FLYWAYS & BYWAYS: Log spurs flight of memories

The holiday season started early this year, the day before Thanksgiving, when a yule log was delivered to my front porch from Ashley and Tyler Owen's backyard in Hanover County.

This was no ordinary log. Recent high winds toppled a small dead tree that showed years of wear and tear from visiting birds.

Throughout North America, about 85 species excavate or use nesting holes in snag trees. Woodpeckers are the largest group of cavity users, but nesters range from ducks and large owls to bluebirds and tiny flycatchers and chickadees.

The trunk of my yule log, roughly 8 inches in diameter, was stripped of its bark long ago and has been tattooed with shallow and deep-crater drill-holes.

On one side, major excavation took place over the years. Near the middle, an ambitious bird carved the opening and ones that followed deepened the hole nearly a foot. Over time, the entrance became an oval, and to reach the bottom another enterprising bird drilled through the wood just above the floor of the cavity for easier access.

Clearly visible through the lower opening was a small, carefully constructed bowl-shaped nest. One could easily imagine a parent with bare brood-patch nestled over several eggs awaiting hatching, the last resident of this oft used nursery.

As I walked by my yule log on the front porch, I was reminded of several past birding trips that involved cavity-nesters. A few years ago while I was attending a birding festival in South Carolina, a morning hike through a loblolly pine forest brought us to a pair of red-cockaded woodpeckers that were busy excavating a nest-hole.

The pair worked in tandem. One would drill furiously while the other rested on a limb above; then they would change places. The woodpecker pair's zeal brought a cascade of small wood chips showering down as we watched from below.

My newly arrived yule log also reminded me of another trip years ago to Lost Maples State Natural Area on the Edwards Plateau of Texas in search of the golden-cheeked warbler and the black-capped vireo, two species usually found only in this area.

One early morning, I slowly ambled along a dry creekbed in the heart of the park watching and listening for the two birds. No sign of either species and it was dead silent. I sat on a large boulder waiting for the sun to pierce through the clouds and brighten the habitat full of brushy tangles and tree snags.

Suddenly, a black-crested titmouse popped out a cavity hole 20 yards from where I sat, then perched on a nearby bare branch. It began whistling one high-pitched note over and over. Soon a small gray head cautiously peered out of the hole, and three titmouse fledglings flew to the parent one after the other. A fourth was more reluctant to leave and required much more frantic calling to coax it from the security of the cavity nest.

It only took one or two minutes before the baby birds headed off in different directions, much to the chagrin of the fretful parent. As the titmice scattered, I heard the song of the golden-cheeked warbler just out of sight among the brambles.

Unexpected holiday gifts are perhaps the most appreciated of all. After the holidays end, I'll recycle my yule log by putting the snag into the oversized pyracantha bush that grows against the garage wall. Then I'll watch to see who'll be the next tenants when spring arrives. Thanks, Ashley and Tyler, for the thoughtful yuletide gift.
Contact Jerry Uhlman at .