By Kate
Collins
No rest for
the weary postpartum mother bird
as she flies
off to find another tiny morsel.
The two
demanding mouths in the nest remind me of my own brood
Always hungry
Always needing
something
Always
chirping at me.
She designed
her nest to fit in the comfortable space between the downspout and the red
brick of our house.
Not too tight
but secure
Safe from the
rain
Safe from the
wind
and out of
reach of predators - squirrel, cat and human alike.
My boys and I
watched in early June as she flew back and forth
hundreds of
times
collecting
bits of plants to weave together.
I love the
long pieces of dried prairie grass that hang down from the nest
They blow in
the wind just a bit.
The nest is
high enough that we can't see in
The little
boys and I speculate
One egg?
Two eggs?
Maybe more.
And then the
back and forth stops.
She sits.
She wiggles
down in the nest for the first test of patience
and she waits.
Just when it
seems that the eggs have won the stand off
she flies away
only to return
with a tiny bit of a worm
dropped into
the nest.
And she sits
some more.
The flights
out and back become more and more frequent
and it seems
to me that she is constantly on the hunt for food,
because she
is.
Every time I
step out the front door
I only have to
wait for a moment to see two little tufted heads pop up
with their
eyes squeezed shut
and mouths
open almost 180 degrees.
It is as if
their jaws aren't hinged.
They cheep and
chirp when they sense their momma close.
Both babies (I
imagine them to be boys - brothers) clamoring for more food, more attention.
I ask my own
boys, "what do you think she is saying to them?"
My oldest
answers, "she is telling them to take turns".
And it seems
he is right.
She feeds one
and then flies off in search of more tidbits of food for the other
Back and
forth.
We watch them
get bigger each day.
More feathers
Bigger heads
Stretching up
and out of the nest just a bit more than the day before.
And then one
day while I am holding my own baby and watching his big brothers in the yard
one of the baby
birds gets up over the edge of the nest.
He tumbles out
and catches himself on the very edge of the downspout.
I watch him
climb back into the nest,
apparently not
quite ready to make the jump out into the unprotected world.
He shakes his
head and ruffles up his feathers and settles back into his safe little home.
His mother
didn't see this little daredevil make his first move,
or maybe she
was watching from afar with her heart in her throat.
When she comes
back, she drops a grub in his mouth
as if nothing
has happened.
I feel
solidarity with this momma robin,
The work of
keeping our children safe and fed,
of helping
them grow,
of giving them
a safe place to try new things,
and the
courage to eventually set out on their own.
And one day
both little birds are gone.
I haven't seen
the momma return either.
The nest is
quiet,
the grass is
blowing.
The now
adolescent birds are out testing their wings
and the mother
is enjoying her success...
with a
little sun on her back,
wind in her
feathers,
and perhaps,
her very
own worm.
