Field Notes—

Red Tail:

Running The Show

By Curtiss Clark

When we bought our place more than a decade ago, Kate and I had some set ideas about how we would inhabit the property. While it is relatively small — just an acre and a half — the parcel sits at the nexus of three separate and sprawling ecosystems: 20 acres of open fields to the south and east, a few hundred acres of woodland to the west and northwest, and a typical suburban neighborhood delineated by mailboxes and driveways ticking off along the road to the north. Our little lot has blended the elements of each of these areas, and as is common in transitional habitats, it is busy with wildlife. Our plan was to live in concert and accommodation with the inevitable churn of birds and critters, counting them as part of the “appurtenances thereof” mentioned in our warrantee deed for the premises.

We have come to realize over the years, however, that our high-minded, live-and-let-live attitude presumed that we actually had some administrative authority over the place — that we were running the show. Yes, we put in some gardens, ripped out some monster shrubs, planted some trees, and fixed up the house and barns. But over time we have learned that we are mere extras in the cast of characters that have brought a very long-running show to life in this place year after year. Each season is a new act with a new set of headliners — it might be juncos and coyotes in winter, black birds and chipmunks in spring, raccoons, dragonflies, and butterflies in summer, turkeys and Canada geese in fall — with special guest appearances by pheasants, foxes, bobcats, and the occasional bear. There’s even a Greek chorus of crows. And deer stand in the wings as understudies, always unappreciated and waiting for their big break among the tender shoots of opportunity.

The complicated plotting that drives the ebb and flow of this epic cast across the stage of our property is pulled along by the food chain. The constant dramatic tension between the eaters and the eaten always sustains the suspense, and from day to day one never knows what dramatic turns will present themselves in a cold clump of fur or feathers when the lights go up on another day.

This summer, I have come to appreciate the pre-eminence of one of the actors on this stage. A red-tailed hawk watches over our property and the surrounding fields, forest, neighborhood yards as part of her routine territorial patrol. (I know she’s female because of her size. Like many raptors, red tails exhibit gender dimorphism in size; females are up to 25 percent larger than males.) If she is typical, her territory spreads out over two or three square miles, though she seems to be spending an inordinate amount of time perched on tree limbs and fence rails in our neighborhood this year. I think it has something to do with the bumper crop of squirrels and chipmunks this summer, which I believe has something to do with our decision to keep the bird feeders full of sunflower seeds year-round. Like so many of our other operating systems these days, the action here is menu driven.

The red-tailed hawk takes top billing in the local food chain. While she is sorely harassed, chased, and pecked in midflight by fearless and more maneuverable crows and black birds intent on protecting their nests, there are no real predators around here that seriously threaten her. And everyone else in the supporting cast of critters knows it.

When her descending, keening cry comes down from the sky or trees, all other animal activity and sound ceases. Chipmunks disappear into the stonewalls, songbirds into the hedges, and mice and voles in the field take cover and freeze. The red tail watches and waits for movement. It is clear who is running the show here. And it’s not Kate and me.

(More than 85 Field Notes essays by Curtiss Clark can be found at www.field-notebook.com.)