Second Chance

 At the end of a perfect cloudless summer day, the first full day of summer, I sat in front of the living room window and watched fireflies in the growing dark. The stars were dim under a full moon, but lightning bugs made up for their lack of luster, floating up from the grass like sky lanterns on a rising stream. The shadowy figure of a raccoon passed in front of me on the deck. 

My mind was elsewhere, specifically on a baby bird cradled in a used Phoebe nest on a windowsill outside. Eyes closed tight in sleep, it missed the fireworks display, but I wondered if it heard the Spring Peeper's lullaby.

The day before, a plaintive cheeping drew my attention from my desk to the window. Outside of my basement studio, a nestling bird was struggling to right itself on the rocks below. As I watched, it toppled face down into a crack between the stones and lay still. I guessed it was a Phoebe; the adult birds have been watching the house lately. I had been looking for a nest, but thus far, I was unsuccessful. There are many potential nest sites under the deck, and I didn't want to be too intrusive.

Phoebes are endearing birds. They are one of the earliest migraters to return to the Ozarks every year, and it's always good to see them back. They wear muted colors, shades of gray and white with a hint of yellow, but, what they lack in color, they make up in personality. They are members of the Flycatcher family, and they wag their tails happily and sing their name: "Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe." They construct their nest of mud grass, hair, and moss and attach it to an upright, often to the side of our house.

Several years ago, after a pair had nested near our front door, a big black snake came and scared them away. They abandoned their nest, eggs and all, and never came back. I took the nest down and glued it to a fieldstone from our land. I liked it as a decorative item in the living room, but I didn't dream it would ever be functional again. 

The nestling below my window needed a place to lay its head, and it didn't seem like there was a lot of time to spare. So I took my abandoned nest outside and, scooping up the little bird, placed it inside the soft cavity. It looked happier immediately. 

Its only real chance of survival was for its parents to find it. A windowsill near where I first saw the nestling seemed like the best choice, so I propped it up there, supported it with another rock, and whispered a prayer to the nestling's Maker.

It was still alive the following day, and the next, and I started to exhale. It was clear that its parents were feeding it. By the third morning, it was stretching, and I felt like a proud aunt. 

On day five, the little bird made its move. First, it climbed up from the nest to the top of the rock the nest was attached to. Then, peering inside my studio, it greeted me with an inquisitive stare. 

Before long, the parent came with a dragonfly...

and the little one gobbled down a tasty snack. 

The next time I checked on it, I saw only a concerned parent bird perched on the nest. On closer inspection, I found the fledgling sandwiched between the window and the rock that held the nest. Then, just as I was contemplating another intervention, the fledgling freed itself and flew to the ground. It made short flights of a few yards while its parent watched from its nearby perch before they flew off together into the woods.

With the fledgling gone, I felt at liberty to search for its nest of origin, and I found one, not surprisingly, near the place the nestling had first appeared. Tucked in behind a rafter, it was not obvious, and it was a much better location than the one by our front door. In retrospect, if I had found it earlier, I could have popped the baby back in its nest, and it might have lived happily ever after. Or, just possibly, that nest was too full, and the nestling needed a place of its own. I'll never know for sure, but I imagine by now, it's at the top of its Phoebe flight class and is learning to wag its tail and sing.

I really like happy endings. So far, this is one.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Fledge Day

It's quiet on the front porch this afternoon, and a little bit lonely, after the clamor of the morning. A pair of Carolina Wrens have been nesting in a creel that hangs from one of the porch pillars, and lately, they have been scrambling to keep their nestlings fed.

My first indication that this might be Fledge Day was an aerial scuffle over the patio. A Phoebe, who is also nesting on the porch, landed on the watering can, and the two smaller birds teamed up to chase it away. Up til now, the Phoebes had been getting the upper hand in those skirmishes, but on this day the Carolina Wrens wanted to clear the runways for take-offs and landings.

This morning both of the wrens were on the basket, peering down the opening, coaxing their nestlings to come out. The Carolina Wren has a beautiful voice, and it must be very persuasive because it wasn't long before the first brave adventurer popped out to greet the world. It looked around, wide-eyed. With its short, stubby tail and wispy tufts of new feathers topping its head and sticking out from the back of its neck, it looked a little bit like an alien. One sibling joined him, then another and then a third, before the first one tried out its wings. I held my breath. The fledgling fluttered unsteadily to the woodpile on one the end of the porch where the others joined him. Between crash landings, they practiced hops from log to log... 

hid in an old egg basket... 

and clung to the rock siding, all the while, emitting a constant chatter. But there were still chirps coming from the basket, and finally, a fifth tardy bird emerged. 

They left one by one within about 20 minutes, winging their way along the side of the house as if they'd been practicing for days. I went outside later and heard their chirps coming from under the dog house, and saw one of the parents swoop in with food. This vast world can be intimidating. 

We'll be keeping our ears and eyes open, and hoping they'll return for another nesting. Now, at least, the Phoebes can have their perch back.

Phoebe Song

From a branch in the old dogwood tree at the edge of the yard, 

we can hear the Phoebe singing her unique song, calling out her name again and again, 

"Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe". 

She has a good reason to sing.  

The construction is completed on her new nest, 

located on a ledge at the top of a pillar under the roof of the front porch.

She keeps one eye on it from the dogwood tree.

Several generations of Phoebes have grown up on our front porch, 

right where we could watch them from the kitchen window. 

They make an awful mess, but a little cleanup seems a reasonable price for front row tickets.

Several years ago, when we had a mason wrap our wooden pillars with cultured stone, 

we asked him to build special shelves at the tops with the Phoebes in mind.

He humored us, and the Phoebes made their preference known by moving away.

For years, we only heard their song from a distance.  

They are finally back, but they ignored our special addition for them,
 and built their nest on the other side of the pillar, away from the kitchen. 

It's made of grass and hair, and covered with bright green moss.

Outside, the Phoebe flies to the supplejack above the birdbath, 

which she has commandeered as her command post, pausing and wagging her tail, 

and then to the top of a tall oak, where her song continues.

And we wait, trying not to count our Phoebes before they are laid.

Linking with Rurality Blog Hop
Wild Bird Wednesday
Saturday's Critters

As Sure as Spring

There's music in the woods at night; the coyotes are singing their spring love songs.  If you get close enough, it can raise the hair on the back of your neck, and around here, it's a good harbinger of spring.  Last week, the ground was in a deep freeze, and with the exception of a few snowdrop blossoms and the music of the coyotes, it seemed there wasn't a single sign of spring's approach in these Ozark hills.

Until Thursday.  The first red-winged blackbird made his appearance...

 ...and in spite of the chill,
kept up his cheery chipping as if he was quite happy to be back.  

Friday we spotted a Phoebe, returned from its winter in the south,
wagging its tail and singing its name.

A spring peeper (aka, tree frog) let out a timid peep from the pond. 

Yesterday, for the first time this season, 

we watched wild turkey gobblers displaying for the hens.

One old gobbler wanted to be sure the young ones, with their short, stubby beards, 

knew who was boss.

Even when it seems like a long wait, it's good to know there are some things you can always count on-- that as long as the earth endures, spring will come again, that somewhere the coyotes will sing, that the sun will come up in the morning, and that God's mercy will be available for a new day.

Let us acknowledge the Lord; let us press on to acknowledge him.  

As surely as the sun rises, he will appear; 

he will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rain that waters the earth.

Hosea 6:3

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;

his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness.

The Lord is good to those who wait for him,

to the soul who seeks him.

Lamentations 3:22, 23, 25



Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday