Upon walking into my backyard I could see two Robins looking up…so I looked up too! And there in the wooden spokes of the umbrella on the back deck was an imposing bird’s nest resting in the rungs. It was an excellent and safe location for birds to situate, for sure. Gertrude the Garter snake was less likely to slither up the 13 stairs and cause havoc—as she did last year when she ate the Cardinal babies in the nest in the front bushes. A bit of a down side would be that this little deck would be off limits for awhile for usual endeavors of eating out or reading or watching the grass grow. But the bonus would be my ability to observe the process of growth and development from the kitchen door window. Let the games begin.
I watched as the final touches were done to perfect vessel. The father dropped mouth fulls of mud in and the mother brought softer bits, like maybe lint from the dryer vent. The mother-to-be would then sit into the nest, stick out her chest and butt and rapidly wiggle and shimmy all around, counterclockwise, contouring the nest to her specifications. After all, she’d be the one on primary duty to develop the deposited eggs into newborns with her steady body warmth… and for an enormous length of about two weeks of just sitting and staring! Better she should be as comfortable as possible….
I could not see into the nest but from a crouched down position at the back door I could observe the dedicated creatures at work. This vantage point allowed me to see the Robin’s underside with its white tail feathers. Who knew…? I would have a front row seat now for future happenings. It was a win-win.
That was Saturday, May 18th, when the final preparations seemed to be accomplished. On Sunday afternoon I showed the little boy across the street the new gift to the neighborhood. He was all excited and wanted to pull over a chair and look inside, which really was impossible to do. This intrusive commotion was followed by my own racket created when I tried to use a blower to disperse all the fallen twigs and hay mess on the floor of the porch, which were left over remnants from the nest construction process.
After all the noise and insult to the area it seemed the birds were not visiting the nest any more. Granted I was very busy myself and not able to be so vigilant. But I became convinced I had made the homestead so inhospitable that the Robins had likely abandoned the nest altogether…and after all their hard work. I felt very badly about my contribution to aborting the scheme.
On Thursday, a lighteningstorm with high winds and hail stones was expected. It seemed prudent to close the big umbrella so it would not take flight itself and javelin into the windows of the house next door. And since I had seen no activity I set about to remove the nest and colapse and fasten the red umbrella so it was not a weapon in the wild weather. Gently, with glove hands, I first extricated the nest in one piece and lowered it carefully. To my horror there was one beautiful blue Robin’s egg rolling around inside. What had I done!!! I was unforgiveably a home wrecker, devastator and destroyer of nature. Clearly the birds had not abandoned the nest but rather it was an active work in progress.
I set the intact nest safely down and admired the symmetrical weaving, the made to order structure, the layers that worked from a crude outside framework to a refined interior that created a cozy inviting home— Only for me to come along and wreck it. The indescribably beautiful blue egg looked back at me breaking my heart because it would now never come to fruition with a newborn chick. I put the perfect assembly in a flower basket on the other side of the deck.
Before retreating, I closed and fastened the umbrella, and went inside the house with shame and regret. I tried to keep busy to distract myself from the horror I had perpetrated.
However, throughout the afternoon I caught sight of multiple Robin visitations to the back deck. They would approach from different directions, look around and leave—only to repeatedly return to the bewildering absence of the nest in its previously accessible location. The mother would march herself along the railing and come nose to nose with the clamped down umbrella, and look up…to nothing. She had an attitude of practically wings on hip, mumbling ‘darn it anyway I know I left my keys on that table’. Oh the dismay of it. It was so pathetic to see. And even worse to feel. I about needed a psychiatric admission, or at least strong meds…
Clearly these parents had not abandoned the nest and were not inclined to easily give up. So I slipped out onto the deck and moved the nest to a chair under where the open umbrella had been. I put a board over the nest running from the back of the chair to the table, to provide some shelter and less exposure. Thereafter, there were some cautious Robin approaches to the seat of the chair for a look-see. Once the mother perched on the rim of the nest but it was unstable, rocked, rolled the egg, and scared her away. She kept coming and going though, predominantly on the railing, and kept looking up for the nest that was where it wasn’t. Then she sat, for an entire hour, I timed her, in a tree, about 10 feet way, assessing the situation, trying to figure it out. She couldn’t let it go. She knew what she knew and so she hovered. . . and hoped, for a solution, I bet. It was like she kept pondering how can I make it right. It was killing me to watch what I was putting her through. But I admired her perseverance.
In the rain, I could see that the parents hunted for worms; stayed in the vicinity; performed multiple spot checks; and were not inclined to give up hope and leave.
Darn, I wouldn’t give up hope either! So at 4:00 PM when the sun came out, I opened up the umbrella and placed the nest back securely in the crook of the support spokes. In 20 minutes the mother Robin was sitting on the nest!!!! A miracle. Relief beyond words.
And so she has sat for two weeks, rotating her position, rotating the conceivably more than one egg, at appropriate intervals. She had proud perfect posture. She continued to do her job. She occasionally left for 5 minutes to feed. The male also was seen visiting to feed her a worm or other morsel. It could not have been very interesting confined in there. Rather, it had to be quite boring as all she could see was the underside of a red umbrella, all day and all night.
Yes, long days, longer nights…Patience personified she did exhibit. I put a pan of water out. I never saw them drink or splash in it. The raisins I left went untouched. But once I found some worms in the garden and left them. Those did disappear. The Robins did not like me prowling around the nursery however. They would squawk, chirp and fuss loudly, bouncing from branch to branch whenever I invaded their space. I tried to get some pictures and they clearly recoiled whenever I disturbed their quiet peace and enjoyment.
On June 5th, about 13 days into this saga, it seemed an egg had hatched. I could see the parents on the rim of the nest, bending their heads down into the nest. I fancied they were dropping bits of nourishment into the offspring. The mother did continue her position of sitting away on the nest. The father stayed in close proximity sometimes under the umbrella or in the nearby tree.
Three days later I could observe two little beaks poking up, open, above the rim of the nest. There was much coming and going, especially first thing in the morning. The dad showed up with a two inch long worm and fed it to some one or ones. He dangled it it in and it shortened by increments. There was generally a lot of hunting and feeding and guarding going on. One parent would fly in, the other would fly out.
There seemed to be just the two hatchlings. The parents would look the situation over frequently, seeming to evaluate the progress. By the time we got to day 10 I could see the babies stretching their wings a bit, almost trembling and quivering for strength as they gradually extended their necks further. After that I noted some actual wing flapping maneuvers, as if practicing. When they weren’t sleeping their little heads were up, mouths open, ready for any tid bits that might come their way. Feed Me!
As before, if I came onto the deck there was frantic movement and noise and warnings issued by the parents watching near by in the trees. If the nestlings had been visible before my appearance they slurped back down into the cover of the nest if they saw my movements or heard the alarm from their parents. It was hard to get a photo.
Yesterday, day fourteen, both parents were visible at the nest at the same moment. Was it about time to get the show on the road? Were they prodding the offspring to move on out, I wondered? Awhile later I could only see one little head perked up. I went out to look to see if there was perhaps a little bird that had fallen on the ground. There was much clamoring then by the parents. Would I kindly stop inserting myself into their responsibilities they seemed to be saying. Ultimately, I saw the two young one’s heads. They were both present and accounted for. But suddently, in all the excitement, the larger of the youngsters took off, made a downward flight, in full flap, and cleared the umbrella edge and arced up and landed successfully in the tree branch just a few feet away. One fledged. It was gorgeous.
One more to go…
The remaining nestling just sat there. It was soon fed by the father. It sat around for hours by itself. Was it at loose ends I wondered. Maybe it just needed more time to grow up. Then about five hours later I saw the little bird perched bold and upright on the nest rim. Getting ready to get ready I speculated.
An hour later, nothing could be seen. I went out to check in case the baby bird was in a predicament on the ground. No, that was not the case. I saw nothing. — It was eerily quiet. The protective parents weren’t screaming at me. — There was no need. Their brood had successfully fledged. I was irrelevant. My rental space was irrelevant. They had moved on; their lives were ahead of them.
There is a sad silence today for me, however. I miss them. There’s nothing to watch… no progress or success to witness…no vicarious feelings of accomplishment to claim.
But alas, I will and must go on, and live my own life — while keeping an eye out for other opportunities and events that demonstrate signs of hope, love, loyalty and endurance — in all those small but significant rewards of jobs well done and of lives well lived— Onward, to try to soar above the draining fray that is too often beneath.