My neighbors have returned for the season. They are a loud bunch, causing quite a kerfuffle every single night. The disorderly disturbance usually goes on until the wee hours of the morning. Sleeping with the windows open is not even remotely feasible.

Their kids will arrive soon. When they get here, the racket will be magnified, if that is even possible. I know whenever I go outside, day or night, the youngsters will just sit there and stare. I think their parents do the same but don’t make it as obvious. It’s a little unnerving knowing your every move is being scrutinized, especially if you are running on sleep that has been broken by the nightly party going on next door.

I really can’t do anything to address the issue. Just by living here, I am encroaching on their territory. Their parents, and generations before them, have made this tract of land their home far, far longer than I have. This is their ancestral home and I am the foreigner.

Besides, as loud – and creepy – as they are, I excitedly looked forward to their arrival.

They first made themselves known to me early last year. He was a ridiculously loud young adult male screaming insistently for a mate. For nights on end his frustrated calls went unanswered. I was concerned that he would spend the rest of his life a bachelor and even more concerned that I would never sleep a full night again. Even as weary as I was, I started feeling sad for him, knowing he was out there calling repeatedly to a mate that would never answer.

Then, one night, his calls were suddenly answered. I was thrilled, but not as ecstatic as they were. The new couple picked a cozy nesting spot in a hollowed-out tree right outside the bedroom window. The tree had a pending date with a chainsaw and a firepit but when the barred owls moved in, that appointment was canceled.

I was proud as a new grandparent when last year’s owlets arrived. Although they were tucked safely in their tree trunk home, I determined there were two owlets by their cries for food and, eventually, the pairs of watchful eyes that peered out of their cozy home.

Mice, as you know, can be an battle for those living on the edge of the woods, near water, or an open field. When a dwelling, such as mine, is bordered by all three, it is an even greater challenge to keep mice from taking up residence in your woodpile and interior spaces. Much to my delight, as the owlets grew, the field mouse population dwindled.

Trying not to disturb them or draw their attention, I completely changed routines. I used the back entrance as a main entry point. Cars were parked at the far end of the driveway, out of sight of their nest. One owlet took up residence along the right of way and trips into town were limited as much as possible. Except for a taking a single photo from afar, I gave the new family their space and moved all the activity I could away from their home.

When the little ones finally left the nest, I worried from afar. They perched on branches right out in the open and didn’t appear to move for days. I fretted over how susceptible they appeared to predators. I stressed about their nourishment and hydration. Sometimes the animal world appears cruel. What is natural to one species, is inconceivable to another. I started getting angry at the owlets’ parents and wondered judgmentally how they would just leave their children in such a vulnerable position.

Taking matters into my own hands, I got to work trying to locate a wildlife expert that could help me help these babies.

With just a few laptop keystrokes, I realized I had to apologize for my judgmental thoughts.  The owlet’s didn’t need rescuing. I needed to learn more about them. I set out to understand all I could about my neighbors, their history and their habits of survival.

I learned that even though the fledglings had left the nest, mom and dad were nearby, watching and protecting their offspring. Although I never saw them, the parents would bring food to the young ones. The worry I carried was needless. The behavior I was fortunate enough to witness was a natural process.

Eventually, sometime in the cover of darkness, the young ones took flight. The parents vacated the nest and moved deeper into the woods. My routines returned to normal but I soon realized I missed my rowdy neighbors.

In my research, I learned that barred owls mate for life and have a home base of about a six-mile radius. Last fall and winter, whenever I heard a barred owl call in the distance, I wondered if it was my neighbors or their kids.

As winter gave way to spring, I hoped the adults would return to their nesting area. Although their original home has been removed, a few similarly hollowed out trees have been purposely left a bit further back in the wood line, just in case.

Time moved forward with no sign of their return. I came to the sad conclusion that, by removing their original nesting place, I had driven them away. I was so looking forward to welcoming new owlets.

Then one night a few weeks ago, I heard it.

“Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?”

My neighbors had returned!

I learned that, since they partner for life, the late winter endless calls for a new mate aren’t necessary. They weren’t late at all. They returned right on time to nest in one of the dead trees left just for them.

I hope they enjoy their new home. It is such a perfect location, really. It sits right on the edge of the woods with big grassy field in sight and a river just a few wing flaps away. It is a bit further away from the the bedroom window and out of sight of the main entrance to the house. The new location seems be less disruptive for them and for me.

It’s like we’ve come to a compromise. By expanding my knowledge of their behaviors and habitat, I discovered we can peacefully coexist with one another in this little shared corner of the world.