Junior Birdmen

At the beginning of June, I watched as a cute robin couple constructed a nest right outside our kitchen window--they chose a cozy spot up on the rafters just underneath the roof of our covered porch. I crossed my fingers that their nest would last. In the past, other robin families have lost their homes to nasty wind, predator birds, and other natural disasters. For the few days before our trip, I would watch those robins take turns snuggling into the perfectly woven bowl of twigs, grass, and twine.

I was so excited to come home from our west coast adventure to discover that the nest lasted during our two weeks away! The robins' eggs had hatched in our absence and for a week I could only see four beaks poking up from the nest for most of the day. They were alone a lot because that mama robin was constantly finding food for them--she was so good at picking worms and other bugs right out of my lawn. Consequently those baby birds grew fast and soon I could hear their begging and pleading each and every time the female returned with their snack.

Frankly I felt like I could totally relate to that mother bird. Mealtime and snacktime can be completely exhausting, and I feel like we are constantly in a phase of mealtime or snacktime. Sometimes I get impatient and mutter very impatiently "be PATIENT with me" and very uncalmly say "calm down". I admit I sometimes look forward to the day when the twins can make their own quesadillas or refill their own cup. But over the coarse of one week I watched what happens to the begging chirps of hungry baby birds--they simply disappear.

One Monday we returned from the library to discover that one of the birds was gone! I panicked. Did he fall out? Was it too soon? Is he OK?
But three impatient chirpers still remained and I still enjoyed them as I rinsed dishes, strained spaghetti, and completed other common tasks I do at my sink as I monitor meal and snacktime behind me.

Then on Tuesday, Junior Birdman #2 hopped right out of the nest while I was chopping onions for chili. He fluffed his feathers, stretched his neck, hopped up and down the short length of rafter. I was practically yelling to him through the closed window: "don't jump until your mom comes back to see you do this!" If there had been a way for me to keep him up there, I would have. But with my own charges eating at the table and my own oniony hands, I watched helplessly as he jumped to the deck below. He hopped around for a few minutes and then flapped away.
Two remained--Jr. Birdman #3 and Jr. Birdman #4. By this point their mom was still coming regularly with protein sources (and I mean every seven or eight minutes), but I had noticed that she wasn't sleeping in the nest anymore. I suppose I should have felt comforted that she was slowly separating herself, but instead I wondered if she feels like I do at 7:30 p.m. when my five-year old comes downstairs for the fifth time. I say "I've loved you and hugged you all day and this is it, the final hug. It's bedtime and you need to go to YOUR bed."

For three days those two little birds stuck together, and then one day we came home after a walk to discover that the nest was empty. No more begging for worms. No more fighting for food. And, you know, I've really missed the chatter.

This past week marked the completion of my thirty-first year! On my birthday I set a personal goal for my thirties related to what I witnessed in our robin neighbors' nest over the coarse of just six days. (That nest emptied so quickly!) It comes from the writing of Olive Ann Burns, author of Cold Sassy Tree, and quoted in Mitten Strings for God, by Katrina Kenison. Olive Ann, by the way, had been a homemaker her whole life. I have a feeling she's another mother robin like me and like many of you and like my American Robin in my backyard. I feel like she knows what we're dealing with.

"I have learned to quit speeding through life, always trying to do too many things too quickly, without taking the time to enjoy each day's doings. I think I always thought of real living as being high. I don't mean on drugs--I mean real living was falling in love, or when I got my first job, or when I was able to help somebody, or watch my baby get born, or have a good morning of really good writing. In between the highs I was impatient--you know how it is--life seemed so Daily. Now I love the dailiness. I enjoy washing dishes. I enjoy cooking, I see my father's roses out the kitchen window, I like picking beans. I notice everything--birdsongs, the clouds, the sound of wind, the glory of sunshine after two weeks of rain. These things I took for granted before."

During my thirties I've decided to embrace Dailiness as a comforting attribute of a predictable, stable, and loving home. That's what I am working to build, after all. I wonder how long my list of Dailiness will become--I wonder how short I can keep it. I wonder which things would be so comforting to myself and my family as to merit being added to my Daily list.

And for now, while my hungry "starving" Junior Birdmen are still in my nest, I'll be grateful for the dailiness of my work as the mother bird.

J at age 2 and a half

The Twins at age 14 months