Sometime in June, I was hanging sheets on the line. On my clothesline I had hung an old bedspread (my neighbor works at a thrift shop) that I folded and used for a dog bed. So I let it hang there until I need it after the fleas subside a bit.
I was holding the sheet in front of me when a little rusty bird flew between it and my knees and landed on the fence. It was a Carolina wren, blessed with a melodious song and cute ways. One of their habits is to nest in full site. I've had a nest in the pipe bumper of my old truck, in boxes in the shed, between electric conduits and the wall of a shed, in a pocket of an old pair of shorts. They even nested on top of a battery in my friend's car years ago, and one nested in a flower pot hanging on my porch. They creep around on tree bark looking for insects, and forage among the leaves. They are busy, pretty little things, not much bigger than a canary. Their song is powerful and can be heard all over the neighborhood.
The closest object was the bedspread. I noticed a little bulge in the third sewn section down and carefully ran my finger down the opening. There it was! The nest was poked deeply into a hole the cheap nylon batting. It was very skillfully made of Spanish moss, lichen, moss, the skeletal remains of a nasty, invasive vine called smilax, dog hair, bits of paper. Between the nest proper was a trail of Spanish moss that served as an entrance aid. There were three or four eggs, large for such small birds.
I stood at the sink or on the back steps watching for the parents. When I was sure they weren't around, I photographed the progress of the eggs. One day there were tiny, naked, blind babies in there. I didn't go back for a while. When I did, the one in front gave me the shot with the open mouth. "FEED ME!" It had grown so much, and covered with down.
The parents were so busy bringing food and removing large fecal capsules from the nest to keep it clean.
On July 4th, the day the photo at the top was taken, I was met at the entrance to the nest by this fledgling. It backed up and suddenly burst from the nest (you can see it was fully feathered). It landed by the fence and I tried to catch it to no avail. It hopped into the brush and vines in the wooded lot nextdoor.
I sat on the steps. I felt like I was responsible for the death of this baby. Almost immediately the two parents showed up, clung to the bedspread at the entrance and looked at each other. They were astounded - or at least surprised. The last baby wasn't there! In a second they were across the fence and leading the baby away into the woods.
The nest was empty!
All of them had fledged on Independence Day!
I hear the parents often now, but they are well protected by the blackberries and in the woods. They don't bring the babies out of there. I suspect they will come back again, welcome visitors to this little acre that sits across from Sleepy Creek.
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