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Life After Death
Dr. Scott Shalaway, www.shalaway.com
 If
you've ever wondered about life after death, try planting a snag in
your backyard. Snags, what biologists call standing dead trees, teem
with life for decades.
Many years ago, I "planted" several small snags in my backyard
in Stillwater, Oklahoma to test their appeal to birds. I hung several
feeders from the dead branches. Almost immediately, the snags "came
to life." Birds perched patiently waiting their turns on the
feeders, and during the nesting season cardinals sang from the highest
branches.
A few years later I found a kindred spirit when I overheard a woman
in a wild bird store describe her "ghost tree." It turned
out to be a snag. She said she had one in her backyard, and it was
the centerpiece of her feeding station. I asked what her neighbors
said when they realized she wasn't going to remove an obviously dead
tree? "Most accepted the idea after we explained its purpose,"
she explained, "but it didn't die. We planted it."
Back in the late 1970s, wildlife biologists began to appreciate the
importance of snags in natural ecosystems. Woodpeckers excavate nest
cavities in them and tear them apart in search of the insects that
riddle their innards. In subsequent years tree swallows, bluebirds,
titmice, wrens, screech-owls, and kestrels nest in the old woodpecker
holes. Deer mice, flying squirrels, tree frogs, climbing snakes and
lizards, and myriad invertebrates also find shelter in abandoned cavities.
Red-tailed hawks perch on tall snags and scan the earth below for
prey. Phoebes and kingbirds launch their fly-catching attacks from
open branches on snags. Vultures roost on snags so they can bask in
the early morning sun to warm their bodies. And many song birds —
indigo buntings, cardinals and bluebirds come immediately to mind
— sing from the tops of snags to advertise and defend their territories.
My own fascination with snags began on a farm in southern Michigan
in 1978. A large skeleton of a tree stood alone in a fence row between
a corn field and a hay field. One June morning I watched three species
— kestrels, house wrens, and downy woodpeckers — tending
active nests in that enormous dead tree. I've been hooked on snags
ever since.
Over a period of decades, a large dead tree teems with all manner
of life until natural decay takes its final toll. Then the snag topples
to its final resting place. Fungi and other decomposers return the
stuff that trees are made of — organic matter and minerals —
to the soil, where it can be reincorporated into new trees. By planting
snags in our backyards, we can observe this entire process of death,
rebirth, decay, and renewal.
Planting a snag is as simple as it sounds. Dig a hole three to six
feet deep (depending on the size of the tree), insert the snag and
back fill the hole with dirt. Better still, anchor it in concrete.
A snag six inches in diameter and 20 feet tall is about the limit
for a one-man job, but bigger is better. With the help of some friends
and maybe a tractor with a winch, planting eight to 18-inch snags
is possible. Snag height need not exceed 20 feet.
Woodpeckers are much more likely to excavate cavities in larger snags,
but even small snags make great feeding trees and song perches, and
they provide support for colorful climbing vines. Trumpetcreeper and
trumpet honeysuckle can turn a snag into a hummingbird magnet. Place
a water source nearby, and a snag becomes a complete backyard feeding
station.
At first, the idea of landscaping with dead trees seems laughable.
But understanding snag ecology, especially its importance to birds,
can turn an eyesore into a thing of beauty. In winter, flocks of colorful
birds visit snags that support well stocked feeders. In the spring,
indigo buntings and cardinals sing from the highest branches. In the
summer, hummingbirds mob the trumpetcreeper planted to embrace the
towering skeleton. And in the fall, migrants gather on snags like
ornaments on a Christmas tree in anticipation of the long trip south.
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