On 1978, when I left Minneapolis for the Big Woods of southeastern Minnesota, the quietness of country nights kept me awake. Then one night, a humanlike scream followed by a demonic cackling pierced the air, making me forget to breathe. The next morning, I found no dead bodies or evidence of a struggle. A few nights later, I heard the same sounds preceded by the typical “who cooks for you?” of a Barred Owl. Although they still startle me, I now welcome these sounds from our old neighbors, who have lived here much longer than we have. The deep, booming voices of Great Horned Owls are also welcome, if unsettling, sounds. One evening, while playing a recording of this owl, my husband heard its commanding hoot closer than comfort, saw a great dark shadow and soon discovered the bird perched on the porch railing staring at him out of its big yellow eyes.

Occasionally on a summer evening when I am sitting on my porch, I hear a wavering ghostlike whinny follow by a long musical trill. Although the sound emanates from the little Eastern Screech-Owl, which is smaller than a robin, it permeates the air as though it was speaking for the whole forest. Once, when I was driving along one of our country roads, I spotted a screech owl poking its head out of a Wood Duck box, so still that I thought it was a plastic decoration until it turned its head. That was my first actual sighting of this species, which I had only heard until then.

Read the rest of the Nancy's column in our February issue...