Fences

Hen in the Hosta Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

I’m guessing that underneath the bird feeder is THE place to be if you are a turkey. Convenient meal. Easy pickings. There they were, cleaning up what the squirrels and birds had dropped. Two turkeys wandered a little closer to the house along the fence that keeps deer from devouring favorite plants on the other side. They meandered along, finding more seeds and ended up entering the fenced-in area by a small opening that lets me reach the water spigot.

Inside, the two were rewarded with more seeds for the taking underneath another bird feeder. All was fine as they gobbled up more seeds. Until they decided to move on. Apparently, no way out was evident (to them!), and they began to pace along the barrier.

Turkey Inside the Fenceline Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

I watched them repeatedly approach the house along the fence, always stopping short of reaching the opening, turning back to run in the other direction.  

Turkey Number 2 Pacing Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

There’s a lesson in here somewhere. Maybe they felt fear, it was something new, and they could not bring themselves to keep exploring further. Maybe there was no memory of the fence opening. I took a pity on their plight after a while; I stepped outside and stood at the furthest point from their pacing. I’ve found turkeys to be hypervigilant and no surprise, upon seeing a human, they suddenly, instinctively were startled out of their panic and knew what to do, flying explosively up and out over the fence, over the roof, gone. Maybe it was a reminder to do my best to stay level-headed, not panic in a situation, or I’ll miss what is clearly right in front of me.

Seemed like I wrapped that up well.

Fast forward a few days.

When I shared this story later, I was asked, do turkeys really think from the same perspective as me? Hmm. Time for a little rewrite…

Then, I was assuming that the birds coming up to the edge of the fence were fearful. Weren't they just mere feet from the opening through which they entered? Yes, but they panicked before reaching it and turned tail, trotting as fast as they could back the other way.

Many times.

Now, the question of how I perceived the situation compared to how the turkeys did was a good one. Were the turkeys and I the same in what we felt? How much do they remember? Do they understand what a fence is? I can only guess what happens in the bird’s brain. How big is a turkey brain, anyway? And does size matter? (Oops – maybe going too far here).

Maybe the lesson is: don’t impose my human way of being on a turkey, or for that matter on any other person, either. I can’t because I don’t walk in another person’s shoes. Better off to just listen. And don’t assume that these turkeys experience things in the same way I do. Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. Nearly impossible to know.

It may just mean to stop making assumptions about others. It may be something else through the eyes of another.

Lost my App-etite

Off for a hike, Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

After a friend used an app on his cellphone that identified birds by their songs at my house, My friend’s app seemed so amazing – it was picking up several birds I knew, and even few more nearby - I had no idea they were here. They don’t come to my bird feeders (apparently, they eat insects, not seeds, so not interested in showing up).

I downloaded the app, too. The new "shiny object" app was intriguing for a while; I can see why people like it. A person just opens the app, taps “Record” and voila! Any birds making noise in the area are listed. Cool. I even discovered one I had never heard of: a Great Crested Flycatcher (look it up). I got excited and started to use it on my hikes to see what it picked up.

It was fun for about a day or two.

I assumed it would be a great way to know where to train my lens and imagined the great shot I’d capture of a bird that is singing away in all its glory in the underbrush or overstory.

But I couldn't find them. I didn't see them. I began to get frustrated. My eyesight could be better; I should be able to find this little lifeform in among the leaves on the trees or on smaller shrubs.

Like most times when I get excited about something, I’m all in. I thought this was a great way to find birds.

HOWEVER (the unintended consequence part) is that instead of feeling excited about what I saw, I came away deflated and defeated when I couldn't find the bird in the brush or trees.

I asked myself, what was different about this from how I normally see things in nature? Good question.

I realized I was trying to find that darn avian. THAT one. I stopped seeing what else was there! I put on blinders and limited my view. I had regrets. I didn’t get a photo. I let that get to me. The trying was my clue that I was pushing too hard. It’s a good reminder that everything happens in its own time and space. I’m not in charge.

Bottom line, I took the fun out of something I love to experience, which is to be breathtakingly surprised by what is around the next corner. It truly is what keeps me going back – there is always something new to see in nature.

Sometimes something that seems like it would be a good thing for me to do at face value really isn’t for me in this moment. I guess some things are better left to explore. To relax into the space and the experience.

I deleted the app. For now.

Housing Market

Eastern Bluebird on Nestbox Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

It’s a good day for a prairie hike. I’m so excited by the happenings in a prairie as it awakens after winter, and I can’t wait to head out into this one.

I hear birds talking somewhere beneath my view in the grasses, their chirping and calls are welcome. It gets me going – what might I see? Are there flowers? Birds? It can be a little tough to spot the emerging plants or find the birds, but eventually, the older vegetation will give way. And there is still opportunity to observe birds before trees and shrubs fully leaf out.

Tree swallows winging low over the dried grasses make a disturbance at a scrubby tree. A nesting box, apparently in a prime, high rent district is their target. In this competitive spring market, they like this nesting box, planted on a slight hill next to the small tree and surrounded by some brush cover.

Tree Swallows wanting the Nestbox Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

But someone had beaten them to it. Their tactics are intimidation of the current tenant.

I spy a bluebird on defense, who alternates perching above, on top, or near to the box. There must be a nesting female inside. I was impressed by his tenacity. One against two or three swallows. He was persistent in staying close – flexible but alert, patrolling the area. I see his brilliant blue back and orange breast feathers as he flies through the brush around the nestbox.

Eastern Bluebird patrolling Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

He scans the sky, watching for the swallows that will try to scare him away.

He stays.

Eastern Bluebird Watchman Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

He is quite determined to keep the nesting box for bluebird eggs. An admirable quality.

My busy brain was curious about one thing: does being protective have a downside? Maybe he’d get hurt by the swallows, or not see other dangers, like a hawk that might be nearby. Maybe there’s a safer location with a nestbox elsewhere?

I don’t need to look too far to make a connection between this drama and how I can be quite protective of me. Being aware is one thing, but when I protect myself too much from imagined outcomes or preconceived notions (it might be “bad!”), I don’t grow. I might miss an opportunity, and I surely am wasting energy. I stay “safe.” Whatever that means. What is safe, anyway?

This bird stays. He doesn’t waste time on “what’s the worst that could happen?”

I respect this bird. I wish the family well. He is doing what is right for him.

As for me, I resolve to spread my wings. Most things that can happen are not “bad.” I won’t look back. I will just move forward a little every day and see if I can feel the difference between being too protective and going ahead anyway. :)

Eastern Bluebird Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com