July 18th, 2014

A Case of Most Unfortunate Timing

Perhaps you have wondered how the bachelor wren I wrote about in early June has fared? 

As a result of his persistent wooing, I had the delight of watching both a He and She-Wren complete a nest in the gourd hanging outside my kitchen window.  The wren singing went steadily on for weeks. I was nearing wren-song fatigue. There is no correlation between He-Wren's tiny size and the amplifier-inspired volume of his melodies.  One morning while outside weeding, because that's what all gardeners are doing in mid-June, I heard something else-- the unmistakable peeping of hungry baby wrens. Success!

I enjoyed the view from my vantage point at the kitchen window. He and She-wren flew repeatedly into the gourd on feeding missions.  Wrens are impressively adept at catching meals.  I was mentally exhausted for them, recalling  my own motherhood experiences--  the feedings that at one time blended endlessly together. I encouraged them with blatant self-interest, "Catch the mosquitos. Feed them mosquitos".  Knowing that fledging was imminent, I was camera ready.

Then we went on vacation.  Two weeks of vacation. 

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I imagine She-Wren viewed the serendipitous lack of humans as perfect timing. Sadly, when we returned, the birds were gone. I missed their maiden flights.  I missed the money-shot photos of tiny heads poking curiously out the entrance of the gourd.   I missed knowing with certainty that they left the nest successfully, unharmed by the neighbor's patrolling cat.  I checked carefully;  no evidence to suggest a malicious event.  

So, that is the end of the wren story. In an ironic bit of timing, my son is away at camp this week. After all of my wren writings, I especially feel the empty nest.  It's awfully quiet. 

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