There is so much happening in the world right now that it makes your head spin. Or maybe you just want to pull the covers up a little higher and not get out of bed. Added to the things that are causing my head to spin under the pillow is a new and unexpected diversion, even if it's minor by comparison to the rest. Not the war in Ukraine or the plummeting stock market, not the cost of gas or the attacks on democracy, not the effects of climate change or even the pains in my knees and back. What's concerning me is the robin nesting on our deck.
Every year come spring we discover nests all around our house. Sometimes they are snuggled into a light fixture, sometimes in the front bushes. A favorite spot seems to be the supports that hold up the deck. While not a bird, if consulted I would concur that this last seems to be a good spot: out of traffic, covered by the deck itself, easy access in and out. Perhaps that's why almost every year we find a new nursery there. Word of beak, I suppose.
Once we discover our newest neighbors, we keep a casual eye on them. We usually stumble on a new nest after it's pretty well built, or even contains eggs. A random check eventually discovers some chicks who crane their necks thinking I have a worm. Eventually we notice the nest is empty, and assume the kids have, quite literally, flown the coop. And that's the whole National Geographic special for that year.
Last season, perhaps because we were home more than usual, we noticed one in the early stages of construction. Because of the location, under the deck but just below our outside table, we were more aware of mom's comings and goings. Having some time on my hands, I rigged a small wireless camera just above it, enabling us to check in more frequently and watch as the kids hatched, had mealtime, and eventually graduated to the wider world. If not grandparents, we at least felt like aunts and uncles.
This year, something new. We both noticed some straw on the deck railing right outside the kitchen. Hardly a hidden or protected location, we thought it might have gotten blown there by the wind. But no, it was the start of a new home. As we watched daily the nest was anchored, the walls raised higher and the inside carpeted with soft stuff. For some strange reason the increased visibility caused us to assume some sense of responsibility. Indeed, when a big rainstorm was forecast, I got some scrap wood and built a little roof to protect it. Felt like picking up the neighbor's paper when they were away.
While we tried to give it a wider berth, mom didn't seem to care much even when we ventured closer. And when she wasn't there we peeked in. Empty at first, we eventually found two eggs one day. As we ate dinner one evening we saw her come back, nest for a while, then fly off, and looked in to find a third. Since then she is there most times, and we have had to tell the workers painting our house to give it some space so as not to disturb our soon-to-be grandbirds.
Some research says that all is proceeding as it should, and the worst thing we could do is to touch or disturb anything. And so all we can do it check on her regularly and worry that it's too cold for the not-yet-younguns. Like all grandparents the best thing we can do is let the soon-to-be parents figure it out on their own. And truth be told, while we raised two human children with a reasonable amount of success, our track record with avian offspring is more limited. Not that we couldn't learn.
As of this writing she's still there and we're still here. It's supposed to take about 13 days for the nestlings to emerge, then a number of weeks until they are ready to head out into the world. Until then all we can do is worry about them and cheer them on. Yes, we have about as much control over them as we do inflation, but somehow I'm happier worrying about this.
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Marc Wollin of Bedford likes watching his natural neighbors. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.
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