My husband, Jordan, and I loved watching our resident Mother Robin building her nest within the supports beams below our upper deck. We secretly observed her construction project from the bay window that encircles Jordan’s desk in our lower level garden room.
Mother Robin would gather dry grasses from our perennial gardens, lint from the pachysandra garden underneath the dryer vent and twigs from the apple trees . The custom fit Mother Robin created by mudding her nest was fascinating. She would pack the inside of her nest with mud, then hop inside and wiggle her body until she formed the appropriate shaped incubator for her eggs.
We faithfully watched her incubate her eggs, only leaving when she needed to nourish herself. A few weeks ago we delighted to the first “chirps of the hungry.” At first, we could only see tiny translucent orange beaks, as Baby Robins, #1, #2 and #3 squealed for their “on demand” feedings. Soon their tiny “bad down day” head appeared.
We were entertained as their rubber-band necks began straining towards their parents in search of their plunging beaks, which were laden with worm formula and ready to drain their fill their babies’ squawking funnels. This morning, I noticed that Mother Robbin could hardly fit on her customized nest.
As I was preparing to weed my vegetable garden, Mother and Father Robbin scolded me for treading near their citadel. Suddenly, both red breasted parents transformed themselves into WWII Stuka Junker German dive bombers. I ran for safety and began weeding my herb garden by hand. That distance seemed to calm their concerns.
When walking on our lower deck to retrieve my Grandpa’s Weeder, I discovered a Baby Robin hopping around the lower deck. I scooped up my weeder and ran towards the upper deck stairs as Mother Robin began another “Stukda Attack.”
I decided I needed a safer place to work and began cleaning the bird bath in my upper River Birch Tree Garden. About 10 minutes later, I heard a racket in our backyard. Watching from a safe distance I observed Mother Robin attempting to steer one of her fledging out of danger in center of our yard and toward the safety of the surrounding trees. That Baby Robin seemed to be confused or was an “Orange Bird Brain” and did not want to follow the rules. #1 was determined hop in the opposite direction.
It was captivating to watch Mother Robin patiently circle behind her baby and chirp “Yellow Bird Brain” instructions. Then she would give the baby some space to find its own way. However, if Baby Robin #1 ignored her and kept hopping in another direction, her chastising chirps alerted Father Robin to escort the baby towards its mother.
I observed Baby Robin #2 flitting across the backyard. When that fledgling landed on the on the lawn, Father Robin would swoop down and refuel his offspring with a mouthful of worms. Once refueled #2 continued his airborne adventures.
I was concerned about baby #3. However, to my delight I saw it strafing the grass, enjoying it’s freedom and “getting air” from the winds gusts that were announcing an imminent rainstorm.
This entertaining and educational Sunday morning “Robin Family Sit-com” reminded me of a poem that was given to me many years ago. It reads:
“The most important gifts your can give your children are roots and wings.”
My rendition is:
A Lesson From The Birds and The Trees!
The most important gifts you can give your children are roots and wings…
If your cut the roots the tree will die. If you clip their wings the birds won’t fly!
Sheila N. Glazov ~ Author ~ Speaker ~ Educator
Please, visit my website to learn more about your Brain Colors, my books and workshops.
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Photo credits: Sheila Glazov and the Robin Family
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