“I rejoice that there are owls,” Henry David Thoreau wrote in Walden. You probably do too even if you’ve never put it quite so rhapsodically. And for those of us who love screech-owls—and I do (but who doesn’t?)—you’ll want to secure for yourself this new book about how to attract screech-owls, keep them around, and much, much more.
I expected a straightforward how-to book. But Jim Wright and Scott Weston’s easy-flowing writing, and their many side-comments, make the reading pleasant and lively. The text casts a wide net mentioning everything from owls in Shakespeare, the Hardy Boys, and Harry Potter to the minor-classic 1994 scientific treatise, The Eastern Screech-owl by Frederick R. Gehlbach. Reference to Gehlbach’s formal study frees Wright and Weston from the need to write a turgid scientific compendium, and they carry forth pleasantly with a conversational style that makes them good and companionable guides and teachers.
From that comment, you might expect a lot of filler. But the authors have done their homework—in great detail. Consequently, this book is indeed packed with information. Some is cultural, for instance, owls in myth and superstition. Some is historical, such as the confused 19th century debate over whether screech-owl color phases were different species. Some is biological: size of average territory, range of diet (they can catch fish), range of plumage coloration, population sizes, what counts as habitat, vocalizations, and much more. I was continually impressed at how, paragraph by paragraph, Wright and Weston cover new ground and reveal loads of new and interesting facts, all delivered clearly in graceful sentences. In fact, I found it impossible to hurry or skim along; the writing is so rich and delightful that one doesn’t read the book so much as savor it.
A touch I appreciated were the many mentions of other published works, letting us know where to go for more information or original treatments on topics they delve into and distill for us. Another touch was the seasoning of humor and whimsy. There are references to pop culture, sports, and even a dash of poetry that Wright and Weston sprinkle just enough, here and there, to keep the pace light-footed even while the information marches solidly across the pages.
Quite a few other owl species make appearances in text and photos (including information on making gigantic nest boxes for the ten-pound Blakiston’s Fish Owl), and there are discussions of feathers, ears, sight (and inability to focus up-close), and more that apply to owls generally. There are a few jaw-dropping factoids about other owl species. Did you know that in Serbia in winter, there’s a place where up to seven hundred Long-eared Owls roost together? Neither did I. All of this helps give owl lovers (those whom the authors diagnose as “owl struck”) a wider dose of our daily owl fix and helps put screech-owls in perspective.
The book mainly emphasizes Eastern and Western screech-owls, which largely range across the lower 48 U.S. states. The book also notes that almost two dozen species in the screech-owl genus Megascops live in the Western Hemisphere, mainly south of the U.S. border.
This gets us, in roughly the second half of the book, firmly into screech territory. Before screech-owls can move into the innovative nest boxes that Wright and Weston describe in detail, you’ll need actual owls nearby. And before you get owls, your yard will have to bear some real semblance to a functioning ecosystem. The authors provide tips on wildlife-friendly plantings, suggest that you retire your chemicals, make peace with dandelions (or, we could add, eat them), and reduce window-collision hazards. Most people try to eradicate or at best ignore rodents. But if you want owls, a yard that is friendly to mice is a boon (cue the compost heaps and messy bird feeders). And keep your (clean) bird bath full at night. For the sake of all, keep your cat inside. The authors also give a range of options for blunting the potential lethality of chimneys.
There is one rodent category that Wright and Weston decidedly deride: “With squirrels, expect the worst.” Building various designs of screech-owl boxes is one topic. Placing them is another. Keeping squirrels from usurping them is yet another. Your design and placement will likely be the deciding factor in whether the box you’ve built will be an owl home or a squirrel home. Luckily for readers, Wright and Weston are almost as clever as squirrels, and offer designs that tip the odds owl-wise by, for instance, denying squirrels traction. (Where I live, squirrels vastly outnumber screech-owls. Our solution, which worked, was to put our owl box right on the side of our house.) Wright and Weston’s emphasis is on thwarting, not hurting. “Squirrels may be a screech box nemesis,” they acknowledge, “but that’s no excuse to be cruel.”
Actually, building nest boxes might seem to be the main event of a book called The Screech-Owl Companion. And indeed, there’s a chapter called “All About Screech Boxes.” But when they say “all,” they mean all—including a brief history of nest box use. A reader might reasonably expect plans for the perfect owl box. What we learn is there are several excellent designs, and each comes with some considerations or trade-offs. There are, for instance, at least four ways to shape and configure the entrance opening. Another entire chapter is devoted to building squirrel-confounding nest boxes.
So now you have a box. A squirrel resistant one. Placement is a consideration and a physical task. Wright and Weston explicitly implore you to be careful on ladders (they tell us that falls from ladders result in 164,000 emergency-room visits annually in the U.S.). They give some innovative, non-intuitive ideas about ways to put up a nest box that facilitate easy, safe, raising, and lowering for checking and cleaning.
Most unexpectedly for us is the very up-to-date and detailed treatment of high-tech nest cams and other monitoring techniques. I am not a techie, and the very practical information and recommendations on specific products and where to buy them helped close my (large) knowledge gap about the world of nest cams, monitors, apps, live-streaming, and how to get video directly from your box to YouTube.
And now that you have all of that, and you have no squirrels in the box, and you have owls, and you’ve perhaps even chosen to set up electronic surveillance, you’ll have actual breeding: eggs, then owlets. The authors tell you what to expect when you’re expecting owlets and offer interesting information about owl-to-owlet parenting patterns that you’ll likely see. Should you name them? Wright and Weston present arguments for and against naming. (We named ours; we know them as individuals.)
If that seems comprehensive, there’s even more. A section on journaling encourages writing about your experiences. The authors even include a chapter that brings in various people from around the country to share their opinions, photos, and recommendations.
And finally, the authors conclude with a section on photographing owls—without bothering them and causing them to disrupt their nesting or even abandon your hard-wrought nest box. Their final advice on photography is good for many things about life: “Don’t overdo it.”
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Carl Safina grew up raising pigeons, working with raptors, banding songbirds, studying terns (for his PhD in ecology), and playing the drums. He now holds the Endowed Chair for Nature and Humanity at the University of New York at Stony Brook. Safina’s writings have earned a MacArthur prize and various awards. His most recent book, Alfie and Me, chronicles his boundary-blurring relationship with an orphan Eastern Screech-Owl who became a wild mother but still visits nightly six years later.
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