I’ve had the privilege to watch four robins be born, grown up, and fly the nest all from the comfort of my front porch this summer. I never thought I would turn into one of those people who bird watches on an evening basis, but alas, here I am, adding yet another funny quirk to my resume of personality.
I have always been a little interested in birds, mostly bird nests. For some reason I collected them as a kid, always finding the way they were made very interesting. It was not uncommon to trudge up the steps of my childhood home and see empty bird nests perched in an orderly fashion on one of my mother’s metal tiered planters. I guess I thought they would be worth some money one day – one of those curious collections much like Ariel’s under the sea.
Last summer Drew and I had a lengthy discussion about leaving the bird nests in the eve of the porch alone – and if they were to come down, don’t destroy them. I removed a few nests last year and kept the ones that were in decent condition. Then this spring, the robins returned and rebuilt their nests.
“Drew we have babies again. Outside on the porch.” I’m sure he thought, “At least its not puppies or kittens.”
One night, during the middle of a torrential downpour of rain, the mama robin covered her nest, not moving an inch to protect those babies. Then a few days later they started chirping and looking for food and the mama robin would swoop in, over my head, just a cackling as I sat on the front porch reading a book minding my own businesses. Then, a few days later I never saw the robin again – but I did see a new black and white cat creeping through the neighbor’s yard. For two days I watched in worry the babies in the nest chirping away for some food, their little necks stretched as far as they could go, waiting for their parents to return.
By day two I was so worried they would die that I went into crazy cat lady mode – how do I save them. “Drew I might have to feed these birds if the mama robin doesn’t come back.” I’m sure at that moment he wished it had been a kitten or a puppy – he knows me well enough to know that I am not going to let an animal starve. Telling myself I would give it one more full day without the sight of the parent robins, I set up a camera to watch them from my phone.
About 7 p.m., right as the sun fully set, the parent robins swooped, regurgitating worms to fill the baby bellies. I was relieved but more than anything, I was fascinated. I always wondered what the interest was in watching a live camera feed waiting for a hippo or a giraffe to give birth. For a week I watched as the parent robins swooped in and fed the babies and cleaned up their nest. I watched all four of them start to flutter their wings and find their footing on the edge of the nest. I saw one little bird – the first brave one venture out and get stuck on the eve of the porch, getting so close to the camera that he had a staring contest with it. Then, one by one, I watched them creep to the edge and fly away into the big world. As I sat on the porch, I saw one of the parent robins and one of the baby robins perched high on the power line. Another robin sang in the Bradford Pear tree.
It was a nice, peaceful break from the angst and chaos in the world lately. I’m already waiting for next Spring, to see if any of them return and see if any new babies are born on the porch.
Laura Pitts is a former Daily Mountain Eagle reporter. She now serves as director of the Scottsboro Public Library.
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June 06, 2020 at 06:00PM
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Fly away baby bird, fly away - Daily Mountain Eagle
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