I was getting dinner on the table one night (doesn't that make me sound like a 1950's housewife? Ha!) when I saw my husband pick up my older son and hoist him up to look out the big picture window in our dining room.
What is it? I questioned. They were too busy chatting in low voices to answer so I got closer and repeated my question. A nest they said. We've got a nest in the tree.
Huh? Where? They pointed- Right there! I still didn't see it. I squinted and I peeked and I peered and then- There it was. A perfectly round nest tucked deep in the branches of the looming pine tree that sits right outside our window. Huh! I went about the business of getting dinner on the table {snicker-in my pearls and heels...} wondering how my husband even had time to notice such a thing.
Then the next night, before dinner, I heard my son squawking about a mama bird! A mama bird! I rushed to the window and sure enough, mama robin was sitting in the nest. My heart went soft. I can recall, not in great detail, but I know I've seen a bird's nest before, but always an empty one, never one so close. Never one with a mama sitting tall and proud on her eggs. She faced the window. Serious and stoic and determined. Huh. I felt proud of her. I felt honored that she choose our tree and a location where we could watch over her. Even my youngest fell in love. CHICKEN! He would shout and point to the window. We would nod our heads. Yes. Mama chicken. The details were not important.
Each morning before I left for work I would check the nest. Sometimes mama bird was there, but often times she was gone. Had she packed it up? Grown tired of her nest? Moved on? Run away? Was she unfulfilled with all this waiting? I would think about her during the day and would look for her when I got home. She always turned up. She knew.
It was only a few days time before a nest check revealed four scrawny, furry robins. They didn't look like robins, they looked like furry toothpicks with beaks. All pointing up to where mama bird should be.
We waited and when we spotted mama bird flying low into the tree we would run over to see what delicacies she was delivering. I used to watch vigilantly to count beaks- one, two, three, four. Phew. It was hard to tell for sure. One head would pop up while another ducked down. They stepped all over each other in that little nest. Those baby birds, they grew, so fast. So amazingly fast.
Soon there were clearly two left. Two spotted, sweet robins in the nest right outside my own. I didn't let myself wonder where two had gone. As my own boys, my two little birdies, were eating cereal one morning I watched the robins fluttering their wings and strutting around. I actually saw one step outside the next and totter his way to the end of a branch. I held my breath. Amazing. He turned around and hobbled back. That night, he was gone.
Then there was one. I knew it wouldn't be long. The next day he too, was flapping and teetering and couldn't sit still when I said good morning. I pressed my hand to the window. I wished him luck and told him he could always come back when the rains poured or if he needed to rest his wings.
We mama birds, we love a visit.
That day he flew away. I wished I could have seen it. I'm glad I didn't see it.
I miss them. I miss watching this beautiful ritual of life unfold in my front yard.
I think of all the mama birds who have had babies fly away and I wonder, does she think about them? Our mama bird? Does she know it's just the way it's supposed to be?
Devastation and comfort all wrapped up in a pretty blue shell.
