It was a stressful time, but they've left the nest

Earlier this month, just as I was about to douse it good with water, I discovered that a robin had made itself at home in one of the ferns hanging on my front porch. Not only had it constructed its ingeniously built nest, but had also filled it with four beautiful blue eggs. I put down the water can and naturally grabbed a camera. That was the start of my encounter with the robins I would come to "know" for the next couple of weeks.

My first quandary was how to keep the fern alive when I couldn't water it without flooding the robin's nest. I posted the picture of the egg filled nest on Facebook and asked this very question. My friend Lisa said I might have to sacrifice the fern to save the babies. I decided she was right.

At first the mother robin (I Googled, and yes, it is the mother who most usually incubates the eggs) would take flight every time the front door opened. As time went on, she either became more determined to stay put or learned to trust that I wasn't going to do anything more than take pictures, and she would sometimes stay on the nest even when I came very close.

When she did leave, she only flew as far as the closest branch of the oak tree near the porch or perhaps hopped onto the flag pole just feet away and scolded me until I left her claimed territory. The daddy bird would rush to the scene as soon as he heard her fussing. He was pretty brave and tried to boss me around, too, sometimes even dive bombing me. I calmly talked to them both and assured that all I wanted was a quick picture or two and to take care of my other ferns hanging nearby. It seemed reasonable that as long as I was providing a porch roof over their heads, I could make some of the rules.

On Mother's Day evening, I discovered that three of the eggs had hatched. The naked little things, with beaks that stretched open at whatever came near the nest, kept both parents busy feeding. It was a dangerous time to be an earthworm in the Rowe yard. I wished the mother robin a Happy Mother's Day and told her that three out of four wasn't bad.

Within a day or so, I was delighted to see that egg number four had also hatched and all were thriving.

I continued to check them daily and to record their rapid progress through pictures. As fast as they were growing, I knew my brief presence each day, although it made the parent birds nervous, wasn't jeopardizing their development. I assured the parents that I was harmless and was actually doing them a big favor by keeping Gary, my cat, locked in the sun room the entire time.

I continued my daily observations for the next couple of weeks. By this time the nest was bursting at the seams with four healthy fledglings that were packed in like sardines. I knew it was only a matter of time before the inevitable would happen. I couldn't help thinking how defenseless and vulnerable the young ones would be for a while and I hoped they would survive.

They took flight, actually more like hopping and flying at the same time, for the first time last Saturday. I was glad they waited until I was home for the going away party. Canyon, my three year old grandson, and I watched them leave. Both parent birds were beside themselves with concern when the babies first hopped overboard. I couldn't help but think of all the parents of recent high school graduates that were sharing these same feelings.

My first instinct was to "help" by gathering the fledglings and returning them to the nest, but I resisted. Nature's process was at work and my assistance was unneeded.

I snapped a few parting pictures and then left them alone. By the next day things in the front yard had calmed down and the birds had presumably moved on. The fern, which survived in miraculously good condition, has now had a long awaited drink. Gary, the cat, will remain indoors for a few more days, just to be on the safe side.

We're empty nesters once again.

Annette Rowe is a freelance writer from rural Gentry and a speech-language pathologist at Siloam Springs High School. She may be reached by email at [email protected] expressed are those of the author.

Editorial on 05/28/2014