Of Wasps and Wrens

A paper wasp's nest on our front porch serves two purposes. Last summer, when we learned that a nest might deter mud daubers from building in the same area, I remembered that we had one somewhere. A search in the shop located it, high on a shelf, under a coating of dust. Blowing it off, I found a beautiful nest, constructed from layers of fragile insect-made paper, designed with wavy lines of browns and grays. It was attached to a branch, which made it feasible to string it up and tie it to the porch. It kept the mud daubers at bay for months. When they started coming back, I moved it a few feet, and it worked again.

After the nest had been in place for a few weeks, I noticed a hole near the top. Over the next few days, the hole grew until it was perfectly round and about the size of a small bird.

I was at the kitchen sink, looking out the window when I discovered the second purpose for the wasp's nest. A Carolina Wren flew to the nest and ducked inside the newly carved entrance hole. When he reappeared moments later and perched in the doorway, he seemed quite pleased with himself. After he flew away, I got a ladder and flashlight and peered inside. There I found a nest within a nest, built to Carolina Wren specifications with a tunnel just inside the front opening.

All winter, a pair of Carolina Wrens frequented 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.

We love it, too, that they are not afraid to build their nest near people's dwellings where we can observe them up close. But what fascinates us most is the male's melodious voice, like a young American Idol star. Whatever the reason, they always make us smile. And that's worth a lot.

A couple of months ago, the male wren brought his mate over to show off his construction. A male wren will build nests at more than one location, and the conventional wisdom is that he takes the female on a tour of his homes and lets her choose which one she likes. I thought he'd been using all his persuasive powers in favor of the wasp's nest. "Look at all these worms," he said, and "where else could you find this kind of craftsmanship?" Maybe he wasn't as persuasive as I thought he was, because they ended up raising 5 little ones in the old fish basket on the front porch, where they've nested the past several years. Now they're using the paper wasp's nest as a second home. Considering how fast the fledglings are growing, it's a good thing they have it. It's tattered by now, and it isn't going to fool the mud daubers much longer, but the birds still like it. The little ones pop in and out of their summer home like the privileged creatures they are.

Fishermen and Flowers

My husband, Don, loves to fish. He tells me that every time he makes a cast he anticipates finding a fish on the end of his line. On the rare occasions when I go with him, I never expect to hook a fish, which may have something to do with why I never catch any. It's possible that we all have some of that fisherman's optimism, just in different arenas. I have friends who, at every mealtime, assume they will whip up something delicious to eat, and every day, gourmet meals appear on their table. Go figure.

When I walk in the woods, I always presume that I'll find something special, and I'm never disappointed. It may be a whiff of verbena or light playing on the trees. Sometimes it's the 4-note song of the Chickadee or the melody of the stream, and I carry the memory of the music back home with me.

This spring has been exceptionally wet and the lake has filled the valley below us. After a rain, seasonal creeks gurgle in every hollow, and waterfalls tumble over rock ledges.

There were treasures in the woods today. A tiny orange mushroom stopped me in my tracks like a crossing guard. Brilliant Fire Pinks are blooming on the rocky slopes, their sticky stems ready to ensnare small insects that venture by.

Down near the lake, a Trillium is just ready to bloom, and I hope to be there when it happens. Trilliums are best enjoyed in the wild. They are fragile flowers and picking them may stunt their growth for years. I've noted the location so I can find it again. Not that I don't trust you all, but I'm not about to divulge my secret spot.

Maybe I have more in common with fishermen than I thought.