Backyard Chronicle

Photos by the author.

I have long admired my backyard, yet I admit that I’ve never gotten to know its residents. Even though I’ve routinely cut the grass and raked the leaves, I’ve never really taken the time to acquaint myself with the creatures who live here.

Recently, I decided this disregard was impolite. After all, the landscape has gladly provided a beautiful backdrop for my home, so it’s only fair that I get to know the wild creatures who share this place with me.

My yard resides in an urban setting. It’s one of countless tracts surveyed and mapped into orderly parcels. It could be anywhere.

Still, it has some distinctive features. The backyard gently descends to meet the edge of a wooded ravine. Far below, a small stream wanders through the neighborhood until heavy rains turn it into a churning rush of stormwater.

In most seasons, that creek provides a convenient source of water for animals, and its bank is traced with the tracks of critters who prospect there. The steep climb from the stream to my yard is tangled with a network of tree roots exposed by runoff. In these craggy spaces, wildlife find shelter, and birds enjoy crooked perches near the water.

I’m especially fond of the big trees that reside in my yard. The Osage orange and the hickory are reminders of my childhood on the farm. They are kept company by two ancient oaks who anchor the lot and who are joined by locusts and walnuts and their kin. In the early days of spring, the ground beneath them is stippled with wildflowers – Virginia bluebells, red trillium, purple sweet Williams, and a handful of renegade yellow daffodils.

Due to the generous shade from the trees, my grass doesn’t grow well, and the leaf litter has collected in an untidy border around the lot. But the animals don’t criticize. They seem to prefer the crumbly sod where they can find a worm or hide a nut, and I am happy to mow less often.

If I disturb the decomposing leaves, I uncover a secret community of snails, slugs and larvae who are nourished and protected by the decay. In all that mess are the eggs of the butterflies who will pollinate my flowers and the fireflies whose flashing will dazzle my summer nights.

My backyard is alive with commerce – especially birds. At the feeders, songbirds compete for the best perch causing the seed-filled cylinders to continually sway. Meanwhile, the juveniles, begging for food from their parents, flutter their wings causing even more commotion. Nearby the birdbath is a favorite watering hole and splash pad.

All this activity gets the attention of some of the other birds that occasionally visit. The resident Cooper’s hawk watches from an inconspicuous branch hoping to soon extract an unsuspecting meal. At other times, the red-tailed hawk circles overhead studying distracted chipmunks and squirrels who graze on the feeder chaff. In the evening, a great horned owl takes watch from its oaken perch waiting for the late-night diners.

Sometimes, four-legged creatures stop by. I’m especially fond of the squirrels, the self-appointed yard guards. When they detect danger – perhaps a stalking cat or a thieving bluejay – they broadcast sharp, rapid barks. The birds explode from the feeders; the chipmunks dive into their tunnels; even my dog comes to attention. Evidently, everyone in my backyard speaks squirrel.

After dark, the trail camera captures the nighttime hunters who prowl the shrubby rim of the ravine. Opossums and raccoons are the most frequent guests, though I am delighted by the red fox who sometimes visits with her kits and the curious doe who regularly smudges the camera lens. But I marvel at the snapshots of coyotes that lope by. In this urban landscape, even the most wary creatures seek food and shelter in my backyard.

Winter is indecisive here, uncertain if it wants to be bright and snowy or overcast and slushy. Only the cold and wind knit it all together. Nonetheless, the industry in my backyard is unfazed. The squirrels now spend time in the bony treetops visiting and repairing their nests of dried leaves. At the birdfeeders, the guest list has changed to include the northern cardinals who provide a welcome flash of color. When there’s snow, a matrix of tracks and trails confirms the animals are industrious despite the conditions. Winter may be a time of dormancy, but my yard is unaware of it.

Having now watched the seasons unfold in my backyard, I confess a certain embarrassment that nature’s daily affairs have escaped my notice for so long. Yet plainly, a little patch of wild has salvaged itself from the city to create a refuge that I’m privileged to share.

It’s more than just scenery.

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This essay was written by Carla Rich Montez, an Illinois Master Naturalist for the Fulton, Mason, Peoria and Tazewell Extension Unit who volunteers as an outdoor writer. A version of this story originally appeared in Naturalist News.