LEAVING HOME

By C. Bernard Obie

September 22, 2013

It was a clear, sunny and hot July morning when the parents, two eastern bluebirds, decided that the time was right. What little dew that had fallen during the night had already dried up, and the sun was just topping the tall, arching pecan tree on the north side of the old, white, clapboard house covered in a faded green tin roof in the middle of the small, neat yard surrounded by colorful borders of tall flowers and fragrant herbs. To the south, at the edge of the road, stood an old elm tree showing its age with gray lichen on its bark, and a typically wide canopy of limbs and leaves that sheltered the front porch of the old house from the brightness of the summer sun. Beyond the western border at the edge of the yard curved a wide lane with neatly clipped grass that separated the yard and border from a small, curving field of half-grown purple-hulled peas, and hugged its contours. Across from the pea field was another lane, at the edge of which was an old chicken coop made of unpainted, notched and fitted pine logs, and a rusty tin roof surrounded by a tall welded- wire fence supported by cedar posts. On one of the posts, about six feet high and facing towards the morning sun, sat the home of the bluebirds.

The young bluebird couple had chosen well. This was their first attempt at building a nest and raising a family. Rather late in the year for bluebirds, the male had selected the man-made nest box across from the pea field, and, after inspecting the home, with excited chirps and whistles from atop the edge of the roof, called to his mate about the find. The house was a natural color – light brown front and sides with a dark brown, metal roof. The entry hole was the right size for bluebirds to enter, but was too small for larger, more aggressive starlings, jays, and grackles. It also had a square metal plate surrounding the entry hole to prevent ambitious squirrels from enlarging it for their own occupancy in the chill of winter. The rectangular box was made of made of pine boards, and measured twelve inches tall, eight inches wide, and eight inches deep. Ventilation and airflow was provided by three one- half inch diameter holes in each side near the roof. The female bluebird made the final inspection, and after evicting the bugs and spiders using the home as a hideout, indicated her approval by bringing in the first materials to start the nest-building process.

Together they brought natural materials for their new nest: moss from the nearby woods, horsehair from the paddock across the way, small twigs, dried grasses, and strings. The foundation of the small, neat structure was made of small twigs interlaced in a circular fashion, and knitted together with the string, grass, and hair. The inside of the structure was softened with mosses, grasses, and down from the mother’s underbody. Into this sturdy bowl – shaped nest was deposited two small, light-blue, oval-shaped eggs. For the next twenty-one days the mother bird sat on the eggs, keeping them warm with her body heat, waiting for them to hatch. The father bird brought her food throughout the day, and sweetly sing to her, at once reassuring her of his presence, and warning other blue birds to stay away.

After three weeks, the life in the eggs stirred, the shells cracked open, and the two babies wet, naked, and helpless, came into the world. Keeping the babies warm and dry was still quite important, especially during the night’s cooler temperatures. During the day both parents worked tirelessly to find and provide food for the always – hungry youngsters.

Days passed, and the young bluebirds grew in size and strength. They were now covered in small, fuzzy feathers that were beginning to resemble the blue and orange of their parents.

As the young birds grew older and stronger, they became more restless, and began spreading and beating their wings inside the nest box, scrambling up the ridged front wall, and jostled for position to peer out the entry hole. They stared at the bright world outside the box and beyond. They looked for their parents returning with food, listened to the calls of other birds, and heard the endless and mysterious song of the cicadas in the trees along the edge of the forest. And so the parents decided that the time had come for the fledglings to leave the nest.

On this important day, there was no usual breakfast offering from the parents to the young birds in the nest box. Instead, the parents took turns hovering in front of the entry hole, calling to the chicks in encouraging chirps and clucks, then flew a short distance away to perch on near-by fence posts or pea stalks, where they continued to call and encourage, then hovered at the doorway again.

The young took turns peeking out the nest- box entry hole, watching their parents and listening to their calls, then retreated back into the familiar semi-darkness of their life-long home. This went of for almost two hours, interrupted by an occasional concession of food by the parents, or a short flight over the pea field to the colorful zinnia-filled border, to call from a distance.

Other local birds – two cardinals, a mockingbird, and several finches – interested in the state of affairs, sat perched in the young trees and shrubs at the edge of the woods near the blue bird’s home, watching for predators, hawks, and other intruders. The mockingbird suddenly swooped down on a wayward squirrel leaving his forest home to find ripe pears on the tree at the edge of the yard beyond the pea field. The bird was almost on top of him before her sharp cry and beating wings startled him to scamper full speed back into the forest and up a sweet gum tree, chattering his annoyance. He wanted ripe pears, not baby birds, but the watchful birds were taking no chances.

Finally, it happened. Maybe it was hunger that inspired the necessary courage. Maybe the young bird below bumped the one above that was peeking out the hole and pushed it out. Whatever the motivation, first one and then the other fledgling half flew and half fell out the bird house doorway, and fluttered to the ground at the edge of the pea field. The parents went to them immediately, hovered briefly overhead just above the peas with loud, excited cries, then flew off and quickly returned with food and soft clucks to reward and comfort the young.

Now that the young birds were outside the nest box, the world seemed extremely large. It was so bright, and full of sounds, shapes, colors and movement! They felt the cool breeze for the first time ruffling their feathers, the same as it did the leaves of the trees above and the grass below. They felt their small bodies buoyed by it and stretched their wings as they hopped around, and instinctively knew of its power to assist their unfolding ability to fly. They stared with interest as a large, yellow and black swallowtail butterfly floated by on the breeze, and then, beyond her bright winged image, a small group of dragonflies with lime-green bodies and clear wings edged in black darted back and forth in pursuit of a meal of gnats and mosquitoes.

Under the watchful eyes of their parents, and with constant feeding, the young fledglings had grown stronger during their first day. They still could not fly very well, so they walked and hopped across the pea field and to the edge of the yard as they followed their parents’ lead. In due course they left the cover of the tall field of peas and crossed the exposed, green clipped lawn, then the stony roughness of the gravel road, and finally approached a small grove of young red-cedar trees near a cultivated area featuring stone-framed raised beds.

It was twilight, with small brown bats on the wing overhead looking for flying insects, and the beginning of a dangerous time for birds in general, and especially so for young fledglings. The cedar trees, with their thick, evergreen foliage and abundant, steel-blue colored juniper berries were a favorite roost site for many types of birds because of the food and the protection it afforded from night-time predators. One young tree was leaning over as it grew, and its top branches mingled with the lower branches of other trees. The parent bluebirds, through calls, chirps and clucks, instructed the fledglings to climb this tree’s leaning trunk into the thick, protective canopy to rest and wait for the night to pass with its’ dangers. Spreading their wings for balance as they climbed the leaning trunk, then hopping from branch to branch, they followed their parents to their roosting destination.

Perched on a limb in a tight, secure space in the center of the cedars’ innermost branches, the bluebird family dozed and rested from the day’s excitement. Other bird families also used the grove as a roosting and food site, and all kept a watchful eye for predators. An alarm call from any would serve as a warning for all, and security was increased in this way.

Eyelids fluttered awake at the booming voice of the great horned owl as it hunted for mice and rabbits near the edge of the woods across from the pea field. The young bluebirds had heard his voice before, but never this loud – always before it was muffled by the walls of their small home. They peeped their nervousness but were reassured by their parents’ calm repose. They were safe in the thick tangle of branches and dense foliage.

A wild, hungry housecat padded silently under the trees where the birds roosted, pausing to sniff around and look up in the trees. From past experience he knew it was futile to climb the trees in pursuit of the birds but had sometimes found a fledgling that had lost its balance and had fallen to the ground as an easy meal. Finding none, he moved on. In turn, an opossum, a raccoon, a field rat, and a stray dog all came by the roost on the way to somewhere else, and had no clue of the birds roosting above. The dark night with its sliver of a moon, countless bright stars, and gentle, warm breeze lulled the tired, young birds to sleep.

Copyright September 22, 2013

By C. Bernard Obie

All rights reserved