Transplanter in Black

BRADENTON -- The weather was wonderful, typical warm Equinox days and cool nights with low humidity. It was time to enjoy the way this house is oriented into the prevailing winds–as a ship–the southeast and northwest corners point into the on-shore and off-shore winds. The house opens graciously to accept the strong flow of cool air along the ground which shifts to and from Sarasota Bay. What cannot fill the house is split to either side by the pointed ”bows“ of the house, following the quickest airways through this coastal hammock.

Before recent renovations to the house, huge sliding glass doors existed along the southern and eastern exposures of the lakeview room. At the other end of the house, the old-Florida style door to the expansive, jalousie-walled ”Florida room“ drops its glass pane to reveal a screen to the room–that allows all of the air flowing through this most westerly room of the house to enter and traverse the entire length of the house with a draft similar to a chimney. The direction of the air flow changes twice each day–from on-shore to off-shore–as driven by the sun.

Burrowing owl photo provided by wildlife photographer Mac Stone.

With classical music on the university radio station, I sit at dusk to watch the changes in the lakeside community that I document so often. The transition from afternoon to night is as active as that of night to morning. An entirely new community enfolds, with nocturnal inhabitants emerging as the change occurs.  The activities of night hawks, owls, raccoons, skimmers on the lake, sphinx moths taking nectar from the flowers, and bats reducing the mosquito population distinguish this time from other parts of the day. Most of the diurnal critters have already sought cover.

During that time, I had been especially keen to observe the habits of an owl who emerged each night from a patch of bromeliads near the outside corner of the lakeview room. A low hanging limb of the Cuban Laurel extends beyond the edge of the house–fully beyond the vista afforded by the sliding glass doors. That limb was always the first resting place of this tiny owl. Arising quickly from the ground just at dusk, the owl would await full darkness to begin hunting. This was always where I first sighted her each night.

Eventually I focused closely on the critter to determine the type of owl. I would see her return to the same perch often throughout the evening. This limb provided a good vantage point across the neck and the head of the lake, with plenty of open space along the shores as hunting grounds. It takes a long time to associate such slight movements with a pattern, but I have found that establishing a regular habit of observation provides enough details, and enables the familiarity needed, to recognize and identify critters seen–even if only in dim light. She stayed up much later than I, however, so I never determined whether she lived in the tree.

Luckily, while gardening one day, as I walked past the patch of bromeliads on the narrow pathway separating two flowerbeds under the limb of the laurel where I would first see the owl–I discovered her secret. Large elephant ear plants, ferns, and a bank of dayflower mix with pentas and Porterweed along the edge of the house and, in the outer bed toward the neck of the lake, the same plants mix with Lantana beyond this large bromeliad patch. Seeking another tool, I was walking from the laurel to the western side of the house when I saw the tiny owl standing rigidly upright on the ground among the bromeliads.  

Without blinking, she pretended not to exist–you don’t see meÉ there is nothing here, except your imagination–an effective device for most critters whose camouflage usually prevents detection. Although I had been looking to identify this owl for many weeks, I was not going to acknowledge that I had seen her, hoping not to alarm her enough for her to feel compelled to flee. I passed without hesitation, noting every detail I could for comparison with the illustrations in my bird book. Until this encounter I had suspected that this was a saw-whet owl. The distinctive upright stance on the long legs of this tiny owl, however, enabled me to determine that she was a burrowing owl. Because of this, I realized that she must have a burrow among the bromeliads–that I must have encountered her standing close to home, waiting for nightfall.

On a most memorable evening as I continued to watch the behavior of this owl, I sat with the house similarly wide open, listening to music, and watching the outside carefully when–a human figure walked past from the west and along the pathway toward the Cuban Laurel, right through my back yard! The figure was so dark that I could not make out any details. I kept quiet and watched–knowing that the person must not have realized that I was sitting in the open room so close to the path. The figure passed beyond the tree, stopped, turned around, and returned along the path.

I watched in amazement as the dark figure stopped in front of the open sliding door and called out my name, Kafi?

The voice was unmistakable–the deep resonant voice of Jason–one of my neighbors to the south. Although he was no more than ten feet away and facing me, I still could not see him clearly–but his voice allayed all apprehension.

I answered, Yes?

He stated, I figured you were in there–meditating or something–I heard your music as I passed and realized that you must be sitting there looking out–I decided I had better come back to let you know who I am so you don’t call the cops.

Jason, I can’t see any part of you clearly, I said.

As he removed a black close-fitting knitted cap I finally could see only his light blond hair and he said, I’m all in black–including my face–so I can’t be seen.

Seen? You look like a cat burglar, Jason, what are you doing?

I’m gathering bromeliad pups from the base of the Cuban Laurel to transplant to our garden and I don’t want Elsie to know, so I can’t let any other neighbors see me. I came through the thicket and over your dam so I could have a lot of cover–this is quite exhilarating. 

Jason, I do not want to spoil your fun, but you can take all of the bromeliads on this side of the tree–all of them–any time you please. Leave Elsie’s alone and come back in broad daylight to make sure you get them all!  I plan to pull them all out anyway, to reduce the numbers of tiny mosquitoes under the tree. As long as you promise to keep the mosquitoes on your side of the neck by planting them close to your house–they are yours. Just leave the ones in back of you between the pathway and the neck–there is an owl living beneath them.

I do not know whether Jason continued his nighttime sport, or came in daylight to gather them, but before long, all of my bromeliads at the base of the tree were transplanted to their new home!

The owl stayed for a few seasons before I realized that she no longer lived there–I suspect that it is safest to move about when living in the wild. Recently, I gave the bromeliads in the owl patch away to join the others in their new home.