THE SUMMER OF GREEN HERONS 

PART 3: WHATCHA DOIN’?

Green Herons have one purpose in life: make lots more Green Herons. To do that, they must stay alive. And to do that, they must eat and not get killed.

Eating is easy at first. Open up, and mom or dad stuffs something in. But within weeks, the little ones must learn to find and catch food independently. The ideal Green Heron buffet features bugs, fish, and small animals.

A Green Heron stalks its prey along the shore, from trees, and on the wing. It pulls its head back and shoots that long neck out like a blow dart at some poor fish lolling about in the shallows. It also scoops dragonflies out of the air.

But surely the most amazing thing about Green Herons is that they use bait to catch their dinner. They actually find some little scrap, a feather, or a small insect and float it out on the water. When a frog or fish comes to check it out, zap! That pointy beak brings home the bacon. There are precious few animals that use bait to obtain food. Surely you remember those junior-high social studies films called Man––The Tool Using Animal!  We thought using tools differentiated us from other beasts. Not only was it sexist, but also a bit cocky. I’ve seen a Green Heron fish, and I’ve seen friends and family fish in the same pond. This pea-brained bird can rightfully sing, “Anything you can do, I can do better.”

One way Herons protect themselves by leaving; flight is a definite advantage in a war with a raccoon. 

They blend nicely into the leaves, so hiding is another defense. 

Having a spear on the front of your face is surely useful in battles with smaller pests. 

And the cry of a heron may give some pause.

Sometimes Green Herons form small rookeries; we’ve had 3-4 nests on the pond at one time. Mom and dad both tend to the young, but you need good eyes to tell one from the other. The pair sticks together through the season and sometimes longer. They may raise several clutches during a summer. If Green Herons can hang together while raising two or three families in a few months, perhaps they can challenge us at more than fishing.

Tomorrow: Part 4: The Art of Being Green

To hear a Green Heron:

http://www.enature.com/fieldguides/view_default.aspsortBy=has+audio&viewType=list&curFamilyID=219

THE SUMMER OF GREEN HERONS

PART 2: THOSE PESKY TEEN WEEKS

Since a green heron goes from egg yolk to responsible adult in four weeks, it doesn’t get much time to wallow in adolescence. It has places to go and feathers to grow. First come those spiky practice feathers, then the adult finery. When those lovely emerald feathers come in, the young ‘un needs to preen away the baby fuzz. That is a lot of work. It’s fortunate they have a long, flexible neck and tweezer beaks.

When you’re built like an ostrich, you’re not exactly aerodynamic. Watching 10-day-old Green Herons learn to walk is like watching the Flying Wallendas do a show after Rush Limbaugh has slipped something into their breakfast shakes. They tumble through the willows, grabbing a twig just in time. They walk out on a branch until it bends, flap their wings furiously, and stumble back to the nest.

Mom is still providing meals at this point, and the babies raise a hullabaloo when she comes in for a landing.

As I paddled to one side of the tree, they’d scamper to the other side. I’d row around, and they’d hurry back. But within a day or two, they simply ignored me and went about their business.

There is so much for a Green Heron to learn in the weeks two to four. Flying. Procuring food. Procreating. Avoiding predators. About that predator thing––one morning there were just three herons in the tree. I searched the branches, the nest, the ground, the pond. No trace of those little ones. Sad to report they never were seen again. A raccoon, coyote, or hawk had a tasty dinner. It's not always easy to deal with animal behavior; sometimes they act just like humans.

Tomorrow: Green Herons, Part 3: Whatcha Doin'?

THE SUMMER OF GREEN HERONS

PART 1: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

I was slouched down in my kayak, staring at a branch, when something seeped into my consciousness. Gradually materializing from the tangle of willow leaves was a large, rough nest about a foot across. It was a loose arrangement of twigs that resembled a flat plate.

I paddled under the overhanging branches and did what one must never do––I stood up in my kayak. That took every bit of concentration and nerve I could muster, but it was worth the risk. On that flat nest were 5 lovely blue eggs. (Some books describe these eggs as green or yellow. These were robin's egg blue.) All summer we’d been having hurricane force winds. How on earth do eggs stay on a flat surface when branches are whipping around in the air?

Given the threatening squawks coming from a nearby tree, it was clear that these eggs belonged to that really agitated Green Heron mom. I hurried home to read about Green Herons, a common bird that I had never seen before. Green Herons build nests on branches that hang out over water, a dream come true for someone with a camera and a boat. And as near as I could calculate, those eggs were due to hatch––drat!––while I was in Michigan.

For three and a half weeks I watched those eggs like Dr. Seuss’s Horton, then my husband stuffed me kicking and hollering into the car to head for Michigan. Four days later when we returned, the instant the car rolled to stop, I jumped out, ran down the hill, and paddled across the pond.

 What a relief to see the nest still sitting on its tenuous perch. I stood up about 4 feet away and was thrilled to see the eggs were safe and lovely as ever.

The next day, the eggs hatched. Some days it’s hard to deny your extreme good fortune. In the morning, a tiny hole appeared in one egg. By noon, it was a crack. By suppertime, a tiny, gnarly yellow foot popped out. My life was complete. We’d both had a long day, so I ran home, gulped supper, and returned to the nest. The first-born was splayed over the other eggs, half out of his own, taking his first nap. I went home to bed. I was tired, and I had no desire to see how far a mother heron would go to protect her young.

 

Don't you just love the back of a baby's neck?

Over the next day and a half, five healthy babies got the job done. The nest was full of naked, wet, transparent hatchlings. If you looked into a baby stroller and saw these babies, you might have to choke out the words, “What a beautiful child!” but they were beautiful to me and to their mother.

During the first week, the Naked Five turned into a ball of fluff. It was hard to imagine they would be fully mature in 4 weeks. A few days after hatching, 5 yellow swords appeared in the pile of squirming feathers.

And on the seventh day––they arose.

Tomorrow: Those difficult teen weeks.