Outdoors
The BDN outdoors section brings readers into the woods, waters and wild places of Maine. It features stories on hunting, fishing, wildlife, conservation and recreation, told by people who live these experiences. This section emphasizes hands-on knowledge, field reports, issues, trends and the traditions that define life outside in Maine. Read more Outdoors stories here.
Dagnabbit. The eastern phoebes have taken over my garage again.
They’re building a nest directly above the garage door. For the next month or more, I face the awful dilemma of disturbing them every time I do a chore, or not using my garage at all. I miss the days when they nested on my porch instead.
If you have a porch, deck, garage, shed or anything with an eave, I assume phoebes have completed work on their seasonal home and moved in by now.
Maybe the worst thing about phoebes is the way they cop an attitude. They do not fear me, and they start complaining the moment I open the door. They give me a lot of lip. Or they would, if they had lips.
I’ve gotten accustomed to the rhythm of their harassment. During nest-building, they chirp impatiently, waiting for me to clear out while they set up housekeeping. They don’t want me to know where the nest is, even though they’re building their home on my home in plain sight. Do they think I am stupid? Yes.
Once the eggs are laid, both parents go silent, trying not to attract attention.
After the eggs hatch, all heck breaks loose. Mom and Dad fear for the safety of their nestlings, and they will gang up to scold me. As the chicks grow, so will the scolding. When they’re nearly old enough to fledge, the chicks squirm in the nest, potentially attracting predators. Somehow, the parents think I’m the threat, even though we’ve lived in semi-peaceful harmony for a month.
Eastern phoebes have nested on my house every year for the last quarter century. In all that time, I never actually watched one build the nest.
Only the female does the construction, and I finally got to watch her do it this year. I was surprised to see that every time she brought in another grass stem or a piece of moss, she would sit in the unfinished project and build the nest around her. It’s a genius move that ensures a perfect fit every time.
The male keeps close company. During nest-building, it seems they fly off together and also return as a pair, even though I haven’t seen him carrying nesting material.
Maybe he’s catching food for her. Maybe he’s standing watch against predators. Maybe, though I hesitate to say it, he’s making sure there’s no hanky-panky with the male across the street. Only about 300 yards separate the two families, and I can hear a third pair calling farther down the road in the morning.
It seems I’m living in a phoebe commune.
Regardless, phoebes form a strong pair bond. They raise their brood together, and if things go well — or don’t — they’ll often start a second.
It takes a week to build the nest, sometimes two. There’s no rush. Eastern phoebes are the first flycatchers to return in the spring, and there’s not enough bug life to feed a family yet. The eggs will hatch about the time black flies convince us we hate gardening.
Phoebes may disdain their hosts, but there’s no doubt they benefit from human company. Man-made structures provide shelter from rain and the prying eyes of overhead raptors. It’s likely that our presence keeps a few other predators at bay. Neighborhood landscapes often provide the larger flying insects that make up most of their diet. They can dine on critters up to the size of cicadas.
That’s important. Many other aerial insectivores are facing serious population declines. Swallows, in particular, depend on swarms of smaller flying insects to sustain their chicks. Phoebes, meanwhile, have increased slightly over the past half century.
If our bird is named the eastern phoebe, is there such thing as a western phoebe? No — but there are two other species out west: the black phoebe and Say’s phoebe. They share the same inclination to nest on structures and the same tail-bobbing habit of our eastern phoebes.
While nesting near humans gives phoebes some security from predators, it doesn’t protect them from one threat — cowbirds, which lay their eggs in other birds’ nests. Brown-headed cowbirds evolved to forage around bison. If they feel safe among beasts that weigh up to a ton, they’re certainly comfortable around people. My phoebes have fostered at least one cowbird chick over the years.
