Owl of A Sudden, It's March

By Katharine Adams

March 2025

One summer night in June, I recorded a parliament of owls squawking from a few places just past my yard. I knew I was hearing at least two owls—but I couldn’t tell if there were more. It was as if we were immersed in a jungle frenzy. Shrieks and howls erupted from the most common species of large, vocal bird we spy around here—the Barred Owl (Strix varia). Accustomed to hearing their distant, deep-woods hoot, I was startled and fascinated by such immediate, raucous caws. Their indignant howls sounded like the tussle of tropical night birds in a PBS special.

Barred Owl

Photo: Philip Brown

It’s no surprise, for Barred Owls are very aggressive to intruders on their territory—especially an owlet’s protective mother during nesting season. Sometimes striking with their feet, these owls will chase away intruders while hooting loudly.

The National Audubon Society website, partnered with BirdNote, lists over a dozen calls in their recording, Hear the Many Hoots of the Barred Owl. These large owls initiate their “vocal courtship” during the winter months, with calls ranging from siren-like to even that of a “monkey call.”

Summer’s jungle-like clamor is still a few months away, but March is a great time for listening to Barred Owls make their sounds. Since they don’t migrate in winter, they begin their early spring courtship and set to work building their nests. They like to build in tree cavities; sometimes, they’ll even rehab an abandoned crow’s nest or squirrel’s quarters. And they won’t turn their beaks up at the occasional, human-built nest box.

Back before my fledgling owl education, I thought a Barred Owl and a Barn Owl were the same creatures, a common misperception; “barred” blended in with “barn” in my pair of listeners. Then one day, overhearing an owl-sighting conversation between friends, it dawned on me: Wait, they’re not saying “barn,” are they?

Other than a similar-sounding name, these owls differ greatly, especially in that the Barn Owl is found on every inhabited continent, including remote, oceanic islands—while the Barred Owl is strictly a North American species.

The season for breeding is early yet, with most owls active at night, though they can also be seen during the day in late winter. The breeding season lasts up until August. Over several days, a female Barred Owl will lay between one and five eggs. They hatch after about one month.

A Barred Owl lives in the wild for an average of eight years. It is the horizontal bars on their chest and vertical bars striping their abdomen that lend them their name. The Latin origins of the word varia mean “variegated in plumage.” The very name “owl” is derived from the Old English word “le” and over time, evolved into “owle” and eventually, “owl.”

All owls have good low-light vision, but the ears of a Barred Owl are of a special design. Located on the sides of their heads, two ear openings sit at slightly different angles, with one being a little higher and more forward than the other. Able to locate their prey by sound, someone figured out that this design allows one ear to receive sound a millisecond before the other, so the owl can fine-tune its source while swooshing in—assisted also by near-silent flight—to make the grab.

A Barred Owl’s face features distinctive round disks, “which function like a parabolic reflector to funnel sounds to their ears,” according to Pam Hunt of NHAudubon.org.

Typically, the majestic bird sits on a branch up high, quiet and observant. We’ve enjoyed trading gazes with one located across our front yard, almost disappearing into the mottled gray bark of the maple tree she sat in, amid March flurries.

To suddenly spot a Barred Owl seated so near and silent jostles your energy into high gear. Whatever was wrong is righted and forgotten, even for a few, suspended moments. A glimpse of wildlife, especially that of an owl, is one of nature’s more rewarding treats.

Next month, we’ll lark around some more to touch on the joys of a murder of crows.

The Rural Ethicist is a column about the culture of the daily mundane. It tolerates an occasional spider, values the bull in horse sense, and seeks the gleaming, stainless steel wisdom beneath a film of cooking grease. Above all, it cherishes the gem of our shared existence: family.
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