Bird nests

 A few weeks ago, Jim and I were having a ‘homework party,’ where we share his office together, each working on their own projects. I saw a flash of orange and brown outside and realized that a robin had just flown to the second-story window ledge. I had seen a nest a few days earlier, from the driveway, but I couldn’t see inside.

When the mother bird flew away, we went to the window and saw four ‘robin’s-egg-blue’ eggs nestled in the grass and twig nest. It brought back sweet childhood memories of my dad lifting me up with his strong arms so I could peer into a nest and marvel at the tiny blue eggs.

Jim was concerned we would frighten the mother, so he put a packing box on the floor and later closed the blinds. We worried that she would abandon the nest, but next day I saw her again. Some days later Jim peeked around the blinds and found an empty nest. We can only guess that something attacked the nest.

A few days later I was looking out my bedroom window at the three-story evergreen tree next to the house. I saw a blue jay nesting. I was shocked: I’d never seen a blue jay’s nest. It gave me a warm feeling about blue jays.

I haven’t always had a warm feeling about them. I’ve always enjoyed their bright-blue plumage. But I had an encounter, probably 25 years ago or more, that left a bitter taste in my mouth.

A friend of ours from church had ‘rescued’ a nest of  three baby sparrows which had dropped out of a tree in her yard. She didn’t have a safe place to put it, so she asked me to foster the birds. I put them in our enclosed front porch and we watched them. As they grew feathers I knew it was time to let them fly. I took the nest out to our yard and watched. One of the fledglings jumped out of the nest and soared away. A second followed suit. But one sat on the ground.

“Go on!” I urged, to no avail. It sat in the driveway, inert.

Then a blue jay swooped down and caught the tiny baby. Shocked, I shouted and shooed it away, but the damage was done: the little sparrow lay dead on the asphalt.

Determined not to reward the jay for its cold-blooded greed, I got a garden spade and dug a hole near a tree where grass doesn’t grow.  I cried bitterly as I dug the grave and gently lowered the bird down. The blue jay had been so cruel, so heartless.

But here, outside my bedroom window, I saw a blue jay lavishing maternal care on her three babies. The day that it rained all day I saw her on the nest, keeping the nestlings dry.

Watching the babies grow has been delightful. A few days ago I looked out and saw a flash of wing, with the distinctive white and black markings on grey instead of blue. The baby nearest my window was stretching halfway out of the nest and spreading its grey and white wings. His nestmate followed suit. I wondered if they would fly away, but it was just a test run. They soon settled back into the nest.

Yesterday morning the heads and chests were well above the top of the nest. They were growing fast. I could see that soon flight will be imperative: they wouldn’t fit in the nest. Just two days ago only their heads were visible. They sat perfectly still, each looking out in a different direction.

This morning the nest was empty. I checked during the day, but they are gone.

Having a tiny blue jay family outside my bedroom window heals my heart of bitterness. It is part of nature, of the environment we cherish, to have predators and prey. If every songbird baby survived, the earth would soon be filled to overflowing and the food supply would run out. Birds by the thousands would die of starvation. Nature has built in restraints: food for the sparrow, blue jay, hawk, owl, and eagle.