LOG CABIN CHRONICLES

Not a good day for flying

FRANCES BEVENCY ERRION
Posted 06.26.06

Day after day, a diligent phoebe attempted to fashion a nest of mud and moss on the narrow beams of the open porch. I watched, as time after time the tiny bird flew to the beam with a mouthful of the special mortar. He had barely flown off for more before the mixture fell to the floor.

The following day, with the promise of damp mud from a spring shower, he was back again, having chosen the next available beam. Again, failure, for as the structure grew higher it fell to the floor.

The patient creature returned time and again, each day choosing a new beam and each time his endeavors crumbled away leaving a pattern of failure scattered across the floor.

At last, following three days of heavy rain, the bird returned with the perfect mixture and soon the new home was ready.

I never knew if the bird couple joined forces to build their home or the male completed the project as part of the pre-nuptial agreement. Regardless, following a short honeymoon, the bride set up housekeeping and filled the nursery.

Now, the male's day was filled with wild aerial darings and acrobatics in his search for tender morsels for his nest-bound spouse. Soon both parents were bringing home the groceries; that is, when they weren't housecleaning. They rudely threw all their trash out their door and onto the porch floor.

Though I spent an exhaustive week thoroughly cleaning my house for an upcoming party, I avoided the porch so as not to frighten the new family.

Today, because of repeated severe weather warnings for our area, I moved the flower boxes from the porch railing. As I carefully moved the last box I was startled as a fledgling flew up out of the flowers and over to the driveway.

No sooner did I breathe a sigh of relief to see a parent nearby and saw that the cat was indoors, than the UPS delivery truck zoomed backwards up the drive. It came to a stop just where I'd seen the baby only moments before. I could not believe the circumstances that combined to make such a terrible thing happen…

The deliveryman was duly admonished as I rushed around his truck to where I'd seen the fledgling land. All my mothering instincts were alerted. And there it was, barely two inches from the killer wheel. I scooped it up and delivered it back to the porch and into the flower box.

Many minutes passed as I watched through the window, waiting for the bird to recover. The sky grew dark with the coming storm and as the first thunder roared the tiny baby flew to the railing. It looked from side to side, the rain had begun now, and it flew off into the rain across the yard.

"Good Grief," I said, "I can't take much more of this!" Day after day, a diligent phoebe attempted to fashion a nest of mud and moss on the narrow beams of the open porch. I watched, as time after time the tiny bird flew to the beam with a mouthful of the special mortar. He had barely flown off for more before the mixture fell to the floor.

The following day, with the promise of damp mud from a spring shower, he was back again, having chosen the next available beam. Again, failure, for as the structure grew higher it fell to the floor.

The patient creature returned time and again, each day choosing a new beam and each time his endeavors crumbled away leaving a pattern of failure scattered across the floor.

At last, following three days of heavy rain, the bird returned with the perfect mixture and soon the new home was ready.

I never knew if the bird couple joined forces to build their home or the male completed the project as part of the pre-nuptial agreement. Regardless, following a short honeymoon, the bride set up housekeeping and filled the nursery.

Now, the male's day was filled with wild aerial darings and acrobatics in his search for tender morsels for his nest-bound spouse. Soon both parents were bringing home the groceries; that is, when they weren't housecleaning. They rudely threw all their trash out their door and onto the porch floor.

Though I spent an exhaustive week thoroughly cleaning my house for an upcoming party, I avoided the porch so as not to frighten the new family.

Today, because of repeated severe weather warnings for our area, I moved the flower boxes from the porch railing. As I carefully moved the last box I was startled as a fledgling flew up out of the flowers and over to the driveway.

No sooner did I breathe a sigh of relief to see a parent nearby and saw that the cat was indoors, than the UPS delivery truck zoomed backwards up the drive. It came to a stop just where I'd seen the baby only moments before. I could not believe the circumstances that combined to make such a terrible thing happen…

The deliveryman was duly admonished as I rushed around his truck to where I'd seen the fledgling land. All my mothering instincts were alerted. And there it was, barely two inches from the killer wheel. I scooped it up and delivered it back to the porch and into the flower box.

Many minutes passed as I watched through the window, waiting for the bird to recover. The sky grew dark with the coming storm and as the first thunder roared the tiny baby flew to the railing. It looked from side to side, the rain had begun now, and it flew off into the rain across the yard.

"Good Grief," I said, "I can't take much more of this!"




Copyright © 2006 Frances Bevency Errion/Log Cabin Chronicles/06.06