Yesterday I was on a corn combine right behind my house, as we approach the end of corn harvest next week. The field borders my yard on the south and west. I was parking the combine on the west side when I noticed movement on the ground near a brushy edge. It was a brood of adolescent bobs, with at least one adult leading them. They were roughly three-quarters grown. What a thrill to see 12-14 in a bunch so near my house. Last evening I was waiting on take-out plates for my wife and I, at a local restaurant, when the owner sat down with me briefly. He hunts deer on a portion of my farm. I mentioned seeing the quail to him and he related that just in the past few days he saw two different coveys, at opposite ends of one of my fields, while preparing food plots for deer.
That's three coveys within a few hundred yards of my house, on a 198 acre tract, and I am almost certain there are at least two more coveys within that tract. Am I hopeful for a "comeback"? No, chances are nil. But, it just thrills me to see these survivors that have adapted to the less than favorable habitat changes that modern farming practices with large equipment has brought about, the hordes of cattle egrets that prey on quail chicks, the turkeys who destroy nests, the fire ants, and the explosion in the number of small raptors like Cooper's hawks, etc. I can still hear them calling in the mornings, especially so in the spring. It's amazing how well the little "gentlemen" have resisted total decimation. They're now creatures of the woods, much more so than when I was still hunting them in the late eighties.
I leave crop residue all winter in the fields wherever feasible, which helps them somewhat. I occasionally burn hedgerows, but they have pretty much stuck it out due to their grit and toughness. My hat's off to you little brown bombers. It would be a wonderful thing to hear you calling early in the morning of my last day on this earth. May you outlast me by many, many years.
| 