Mr Bennet preferred the electric pole on the road to dine and to prepare a fish for nest delivery. He can see activity in Nests 1 and 2 from the pole, and probably action in nests across the creek to the south.
2022 – What I Knew Then, What I Know Now – 2026
The Bennets controlled territory beyond Nest 2. At least two loblollies in the middle of Parcel 157 Copse across the road belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet; all four man-made poles surrounding the oyster house belonged to Mr. Bennet, and all the pilings along the lower side of the pier belonged to Mrs. Bennet. She selected her dining spot among them, perhaps based upon vessel configurations. Regardless, except for Mr. B, she allowed no other Osprey to perch on any of them.
Upon George’s arrival, the Bennets made clear that their territorial jurisdiction covered the entire pier, including the pilings on the upper side and the toe at the bottom of the “L,” where George was constructing his split-level nest.
The Bennet’s swooping and diving and squeeing opposition did not come close to the vigor of the Bigs’ hostility, their tenor reflected outrage of ancestral proportion against unpardonable nouveau.
Then again, for all I know, George’s installation at the end of the pier amounted to Osprey voodoo. Watermen avoided it.
Most likely George’s effrontery, squeezing between established territories, shoved property rights straight up those males’ beaks. Even Mr. Perfect, whose boundary lines were not impacted, joined the attacks.
Mrs. B and Big Mama stuck tight on their nests but rocketed into the air if Martha flew overhead, which usually Martha did not. At the first sign of aggression, Martha split, flew across the creek. When the locals came at George she’d absent herself, quick to leave the Purple Martin hotel to any invader.
Martha liked George to deliver her fish to pilings across the creek. And mating worked better on the pilings than George’s hot-mess nests of ’22. Martha did hang in the neighborhood, perched around the expanding split-level. But the only risk I ever saw her take was getting caught investigating other nests. When nest owners were absent — and the nests were empty of eggs or chicks — she’d hop in and look around.
But George did not abandon his split-level. Certainly not after holding his claim against the elder males. When matters calmed, Martha stood on the Purple Martin hotel, walked among George’s circular collection on the pier, and particularly liked perching on crossbars between a few pilings around the pier’s foot.
Neither George or Martha ventured farther up the pier than the foot. They’d additionally been granted five loblollies in my side yard, which, as the Osprey flies, is a straight shot off the toes to the trees, no invasion of airspace above the leg of the pier. Even so, Mrs. B left her early eggs. It was touch and go all season if she’d stick with Nest 2. She never did dine again on a piling along the oyster house pier.
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