

 

and then flies off. I know where it’s being dropped – right on my porch five feet from the nest. It’s a mess. I’ll scrub it down when the birds fledge.

Once that’s done, there’s yet another mouth to feed.

 

The Phoebe parents have a demanding work schedule. But I have noticed them taking a moment for themselves.

It’s Day Three of Phoebe Week at HenCam! The Eastern Phoebes nesting on the porch aren’t the only Phoebes here. There is, of course, the rabbit.

 

It’s only a coincidence her coloring is so similar to the birds of the same appellation. However, her muted greyish-brown tones did give this Phoebe her name. Our rabbit was named after one of Saturn’s moons. She was given that name by one of my sons. He’s a rabbit guy. Some folks are dog people, others crazy about cats. He likes rabbits. He also likes science and space. When I brought Phoebe home from the animal shelter in 2012, he took note of her dusky coloring and told me that she had a low albedo, like one of Saturn’s moons. (Albedo is a term for how much radiation a heavenly body reflects back. Yes, we are so geeky here that the names of our animals often have a basis in serious science.)

Unlike the other animals, Phoebe has not been trained to come, and so she doesn’t get to roam around the yard – too dangerous! But, life in the chicken pen was getting boring, so my son rabbit-proofed the goats’ paddock. Now Phoebe can have hop-arounds.

Although I give Phoebe carrots, and often pull up clover and green growing things to give to her in her pen, she says that grass tastes much better when it’s still attached to the ground.

 

When she gets tired of the eating and exploring, there’s a shady place to rest,

 

where inquisitive and pesky goats can’t bother her. (Look closely, Phoebe is under there!)

 

Tomorrow Phoebe Week returns to the birds!

(For more about keeping a rabbit with your flock, read this FAQ.)