I wondered what all the commotion was about. Blue jays streaking through the air screaming out alarms at the top of their lungs. Sounds of panic and turmoil. I looked around and saw two fledglings on the ground. Still too young to fly, maybe a week or so from leaving the nest voluntarily. I picked them up and put them in what I thought would be a safe place where the parents still had access to them. The parents were distraught, calling out to them and dive bombing me. I withdrew to a safe vantage point where I could watch and not cause any more stress to the family than necessary.
They didn’t stay put long. Robins, who must have had a nest nearby, attacked the young jays, which brought down the wrath of the already adrenaline-charged parents. A terrible fight erupted with more screams and feathers flying. The rumble tumbled into the territory of a pair of tufted titmice who also joined in on the melee. This time of year is nesting season, birds take up residence and have rigid boundaries that are strictly enforced.
Territories may overlap, but it’s usually a matter of height not depth that are of concern. Blue jays like the high canopy, robins and other thrushes prefer the lower ground cover, and chickadees and the titmice take up residence in the middle area. I walk this section of woods every day and consider myself an astute observer of my surroundings and the creatures I share our space with. But I’d never noticed these nests before or was even remotely aware of the family life going on around me. I decided it would be best if I left and let nature sort itself out.
When I reached the house, my wife asked what all the commotion was about. She could hear the ruckus from the front porch. When I explained, she questioned my logic in leaving the defenseless young on the ground and wondered about their ability to survive a night on the forest floor. She isn’t one who would normally advocate for intervention, but there was something about the continued screams from the blue jay parents that begged further inspection.
Other jays now were streaking in from different directions all calling alarms. The nest was not hard to find, several of the birds were panicked and jumped from branch to branch and dove at the clump of sticks and forest litter that made up the nest. It was about forty feet up, and nestled in a branch close to the trunk of a white pine. Now I could see what the real problem was. A huge black snake was coiled around the branches and nest gulping down the remaining nestlings while the parents and neighboring jays tried valiantly to drive back the enemy. They screamed and dove and pecked, risking their own lives in the process. But it was all for naught.
The parents flew back and forth from the nest to an area in the woods where I assumed the young that had made their escape had settled.
Night was coming. I thought about snakes and screech owls, raccoons and weasels, opportunists who work the night shift. The remaining young would not make it till the morning light. We looked and looked but couldn’t find the nestlings. Well, I thought, maybe they’ll be safe. But I knew otherwise. We walked back to the house followed by the aria of what sounded to me, like weeping parents. Rarely do we have to think about the suffering of the creatures of our forests, their life’s dramas and passion plays, carried out just beyond the safety of our windows. Who thinks about a mother witnessing her babies being swallowed alive by a snake?
They don’t feel love or loss the way we do. It’s only a bird. Not a being like us. Therefore, they must be less. The actions of these parents and their defending neighbors would suggest otherwise.
It’s true that blue jays are responsible for their own share of grief to other birds when they steal eggs or hatchlings from nests. But there is no malice involved, no evil intent. Just like the black snake, it’s a matter of survival. I went back and kept searching.
Finally, first one, then the other. They are in a box in my living room now. And I am out in the yard looking for bugs that will make a tasty meal until I can buy the ingredients that will make up their new diet. One that can be squeezed through a syringe for convenience.
The forest is quiet now. However I can’t help but believe, that somewhere close, is great mourning in the heart of a mother, who today, in a matter of minutes, lost her family.
You did the right thing; you have a lot of experience with birds, so the young are in good and capable hands
always love your prose and photos, thank you, dear Robert, for loving the critters! They love you, too!