There’s been a battle taking place on the farm for a few months now, and I haven’t mentioned it. Probably because, for a while there, I was losing badly. But now that I’ve finally won, I thought I’d share my tale.
It all started last summer when I read somewhere that birds can help control fly populations—something that’s always a challenge in the warmer months. So, I never really discouraged them from hanging around. Barn doors are wide open in the summer anyway, and it’s not like I could do much to stop them. But come fall, a particularly flagrant flock of flighted fellows decided the lamb barn was the perfect winter retreat.
At first, it was just a few chickadees—no big deal. But then a full mob of blackbirds moved in, and suddenly, it felt like I was walking onto the set of an Alfred Hitchcock film every morning. And the droppings—oh, the droppings. Any leftover hay had to be cleared out daily and replaced, and let’s just say I was starting to take this personally.
Now, when I built this little fabric barn, I thought I was ahead of the game. I installed bird netting along the vents and openings to keep unwanted visitors out. So how were they still getting in?
Determined to solve the mystery, I did what any rational person would do—I grabbed my trusty lawn chair, parked myself in the lamb barn after chores, and watched. Within minutes, the answer was obvious: they were coming in right under the door. Easy fix. A few scrap boards on the ground, problem solved. Or so I thought.
That afternoon, I returned for chores, only to find a full-blown bird sanctuary back in action. Well, that was a fail.
Then, one morning, I arrived at the barn to find no birds at all—except one. A hawk. Now this is great! I thought. Nature had solved my problem for me. That is, until Rita, my guardian dog, spotted the hawk. Apparently, keeping hawks away is part of her job description, and she took it very seriously. Off flew the hawk. That night, the birds were back.
Alright, back to the drawing board.
A little research told me that playing recorded hawk sounds could deter birds. I tried it using my phone, and it worked—for about two hours. Not exactly a long-term solution.
So, I made a trip to the feed store, picked up some extra chicken wire, and patched up a few spots in my netting. The next day—birds. Again.
Back to the lawn chair. This time, I realized birds are basically the mice of the sky—absolute experts at finding the tiniest openings. Frustrated, I used up the entire roll of chicken wire in what I’d call an overly passionate attempt to close every possible gap. Surely this would do it.
The next morning—birds.
Now fully enraged, I started stuffing every crack, gap, and hole I could find with discarded nylon netting from hay bales. That’ll teach ‘em. And it did slow them down a bit—but not enough.
Finally, I forced myself to sit and watch for a full hour. And wouldn’t you know it? There, right in plain sight, was a perfect four-inch hole in my original netting. Likely made by a rodent, but somehow completely invisible to my eyes until now. All this time, I might as well have hung a sign that said “Luxury Bird Condo—Vacancy Available!”
One quick fix, and just like that, I’d won the battle.
But now I have a new problem. What do I do in the summer when I actually want them back? Maybe it’s time to put up some birdhouses and make a few suggestions about where they should be living. What do you think?
Farmer Rod