August 12, 2022
After my first encounter with a chimney swift, I googled “what in god’s name is living in my chimney and how do I get rid of it?” It was the beginning of Covid, and we had too many dogs, too many humans, and too many bottle-fed lambs living in our house. It felt like we were stuck together in an overcrowded lifeboat stranded on the open sea. We were all doing our best to ride out the storm, and not get on each other’s nerves in the process. The last thing any of us needed was a chimney full of raucous, overly protective, birds.
By the time I learned what the noise was, there was already a nest filled with eggs, so I figured “what’s a few more beings for a few more weeks?” We planned that once the little ones fledged, we’d cover the top of the chimney with wire mesh so they couldn’t come back. But the more I learned about swifts, the less annoyed I became, and by the time they left, I had actually grown rather fond of them.
At the very first hint of dawn, even before any other birds start to sing, the swifts leave the chimney en mass with a thunderous woosh that never fails to send the dog fleeing from the room. Apparently, the acoustics of a clay lined chimney are a truly fantastic way to magnify and amplify sound. It can make four small birds sound like there are a hundred - or more. (I checked and there really were only four).
Once airborne, swifts spend the entire day flying and don’t touch down again until they return to their preferred chimney at dusk. They never perch, stop or rest. They eat, drink, bathe, and mate on the wing. They dart about frenetically, like swallows, weaving, dodging and devouring insects wherever they go; like aerial vacuum cleaners hoovering up 1/3 of their body weight in insects every day. (Bonus points for that!). To drink or bathe, they delicately skim the surface of a river or lake as they fly by.
A happy endless chatter accompanies them wherever they go, and I think that’s what I love most about them. Wherever I am on our farm, even when I can’t see them, I can hear them as they go blasting by.
At dusk they return, make sweeping circles over our house. Circles which get narrower and tighter as evening fades, ending like a funnel cloud as they drop inside the chimney and grab hold of the rough mortar – where they roost until dawn.
Much to our dog’s relief, they left us this week - just as abruptly as they appeared in the spring - no note or forwarding address, just suddenly gone. They’ve probably already reunited with the rest of their extended flock, preparing to migrate to South America for the winter.
I miss their chatter and seeing them throughout the day. I miss watching them in the evening as they return “home” to roost. I even miss the woosh of their early morning exodus, but I know they’ll be back to nest again next summer - and the summer after that. In fact, multiple generations of swifts have been known to return to the same chimney for decades. I wish I could explain my fondness for them to the dog because, though I know someone will eventually put wire mesh around the chimney to keep them out - it definitely won’t be me.
Here is a video of swifts in Portland Oregon. Hundreds of people come to a local school each night to watch the birds entering the chimney at dusk.