Journal

There is only one owlet left in the box. The fourth owlet left on May 12, several days ago, shooting out of the box suddenly like its siblings. There is always one owlet that hatches last, that is the last to leave the nest.

Three owlets fledged last night. They shot out the entrance somewhere between 8:30 and 9 p.m. The two remaining owlets jumped around the box and hopped up to the entrance, begging for food.

The owlets are getting ready to fledge. They jump around the box, stretching their fuzzy gray bodies up to the box ceiling, spreading their wings, flapping them. They dig in the sawdust, scratching away, searching for tidbits.

Inside the owl box, Mrs. Owl pecks at last night’s leftovers and feeds the owlets. Her gray feathers, dark with rain, stick to her, making her appear smaller. She grooms an owlet, ruffling through the downy feathers of its head.

The fifth egg hatched on or about April 17 when we noticed the last egg missing, but weren’t sure if the egg had hatched or been eaten. The owlets huddle together in one big fuzzy ball, so it’s hard to tell how many owlets are there, but by Monday the fifth owlet could be seen in the middle of its four siblings, its tiny white head and skinny wings and body sticking out.

The first owlet hatched on Monday, April 12, one month from the day the first egg was laid. Two more owlets appeared the next day, leaving two eggs unhatched. On Wednesday, April 14, two eggs were still unhatched with three owlets. Last night only one egg remained, so four have hatched.

Mm. Owl surprised us on Tuesday by laying a fifth egg. She stayed in the box that evening and, for the first time, we saw Mr. Owl visit the box and feed her.

Mme. Owl laid her first egg on Friday, March 12, and that is how we know the female screech owl is in the box now.

A little warmer today. Last night’s icy precipitation has coated streets, walks and driveways with a dangerous glaze. The driveway (which I attempted to shovel and clear yesterday) is a bumpy crust of snow and ice. No going outside today; too slippery, too much chance of falling. The temperature is slowly going up - 30º at 8:00 a.m. as opposed to 1º at 5:30 a.m. Monday and below 19º at 10 a.m. yesterday.

The blinds are closed, the drapes are drawn; the owl sits snugly in his box. A fine layer of ice glazes sidewalks and roads and frosts lawns and plants. Icicles drip from tree branches and plants. Leaves look like they are encased in glass.

Snow! Outside, big flakes of wet snow still falling. At any other time I would be delighted by true winter weather. Snow in Austin is cause for celebration and I am winter-deprived, but now I am just cold.

Tonight I sat outside as the sun went down, taking in the live oak trees shedding their small oval leaves and watching the screech owl poke his head out of the box. The moon was already up and almost full, an appropriate way to end the year.

A Swainson’s thrush has been visiting our backyard. These birds typically migrate through in September and October on their way to South America and are seen more often in eastern Texas, so we are lucky to see him. He’s been here a few weeks and seems to like our pond.

The male screech owl showed up on Halloween, peeking out of the owl box entrance just as it became dark. It’s a relief to finally see him; I have been waiting and wondering when – and if – he would appear. Each evening he pokes his head out about 5 p.m., preparing to take flight and leaving around 6 p.m., soaring over the fence and into the trees.

After a long, hot Texas summer with no swimming pools to cool us, we were ready to go somewhere. Anywhere. So, in this year without Yellowstone, there was Ruidoso, our escape from real life.

We finally saw the black fawn as we rode our bikes through the neighborhood. She was grazing in a corner yard shielded by tall oaks and plants with another fawn, a buck, and a doe, who must be her mother.

McKinney Roughs Sunday, August 9, 2020            Summer’s heat has seeped into Central Texas, saturating every plant, tree and blade of grass with sweltering [...]

When we first built the pond and waterfall in the backyard I thought it would be a lovely feature that would add to the backyard landscape, making it more interesting, allowing us to feel like we lived far away from the city. What I didn’t realize was how much life the pond would bring to this little patch of land.

The doe crosses our lawn in the middle of the hot afternoon. Her fawn rushes ahead of her, turning the corner around the fence, suddenly out of view. She stops and waits, staring toward a place we can’t see, then bends her head to the grass.