THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, July 9, 1995 TAG: 9507080082
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY MARTY JONES, SPECIAL TO THE SUNDAY BREAK
LENGTH: Long : 142 lines
FOUR FEATHERLESS baby birds, days old and inches tall, huddle together in a cloth-lined teacup. With their eyes not yet open, they look as if they should still be in eggs, not this makeshift nest. As someone enters the room, they raise their heavy, trembling heads and open their tiny beaks, trusting that food will be placed in their mouths.
It seems impossible that these birds could live another hour, let alone learn to fly. But they will. They're in the caring, competent hands of Martha Samples, the ``Bird Lady of Portsmouth.''
For the past six years, Samples, a 43-year-old wife, mother and working woman, has dedicated herself to helping the winged wildlife of Hampton Roads. In her quiet, working-class Portsmouth neighborhood, Samples works magic and minor miracles, nursing injured, abandoned birds back to health. And back to the wild.
Samples' role of wildlife rehabilitator is a volunteer one, and her efforts give new meaning to the word. Samples has the required federal and state certification needed to handle songbirds and birds of prey.
``I spend about five to six hours a day taking care of these little creatures,'' she says with a smile.
``Taking care'' involves many things, from early-morning drives to pick up injured birds to late-night nest building.
``A plastic margarine tub lined with dried grass with a few drain holes in the bottom makes a nice little nest,'' Samples says, ``as long as you mount it securely in whatever tree you're in.''
Samples became interested in this work about 10 years ago after rescuing an injured bird from her cat. Her veterinarian referred her to a wildlife rehabilitator in Blacksburg, where Samples lived at the time. She was amazed at what she saw.
``There were birds in boxes, birds in cages,'' she says. ``It was a lot like what my house is like now.''
Samples volunteered to help this woman, and after a few weeks she was given her first birds to take home and care for. Her efforts were successful, and the two starlings were released to the wild. Samples was hooked.
Soon after getting involved in the wildlife rehab world, Samples moved from Blacksburg to Portsmouth. Searching for another wildlife rehabilitator to learn from, she found Ann Landis, a 30-year veteran of wildlife rehab who lived only a few blocks away. Landis was impressed with Samples' desire to help and learn.
``Martha was a very quick study, and as eager to learn as anyone I had worked with,'' Landis says. Just as important, Samples had an obvious willingness to make sacrifices. ``Being a wildlife rehabilitator is no hobby,'' says Landis. ``You've got to be willing to put in long hours, and you've got to be willing to roll up your sleeves and get dirty.''
The scene in Samples' home could be the bird ward on Noah's ark. Just inside the front door, four fledgling sparrow hawks, all white fluff and gaping red mouths, huddle together in a box. In what was once the laundry room, 25 more birds in various stages of repair wait for attention. Blue jays, robins, owls and other birds, from infants to adults, eat, preen and rest in this bird hospital.
In the back yard, a handful of larger ``flight'' cages gives 20 to 30 birds room to exercise their wings and learn the ropes of flight. ``Birds learn much faster when caged with other birds,'' Samples says. Several birds stand on perches, gingerly flapping their wings for the first time. When birds have progressed to flying about their cage, they're released. In the meantime, they require a great deal of work.
``During the spring and summer months, I spend six to eight hours a day tending to these guys,'' she says. ``It takes a couple of hours to hand-feed 40 or 50 baby birds.'' And the birds must be fed throughout the day.
Cages must be cleaned, wounds dressed and medicine administered. Before going to bed, Samples must prepare the food (mainly dog food, meat and meal worms) for the next day. ``It's not unusual for me to be up at 1 or 2 in the morning,'' she says.
With this much time spent caring for birds, and 25 hours a week working for a Portsmouth manufacturing firm, Samples would seem to have little time left to care for her own flock.
``My husband and my son are my first priority,'' she says, ``and we make time to spend together.'' But being a member of the Samples household requires flexibility and a large dose of extra work. ``My husband is very supportive of what I do,'' Samples says, ``and I couldn't do this without his help.''
Her 9-year-old son, Blake, a fan of blue jays, pitches in with the feeding duties.
Samples' husband, Michael, acknowledges that having so many of nature's homeless in the house can present problems.
``The other day I went to take a shower and found a bird swimming in the tub,'' he says, laughing. Then there was the day that a visitor using the bathroom had a bird land on his head.
Being part of the Samples family also means handling a few stares now and then. The family likes to attend NASCAR auto races during the summer, and when they go they usually have a few special guests in tow. ``We've had lots of baby birds travel with us, if they need constant attention,'' Samples says.
Her wildlife caretaker duties don't stop at events like these. At a recent race in Bristol, the crowds attending the race had caused a mother wren to abandon the nest she had built in a phone booth. Martha rescued the birds, brought them home and nursed them to freedom.
In spite of the strain of caring for hundreds of birds a year, Martha and her husband don't complain.
``It does get very hectic and stressful at times,'' Michael says, ``but we just try to keep the importance of Martha's work in mind. It's exhilarating work, and in a world that doesn't seem to care much about anything at times, what Martha does is especially meaningful.''
There are times when all the extra work and long hours can be too much, when Samples feels she can't handle one more injured creature or one more death of a bird she's nursed through the night. These are the harsh realities of working with injured animals. ``About half of the animals that I come in contact with don't make it, and this death can get to you,'' she says.
But there are plenty of victories, too. About 300 birds a year fly away to freedom.
Like a black-capped chickadee that Samples is ready to send on its way.
``This little guy was caught by a cat a few days ago,'' Samples says, ``but he's doing very well now.'' With the tiny bird in her hand, she holds a small eyedropper of medicine to its beak, and the bird gobbles it up. ``This is his last dose of medicine,'' she says, turning for the front door of the house. The chickadee's markings give it the appearance of formal attire. In its white shirt, gray jacket and jaunty black cap, the bird appears dressed for some special occasion.
The bird twitches nervously in Samples' hand as she walks to the front door. When she steps out on to the sun-drenched porch, the bird stops its anxious movements. It seems to relax. Samples slowly opens her hand, and the bird darts out, landing in the branch of a nearby holly tree. It starts to sing. Martha giggles with glee, like a little girl who has just received a very special present.
``When I can let the animals go back into the wild, that makes it all worthwhile,'' she says. ``As soon as you walk outside with a bird to release it, something almost always comes over it, as if it knows what's happening. That scared, quivering bird gets very calm and relaxed. And when the bird flies out of your hand, that's a very special moment.'' ILLUSTRATION: Color photos
JOSEPH JOHN KOTLOWSKI
Samples keeps this barred owl for educational purposes. The bird
broke a wing when it was young and can't be returned to the wild.
Martha Samples of Portsmouth feeds an injured young robin. ``I spent
about five to six hours a day taking care of these little
creatures,'' she says.
by CNB