Afternoon tea.

25/02/09

Mother Nature certainly is gifted when it comes to playing tricks on us here on the prairies. A few days ago, people were actually talking about an early spring. It had been mild for so long, we were looking at bare ground on the southern slopes. That changed the day before yesterday, when it started to snow again. It looks like between five and six inches so far, and it went down to -18°C last night.

On the bright side, it isn't April. That happened last year. The robins were back, and finding something for them to eat was a challenge. I started with half a cantaloupe – I'd seen them eating it before – and added some grapes. The ground was frozen, except in the gardens along the sides of the house, so I was only able to find a few worms. After a couple of days, I went to a fishing supply store and bought dew worms. The robins – there were two – waited in the trees for me to put their food out. I eventually made a shelter by leaning an old window against the south side of my greenhouse, and put the food in there. It was very satisfying to watch these birds taking advantage of my efforts.

Because I have to drive for more than an hour to find a store where I can actually purchase things like worms, I decided to plan ahead. Last fall, I started a worm farm. I Googled the project, checked out several sites, and then modified what I learned to fit my application. I started with a large, plastic container, took a shovel [actually, it was a spade], and went looking for worms. Whenever I found them plentiful, I added some of the dirt I found them in to my container. Since then, I've been giving them food once in a while, and enough water to keep the soil moist. I keep them in my birdhouse, which usually has a temperature between 8° and 12°C. They seem to be thriving, so I should have plenty of worms come spring.

A lot of people undoubtedly think I'm a nut, but I really don't care. Waking one morning in early spring to the cheerful song of the robin is something I look forward to all winter. If we don't look after them when they need it, the day could come when they're not here anymore. What would life be like then?

We hear so much these days about all the exotic species on the endangered lists that I think it's possible common species, such as the robin, are slipping away without notice. I can remember, as a child, seeing robins everywhere, all the time. In fact, there were huge flocks of songbirds, especially in the spring, and again in the fall, when they grouped for migration. When we first moved here, in the early eighties, it seemed the trees were full of robins. Over the years, the population has dwindled gradually, until now there might be one or two pairs.

Robins work very hard to raise their young. They start almost as soon as they get back. The first nest, built before the leaves are on the trees, is usually in a coniferous tree. I've noticed in recent years that they seem to build as close to the buildings as they can get. I've even had them on the buildings, under the eaves, and one year, they built a nest on the light fixture inside the barn. One pair that's been coming here the last few years actually builds decoy nests – as many as three – in an attempt to protect the babies.

As soon as the nest is built, the female lays the eggs, and incubates them. The male is busy building another nest. They both feed the young when the eggs hatch, but at some point, the female leaves that job to the male, and moves to the new nest to start again. I've seen the same pair do this as many as four times in a season. At three to five eggs per nest, that sounds like a lot of robins, right? If only it were true. In reality, the birds will be lucky if they raise even one family to full feather. All too often, only one baby will survive from the nest - after a harrowing escape from a predator – sometimes before it can even fly. Needless to say, once on the ground, its chances of survival are even worse.

Their plight is hard to ignore. To the magpie, which seems to be a very successful species, a nestful of baby robins is a great lunch. Hawks hunt them as well. I can't count the number of times I've been alerted by the parent robin's distress call, and gone running to find a hawk moving in on the nest. Feral cats are another problem, and take a huge toll, even here in the country. Squirrels raid the nests, and drag the babies away, only to leave them on the ground to die. And yes, I know all of this can be said to be just nature. But is it? Magpies, feral cats, and squirrels have adapted to the environment we have created, and become so prolific they are a nuisance even to us. Doesn't it seem reasonable that an increase in the predator population will have a negative impact on the species they prey on?

So you'll pardon me if I try to help whenever I can. The birds themselves are quite capable – I'm sure almost everyone has seen a hawk or raven being chased by a fighter squadron hot on its tail feathers. The little birds gang up, and chase the intruder away. What they can't do is get it out of a tree – it's just too dangerous to get too close. Predators are patient, and will just sit there watching the parents. Eventually, they will figure out where the nest is. As soon as that happens, eggs and babies are doomed.

Hawks are protected, so as much as I'd like to, I can't just knock them out of a tree. What I can do is get them airborne. Sometimes, they'll fly if I just start clapping my hands and making a lot of noise. If they don't, I've found that whacking the trunk of the tree with a good sized stick startles them, and they fly. Once the intruder is in the air, the fighter squadron moves in, and chases them off.

This approach works for winged predators, but when it comes to feral cats and squirrels, it's a different story. I try to keep them away, but they are attracted to the bird feeders. The cats are the biggest problem. Most people probably don't realize it, but a cat is capable of killing birds as large as grouse, and even rabbits. I have found parts of both around the yard, especially in the winter when the tracks in the snow tell the story. Grouse are such stupid birds I'd have to say they're on the bottom of the food chain, so I'm sure they don't need an introduced predator stalking them.

I've conditioned myself to listen for the robin's distress call, but I also have a very effective alarm for most of the day. Jackie, my Greenwing Macaw, has a very distinctive, and very loud, shriek she uses whenever she sees something she doesn't like. She doesn't like cats or hawks, and even if she's in the house, she seems to see them lurking about. I'm told the macaw's voice can be heard up to five miles away, and I believe it. As soon as I hear the alarm, I go and check things out. I've actually saved quite a few babies, and I always seem to have robins nesting, so I assume they appreciate it.

All too often in our world today, we just get too busy to notice what's going on around us. The plight of the other creatures that share this world with us might not penetrate our hectic lives. The piercing distress call of a robin might have become nothing more than an annoying intrusion we would rather not hear. But before we all make that choice, we should ask ourselves this: Will we miss the cheerful song of our little friend should he disappear from our lives?

If you answered yes, the solution is simple. Pay attention this year. If Mother Nature decides to be nasty, feed the robins. They are naturally attracted to bare ground – usually to be found along the sides of buildings – and will eat cantaloupe, grapes, berries - frozen or fresh - and apples, all of which are readily available at most grocery stores. When they start to nest, don't interfere, but do try to keep the predators away. Who knows? The robins might reward you with a cheerful song.