In light of the damaging weather we'd experienced, I was happy to provide a safe haven for this mama bird and her eggs. Because she built her nest on a ladder hanging horizontally in our carport, I was able to watch her secretly from our enclosed porch; I routinely checked on her as she incubated her eggs. She was always aware of my presence when I needed to go to and from my car, but she only occasionally abandoned her nest to perch on the eletrical wiring overhead.
I was mesmerized as new bird life emerged before my eyes. When the eggs hatched, the baby birds had long, skinny necks--there were four of them--that peaked over the rim of the nest. They had beaks that never seemed to close, and their heads were too big for their bodies so they looked like bobblehead dolls. Likewise, I noticed that two different birds shared in searching out and feeding worms to their nestlings. Why was I so surprised that a second bird, I'm guessing the daddy, would play a role in furthering the nestlings' development?
After a couple of weeks, the babies were so big that two of them had to sit outside the nest, on the ladder. And one got so big all of a sudden that on first glance I thought it was one of its parents! The baby birds didn't have any orange on them yet like their mama and daddy. (From what I could figure out, they were American robins.) But they were beautiful, and I was sad to see them go.
The babies have flown the nest by now. I saw one of them, the biggest one, not long afterward in our backyard on a piece of patio furniture. I don't know which one of us was more surprised: I jumped back frightened, and the once-baby bird flew off squawking. I see the parents daily, as they scavenge our yard for sustenance.
This spring I became a silent observer of the miracle of bird life and all that it entails. Now if I can only convince them to come back and stay again next year...
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