They’re back—the harbingers of death. The sky above me is black with vultures riding the thermals.

It’s unnerving. With their keen eyesight, my husband and I joke the vultures are watching us in our advanced age, waiting for their opportunity.

Sometimes called buzzards, turkey vultures are scavengers that feed on carrion. I’m a bird lover, but vultures lost their favor with me when I visited the great blue heron hatchlings last year at Devil’s Lake State Park. 

When I visited, the youngsters, so ugly they were cute, were nearly ready to fly. A dozen turkey vultures perched in trees near the nests. I was sure the opportunists hoped the rambunctious young would push a sibling out of the nest to its death.

Turkey vultures have many gross habits. They defend themselves by vomiting powerful stomach acids, and they pee and defecate on their feet to cool themselves down. (It’s called urohidrosis.) Because of the mess of their “whitewashing” and the fear of spreading disease, vultures have caused problems when they choose schools or sports fields for their gathering places. 

They’re protected under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, but people have successfully dissuaded them from roosting in trees by using methods such as hanging effigies or fake dead turkey vulture carcasses (available on Amazon for $73). Still, wouldn’t that be a grisly sight for children or neighbors to see?

As the sun sinks lower in the sky, more and more vultures land on the tall pine trees at the edge of my yard. A group of roosting vultures is called a “committee,” and mine now has 40 or so members. How had these social creatures communicated that they’d gather at the Laundries? I find it all quite fascinating.

They’ll soon be intent on courting, and later this spring, the female will find a cavity in a hollow tree, log, cave, or rocky crevice to lay her eggs. I’ve seen one fly out of a small cave in a rocky valley in Camp Wawbeek, which is near my house. I’ve never seen the chicks, but now that I know where to look, I hope I get the opportunity.

The trees are now black with buzzards; I estimate there are over 50. For a second, I worried about a gas leak in the area. Natural gas contains the same chemical found in a dead animal, and vultures have helped gas companies detect leaks, a fact I admit also fascinates me.

Actually, I have to give vultures credit. Without scavengers like them, all the road-killed deer and other dead critters would forever stink up the place. The vulture’s bald head might not be attractive, but it’s perfect for preventing the spread of carcass-borne diseases like rabies. And, if I’m completely honest, I enjoy this committee’s loyalty. They’ve been coming to the Laundrie’s backyard for four years now, and I feel just a tad privileged. Yes, the back shed might be streaked with whitewash, but I’d miss them if they went elsewhere. I like to watch for them at sunset and again in the morning when they spread out their impressively large wings, drying them in the early morning sunlight. 

Once their wings are dry, they’ll fly off, riding a thermal and looking for opportunities, my grossly fascinating visitors.

(Thanks to Casey Butler for the professional photo.)