Purple Martins Fledged

My purple martin colony has fledged for the year, the last four hatchlings in two nests having flown in the past few days. This year I had 19 pairs of birds lay 87 eggs, 67 of which hatched (some just didn’t, a few apparently fell to predators), and 58 fledged (a few hatchlings succumbed to the heat of July, a couple to predators). This was an unusual year, no doubt affected by the early spring and summer heat. The first eggs were laid May 13, hatched May 31, and fledged June 27. The last eggs were laid a late June 29 (two days after the first hatchlings fledged), hatched July 16, and fledged August 15. They all – parents and successful youth – should be in their usual staging area south of town, where they meet up with other colonies from the area before making the migration down to Brazil, a journey I can’t imagine, though I can’t imagine flying on my own power, whatever distance, anyway. They won’t send postcards and they don’t call, but like welcoming children back home from their wanderings, I’ll still be looking forward to their return next spring, and hearing how their warm winter went.

Purple Martin Hatchlings

This has been an early year for all things spring and summer, and my purple martin colony has been no exception. The birds showed up this year a couple of weeks before last year, and the first eggs were laid about ten days or so before last year. What’s surprised me most was that my first hatchlings came today, one nest a day before they were scheduled and a second six days before scheduled, and both a full two weeks before the first hatchlings last year. I wondered whether this year or last year was the unusual one, but looking back at earlier records, I see that the end of May (today) is a more typical first laying day, not a first hatching day. I assume that this is because of the unusually mild winter and early and warm spring. But was there an early start to the fall in South America where the birds spend the (our) winter that triggered an early return? Or did they somehow know that we were having a mild winter and early spring? And if so, how? But then how does this whole migration thing over thousands of miles from one specific location in Brazil to another in Iowa City year after year happen so regularly and precisely? I suppose there are answers that I could find if I wanted to. But I prefer the surprise and magic of opening the gourds and finding the first white eggs, and then later the first pink chicks, their yellow-rimmed beaks, as large as their tiny bodies, spread wide and begging as if I had something to offer other than just recording their hatching. Their parents perch on a wire nearby, watching as I make my count, unconcerned. They recognize me, trust me, some themselves being counted last year.

Empty Nests

I pulled up today to the purple martin colony that I’ve been tending this summer, expecting to find the final two nests to have fledged, and what I first saw was a clear hint of that. Unlike five days ago, during my last check, there were no birds in the area – none perched on either of the racks, none perched on the nearby wires, none flying around, and none flying out of the nests when I lowered the racks (there were probably at least a couple of dozen or more in those various positions five days ago). I only needed to check the two nests today, the only two with hatchings remaining last week, two in one, four in the other. And as expected – and hoped – both were vacated today. Apparently the season is over, all the birds that would hatch and fledge have done so, and all are apparently readying or already on their way back to South America.

I didn’t know what to expect when I volunteered for this project last May. Would it involve the regular cleaning of nests? Fumigation? Fending off protective parents? Trapping or killing predators? Feeding baby birds? With eye droppers? Teaching them to fly? I did have to clean several nests regularly the first couple of months of sparrow and starling nests. One time as I reached in to clear the amazing amount of crap stuffed in a nest by a squatting starling, the bird itself flew out, brushing my hand as it passed, fortunately fast enough before I could register and suffer a heart attack. After one nest had been decimated by starling attempts to usurp it, I had to clear what remained, clean the nest out, and lay down a bed of new pine needles. A few times I had to reach in and move hatchlings around, a delicate process especially the first couple of weeks after hatching, to make the count accurate. Early in the hatching I had to pull out a dead baby, from what cause I don’t know, and again just a couple of weeks ago I pulled out a juvenile, dead from what looked to be parasites, just a couple of days from its expected fledge date (its three siblings were successfully fledged four days later).

But that was the operational tending of the colony. More interesting is the observational tending. As I was at first flushing out sparrow and starling nests, I was also waiting eagerly for the first eggs. My instructions were to check the colony every five days. But I checked it every four days. When I found the first eggs, I carefully calculated when to expect the first hatchings, wrote down the anticipated date for each nest. And when the hatches began, I was amazed at the fragility and the vitality of my little chicks, and the daily growth and maturity. I was convinced the parents recognized my car and me as I arrived and they flew off and perched on the wires, watching, knowing I was only helping. I began talking with the hatchings in the nests when they would look up at me, thinking again that they must recognize me. “You’re looking good.” “You’re just about ready to head out, aren’t you?” “Aren’t you gone yet?” They never showed any fear. Selfishly I’d like to think there was some sort of inter-species relationship formed, nanny and children, though I know that’s just my projection. Still, I spent three months watching their parents arrive, pad their nests, lay their eggs, hatch, grow day-by-day, mature, and finally leave the nest. I have to savor some stake and satisfaction in that.

Hatchlings!

As expected and hoped, when I checked my purple martin colony today I found my first hatchlings, five in one nest, hatched yesterday, and four in another, hatched today. The instructions I have say that I may have to nudge them around in order to count them, or take them out to measure them against the day-by-day growing chart, but they are so tiny and fragile I couldn’t bring myself to do it, and besides, I was able to count them without nudging, and one clutch was clearly born today, with the other a day larger, so I didn’t have to pick them up (though I may have to stir up my courage as the remaining couple of dozen eggs hatch over the next two weeks). Here’s a picture of a clutch of day-olds, not mine but pretty much like them:

My First Eggs

My first eggs appeared today. Well, not my eggs, but the eggs the purple martins are laying in the nests of the colony I’m tending this summer. Though to be honest I do feel some small sense of ownership if only in my visiting the colony every few days for the past almost two months, so far mostly clearing sparrow nest detritus from the purple martin “gourds” (man-made plastic containers that vaguely resemble the actual dried gourds put up originally by Native Americans to house the birds). In the past week or so, I’ve seen signs of martin nesting, green leaves layered over the dried pine needles we’d placed in the gourds earlier, and been eagerly waiting for the eggs to show up, this next week or two being the usual time. Purple martins typically lay four to five eggs, sometimes up to seven, one a day at sunrise, not missing a day until the full clutch is done. As of today, I only have two eggs in each of two nests (meaning one was laid yesterday and one today) and one egg in another nest (laid today). But it looks like I have seven to nine other active nests where I’m hoping eggs start appearing. As I work the nests, the birds either fly around or sit on a wire nearby, watching and calling, not at all frightened or angry. They seem by habit or instinct aware that I’m helping them out, and as soon as I raise the nests back up the pole, they return and go about their business. Our business, I would like to think.