Watchful Eye

What would spring be without baby birds?

Carolina Wrens fledged a month ago from the basket on our front porch. For a couple of weeks, they used porch as a landing pad and mess hall and, unfortunately, a latrine. They were just adorable enough to put up with the mess.

Their tail feathers, at first barely discernible, grew until, at a glance, it was hard to distinguish the little ones from their parents. But when they flew, it was obvious who the flight instructors were.

After a fortnight, the parents were still doing the feeding. 

While the fledglings waited for their parents, they rested in the shade of the flowerbed... 

examined new garden plants... 

and did their wing exercises.

• If it seemed that their parents had forgotten them, they emitted heartbreaking chirps.

• 
  

• 
  

When a bug breakfast was finally served a la carte, they devoured it like Eggs Benedict by a shipwreck survivor.

In past years the birds vacated the porch immediately after they fledged. It may have something to do with the fact that I used to sit on the porch as the baby birds surfaced from their basket. The first year, the fledglings surfaced from the basket and landed on my lap, much to the consternation of their parents. I was probably about as welcome as a fox at a frog's picnic. This year we tried to allow them space, coming in and out of the house from the back door, and we saw them frequently for about two weeks.

The porch is also home to Eastern Phoebes, who have attached their nest high on the wall near the front door. The birds were making frequent visits, but for a long time, we didn't see any evidence of new life. After the Carolina Wrens left, I was curious enough to get out the ladder and climb up to check out the nest. It contained three grasshopper-sized bits of fluff and one egg. The next morning there was an empty egg on the bricks under the nest. 

Now, two of the nestlings perch in the nest, observing the world outside their porch. Their heads are already more significant than the egg from which they emerged.

None of these birds is aware of the crisis in the world around them. While fears abound, five little Carolina Wrens pecked their way out of their shells, grew, and learned to fly, and the Phoebes are burgeoning in their nest, all under the watchful eye of their Heavenly Father. We can rest assured that He sees us, too.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Bird Bliss

Lately, a pair of Carolina Wrens have been frequenting our front porch, eating the dried mealworms we put out for them. In harsh winters, supplemental food can make a difference in their survival. Our motives, however, are not entirely altruistic. We just like to watch them.

What is it that so captivates us with Carolina Wrens? On pogo stick legs, their movements are quick and unpredictable, like chipmunks with wings. With their tails held high over their rounded frames, they nearly always seem happy. But what fascinates me most is the male's melodious voice, like an adolescent American Idol star. Whatever the reason, they always make us smile. And that's worth a lot.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Anticipation

From my vantage point at the kitchen window this morning, I watch a small feather as it hangs over the front porch, then floats out over the yard, catching an updraft, and drifts toward the sky.  I wonder idly if it was from a Carolina wren.  They've been out of sight the last couple of days after some intensive nest building last week.

The site the birds have chosen is one they have used before, an old fishing creel, hanging from a pillar on the front porch, clearly visible from the window over our kitchen sink.  The top of the basket has a Carolina-wren sized hole, which makes a perfect entrance for those little bundles of energy.  This year, they've decorated it with dried flowers.

Both of the birds were involved in the building project. They flitted from the bricks to the woodpile,  which was only a short hop from their home site.

Last year, the two of them started in on this nest, and it was derailed by the titmice, but the way the wrens were going at it last week, it looked like they had put all of that behind them.

I've told myself that I wasn't going to count my wrens before they hatched this year.  Still, I catch myself figuring; the incubation period is 12-16 days, and the young leave the nest 12-14 days after they are hatched.  It's possible, if everything goes well, that we could see fledglings, at the earliest, on April 29th.

In the meantime, I need to reign in my expectations and be grateful for each day's wonders, like the little feather floating up to the sky, destination unknown.

Linking with Rurality Blog Hop,
Wild Bird Wednesday
and Texture Tuesday

Forest Wrens

Rain fell last night and through the morning.  The oaks and hickories, their bare limbs aching for spring, drank in the moisture, as a Carolina Wren's lilting song drifted through the moist air.

Two wrens have slept in their shelter on our front porch the past two nights, after being absent for much of the winter.  It could be a good sign.  Last year, their nest building started a week earlier than this, but who am I to cast stones?  Seems like I'm behind on everything, too.  We're just hoping, after last year's unfortunate events, that they'll choose to nest again within sight of the kitchen sink.

In the meantime, they're residing in the forest in this piece, and also on a mug in my Zazzle shop.  Check it out here, if you like.

Linking with World Bird Wednesday