Cliff Swallows
June 9, 2024
Part of the fun of walking in the same place day after day and year after year is observing what stays the same and what changes. I first learned about cliff swallows in 2014, the second year of walking at the lake. They were probably there the first year, but I didn’t know how to distinguish them from barn swallows and I’m guessing I missed them.
In 2014 I learned that cliff swallows nested under a bridge over a creek that feeds the lake. There was a walking path along the edge of that creek and at the time the gates nearest that bridge were unlocked so I could walk down there during spring migration. I recorded at least 100 cliff swallows in that spot in 2014.
(They have since locked those gates unless you reserve the shelter houses, a trend I have not appreciated in our public park. Of the 14 shelter houses, you could access ten prior to 2020. Now only two (and occasionally three) are unlocked without a reservation. But I digress.)
Cliff swallows nest in large colonies as my number above suggests. For several years I saw them under that first bridge and somewhere along the way I learned they nested under another bridge, further down the road. That bridge also crosses over a creek that feeds the lake, but I can only access it from the top side (unless I want to climb down a hill filled with poison ivy - so nope). The last few years I’ve only seen them at the second bridge.
This is a video of them flying around the second bridge in early May:
Standing on top of the bridge provides an interesting vantage point, but cliff swallows are difficult to photograph in the air. They are small enough I need them to be close and fast enough it’s hard to get anything in focus when they are close. I enjoy the sport of it, my kind of “video game”, so I have spent plenty of time attempting the in-flight photos.
Given how challenging cliff swallows are to photograph in the air and that the only time they seem to land is when they are working on their nests - underneath the bridges (where I note, the light for photography is horrible), imagine how excited I was to walk to the end of the dock one day and find a couple dozen building nests under the dock canopy!
Cliff swallows are the swallows made famous by the stories of San Juan Capistrano. It made me chuckle to realize this - only this year, thank you Jefferson Graham! - because I always had a bit of a romanticized image of the San Juan Capistrano swallows. Romantic doesn’t quite describe my experience with these birds. Noisy. Swirling. Frenetic. Silly…but not romantic.
Note: While I was looking up the story of San Juan Capistrano, I learned that the nests there were destroyed in a 1990s restoration project and they are currently trying to help the birds return. Amazing to me that such a famous colony of birds wasn’t considered during that project, but such is the way of humans sometimes.
Selecting nest sites appears to be a full-contact blood sport. I had no idea it was so intense!
Photos just weren’t doing the nest building justice, so I put together this video to give you an even better idea of the intensity of this activity:
As excited as I was to see the cliff swallows under the dock, it didn’t seem like a great place for them to build their nests. Barn swallows and phoebes nest there, but they are relatively quiet, spread their nests out, and operate more individually. I could easily imagine that the boat slip holders weren’t going to be thrilled with this development. I’m not sure the cliff swallows would have liked the traffic they would encounter there either.
Either the cliff swallows decided it wasn’t a good spot or they were “encouraged” to move along. When I returned two days later, they were gone. I hope they found a much better place to put their nests, one where they wouldn’t be disturbed and there are plenty of bugs to feed their youngsters.
Watching the cliff swallows made me wonder how often we build our “nest” in a place that isn’t truly suited for us. Sometimes what looks like the perfect “home” turns out to be less ideal than we first thought. Even if we’ve spent time and effort building it, sometimes it makes more sense to move along and find a place that better meets our needs. That isn’t always easy, especially if we think there might not be anything more suitable. How do the birds do this? Do they just innately trust they will find a more suitable home?
I have a recurring dream where I’m in a huge office and I can’t find my cubicle. There are always more and more people throughout the dream, I get more and more lost, and even the empty desks seem to disappear. I spend the dream growing increasingly frustrated that I can’t find my place, that I can’t find any place for myself. Watching the cliff swallows made me think of that dream and then I had the dream again last night. Journaling this morning I saw myself write, “Maybe your place isn’t in a cubicle. Next time you have this dream, find a door and go outside. Maybe you will find your place if you stop trying to conform.” I’m curious to see how this dream unfolds in my life.
We often speak of winter as a time for nesting but early summer is a time when many of our wild friends nest. As it starts to get hot, I find myself refreshing my nest and looking at how I am or am not feeling “at home”.
What is early summer saying to you?
For my friends who are writers or anyone who wants to learn to write, Janisse Ray is publishing a book on the craft of writing. I have taken writing courses with Janisse and she is a gifted teacher. I’m personally excited about this book and can’t wait to receive it! She’s launching this book on Kickstarter, and you can find the information here:
Karen, your reflections on the cliff swallows remind me of the transient nature of comfort zones. Sometimes, the ideal spot for growth is hidden behind unassuming choices or unexpected changes. Watching these birds adapt and move can be a gentle nudge to reassess where we stand, not with resignation but with curiosity. Perhaps it’s the little shifts in perspective that guide us to spaces where we truly belong.
Mrs. Phoebe 😭
Don't know about you all but I can practically hear the barn swallows saying, "This neighborhood's really gone downhill."