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Suddenly there was a thump. A panicked bird had hit the outside of my window. Birds were exploding out of the yard like shrapnel. Water still rippled in the birdbath where Mourning Doves had been drinking.
On a low branch of a maple, orange eyed, alert as an angel, crouched an adult Sharp-shinned Hawk. Her head swiveled in micro-movements. She studied bare branches above her and the snowy ground below.
A royal visitor
She was a thrill to see. Hawks are not so common as cardinals and juncos. However, those small birds were what she had come for, just as they came for berries and birdseed.
Sharp-shinned hawks don’t eat carrots. They eat birds. I know that wild predators help keep prey populations healthy by taking the slow, and I don't begrudge them their rightful prey.
But still I felt uneasy. Which bird would she seize?
As the sharpie watched over the empty yard, two Tufted Titmice flitted into the branches of a tree. I knew these two little grey birds personally. I was afraid that one of them might go for the seeds on the feeder, and the hawk would have it in her yellow talons.
I began to shrink from my philosophical acceptance of nature. "Ohh," I moaned out loud, "Not the titmice!"
Where were the abundant House Sparrows? One of those could be spared, to nourish the hungry hawk. But of titmice my yard had only these two, with their cheery lisping calls, with their bright black eyes and expressive crests that rise and fall with their mood.
The dilemma
The titmice were safe among the dense branches — but they wanted those sunflower seeds. They threaded their way toward the feeder. And I kept moving up closer to the window, until my hands were pressed flat against it. "Don't do it!" I pleaded. "It's not worth it!
The sharpie looked away from the titmice, as if uninterested. She preened the delicate white-and-orange feathers of her breast. She turned her head around and ran her bill through the grey feathers of her back.
A titmouse perched on the tip of a branch over the feeder. It leaned down toward the seeds. The sharpie stretched her long, banded tail, spread it like a fan, and shook it.
I treasure the charming titmice, which are always fewer than the juncos and cardinals. Yet even titmice are abundant compared to Sharp-shinned Hawks.
Nature’s role for this species of hawk is to hunt and capture wild birds. Or else perish.
The sharpie in my Iowa backyard might have traveled hundreds of miles after breeding in the north, surviving on her speed and wits. Why hadn’t she kept going south? The meal she was after might be a matter of life and death for her as well as for the titmice.
A daring solo
At last, when the sharpie’s head was turned away, one of the titmice dashed to the feeder, snatched a sunflower seed, and bounced back into the sheltering branches.
I gasped. The hawk studied the titmouse. Apparently that was sufficient adventure for the little birds. They drifted through the thicket and out of the yard. The hawk sat in the maple for half an hour, occasionally flicking away the falling snow. Not one other bird came into view. At last she leaned forward and sailed off the branch, across the white lawn, out of sight.
In a few minutes my yard was full of birds once more.
Hope of the human heart
That sharpie did not starve, for she returned occasionally throughout the winter. Once I found feathers on the ground, and once I saw her catch a House Finch. The titmice were still visiting my yard when spring came.
We have a heartfelt desire to preserve individual birds that we know and love. I had wished for both the titmice and the Sharp-shinned Hawk to survive. This time, nature indulged my sentimental heart.
If we can extend that desire to embrace entire species and the natural habitats on which their existence depends, we can save more than one or two birds. We can preserve what makes our planet a good place for all species to live.
Including ourselves.
My first experience with this formidable hawk wasn’t a pleasant one. We are surrounded by trees. One time I noticed all the birds suddenly flew off. Unfortunately 2 female cardinals hit our windows. One survived and I felt the need to pick her up gently with a towel and put her in a box to rest just inside our sunroom. After a time, she started looking around and didn’t seem to be injured. I picked her up with the towel and she just looked at me and seemed content. I stepped outside and she seemed uninterested in taking off but occasionally looked at me. I encouraged her to fly and she did to a close by branch and started grooming her feathers. Out of the blue the sharp shinned hawk dove down and plucked her off the branch much to my despair!! Heart breaking introduction as to why the birds suddenly took off…
As usual the story was lovely!! But the photos outstanding!! I really enjoyed the whole thing!!!