2520. A lesson in ornithology

What a thrill it was when a pair of pigeons began creating a nest on the ledge right outside Jackson’s window. It had one disadvantage: he could watch the progress over the coming weeks, but the weather was getting warmer and he didn’t want to frighten the pigeons by opening the window. Jackson could have reached out and touched them they were so close.

Jackson kept a detail account of progress in a notebook. They seemed to have created some sort of nest but no egg had appeared. And then wonder of wonders! The first egg appeared! A second egg appeared about a day later. The eggs were white. Both parents took turns sitting on the eggs, but the female did most of the sitting.

After 18 days of incubation two squabs hatched. The parents began feeding them. They grew quickly. After two weeks feathers began to grow. At three weeks they were fully feathered. On the 28^th day they were fully grown and ready to leave the nest, but before they did Jackson gently opened the window.

He used an old recipe that was his grandmother’s.

2119. The little grey warbler

Maybe you don’t know what a grey warbler is. I am a grey warbler. I’m a bird. I’m grey and I warble. I want to tell you what happened to me and my partner last spring.

Together we built a little nest. It was a hanging, enclosed nest. I laid four little eggs; it took me eight days to lay them. They were white with reddish speckles. It was very strange because one of the eggs was olive green. It was very pretty. I was very proud of it.

Then when they hatched, the baby from the olive egg grew a lot faster and scratched the other three out of the nest and on to the ground. We had a terrible time trying to feed the remaining baby; it was always hungry. Then when it was ready to leave the nest we realized something: it was a Shining Cuckoo. We had been duped.

I was so glad when several months after leaving the nest it took off to spend winter in Australia.

My partner and I, since the event described, made another nest. I laid three eggs this time and they all grew into the most beautiful birds you could imagine!

Click HERE to listen to the New Zealand Grey Warbler.

Click HERE to listen to the New Zealand Shining Cuckoo (not like a cuckoo at all!)

2027. It was the Rainbow gave thee birth

This is a personal reflection which could be construed as a story. Outside my window, especially in the early mornings, there are usually two or three kingfishers sitting on the fence looking down into the long grass. Suddenly one of them will swoop down, gather something, and return to the fence. Presumably they are looking for insects or lizards or worms or whatever.

I like them. At primary school we were given a poem to learn off by heart by William Henry Davies called The Kingfisher:

 It was the Rainbow gave thee birth, 
 And left thee all her lovely hues; 
 And, as her mother’s name was Tears, 
 So runs it in thy blood to choose 
 For haunts the lonely pools, and keep 
 In company with trees that weep. 

In all my years I have always wanted to find a kingfisher’s nest and never have. They peck a tunnel/cave into a dirt bank and raise a family in there. The local farmer said that at the back of his farm there is a bank where the kingfishers have their nests. And then…

Just out my window, on a clay bank, a pair of kingfishers pecked a hole! They dug a cave and presumably laid some eggs. I didn’t like to go too near lest a disturbance drove them away. Things settled down. I rarely saw the pair but could hear them calling all the time with their repetitive call. Meanwhile the bank below the hole was collecting more and more poo.

That’s all there is to see. No sight of babies, but poo poo poo.

A hole in a bank, repetitive calls, and poo poo poo. I’ve always been a bit of a romantic.

1969. Nesting season

Squaggle Quack was a duck. More particularly, he was a drake. And what a fine drake he was! Mrs. Quack was known as Mrs. Quack, although her closest friends called her Seaxburh. She was named after Queen Seaxburh, an ancient Queen of Wessex. Her maiden name was Hrafnkelsdóttir. Very few know that.

The time had come for Squaggle and Seaxburh to start a family. The first priority was to choose a site for the nest. What a shamozzles! They couldn’t agree. Squaggle wanted the nest in the long grass on the side of a road.

“It’s dangerous,” said Seaxburh. “And there’s absolutely no view. What about on the side of that hill where I can enjoy the view of the valley as I sit on the eggs for four weeks?”

The discussion raged for several days. In the end, Squaggle won. A nest was made on the side of the road, with no view, and open to the elements.

“I think we should have eleven eggs,” suggested Squaggle.

“But I had my heart set on nine eggs,” said Seaxburh. In the end, Squaggle won. Eleven eggs were laid.

Seaxburh began the marathon of sitting on eleven eggs in a cold nest next to the road. It was the most boring thing she had ever done in her life. So uninteresting! So testing! And the rain! You’ve no idea!

In the meantime, Squaggle had flown off at the beginning of the sitting session and never bothered to come back. He’d done his part.

When the eleven ducklings hatched, Seaxburh told them that their family name was Seaxburhsdóttir or Seaxburhssen. Good on you, Seaxburh!

1666. Mrs Mallard Duck’s fine clutch

Mrs Mallard Duck had found the perfect place for a nest. It was not too far from the stream where she could go to stretch her legs, and it was close enough (although a good way back) from the road to give some interest and variation to an otherwise monotonous twenty-eight days of sitting on the eggs to keep them warm.

Mr Mallard Duck wasn’t a great deal of help, although he did offer a bit of company occasionally when Mrs Duck went swimming and feeding in the stream. But goodness me! Twenty-eight days is four weeks, and four weeks can feel like four months (in fact four years) when there’s little else to do than count the cars and trucks that whizz by on the road.

But it was all worth it! After those exasperating four weeks all nine eggs hatched. And what pretty babies they were! Mrs Mallard Duck would soon take them to the stream for their first swim. But first, she must show off her brood by waddling them slap-bang down the middle of the road.

1483. A reflection on a pair of wood pigeons

Mr and Mrs Wood Pigeon were a handsome couple. Not only that, but Mrs Wood Pigeon had laid an egg. It was a smooth, white, oval egg. They were both very proud of it. Mrs Wood Pigeon sat on it first, and then Mr Wood Pigeon had his turn at keeping the egg warm. For several days they took turns at incubating their fabulous egg.

Mr Wood Pigeon had another job in between sittings. He had to make sure the area around the nest was safe from enemies. There was one smart-alec male woodpigeon on the other side of the field. He clearly had his eye on Mrs Wood Pigeon. He would strut around, and then perform spectacular aerodynamics just to show off. And he imitated everything that Mr Wood Pigeon did. If Mr Wood Pigeon flew up in the air, the smart-alec would as well. If he flew down, so did the smart-alec. It was infuriating.

“One day I’m going to teach you a good lesson”, called out Mr Wood Pigeon to the smart-alec across the way. And he did! One lovely sunny afternoon, just after Mrs Wood Pigeon had taken over the care of the egg, Mr Wood Pigeon swooped across the field in pursuit of the smart-alec. The smart-alec flew towards him at a fantastic rate. They collided. WHAM!

Mr Wood Pigeon’s neck was broken. He’d flown into his reflection in the window of the house across the field. Mrs Wood Pigeon waited and waited, but Mr Wood Pigeon never came back.

Poem 80: When birds begin to sing

When birds begin to sing
I know with joy that spring is near.
Somehow, this time of year,
the birds join up in pairs and build
nests, lay eggs in song-filled
days, feed, are never stilled lest
the fledglings leave the nest too soon.

Fresh things are everywhere!
Flowers bloom! Fruit forms! The air – it cries
new life! And butterflies!
And bees! Yet here, in my old, spent
winter of discontent
I must not not forget to turn
the page, the page, the page.

Listen to the poem read aloud HERE!

(Based on the Vietnamese Luc Bat).

1218. Fly from the nest

Gretel was a baby magpie. Her little brother was Alecsandre. They were together in a nest near the top of a pine tree. Their mother and father spent all day bringing them food.

Gretel loved it when a breeze blew the branches back and forth, back and forth. Wheeee!

And then the time came to leave the nest. Alecsandre left first. Gretel stepped up to the edge of the nest.

“No one told me we were this high up in the air,” said Gretel. “It’s terrifying.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” said Alecsandre, flying back to the nest. “Just jump.”

“Jump?” screamed Gretel. “I’ll fall to the ground and die.”

“You won’t,” said Alecsandre. “You’ll fly.”

“I can’t,” said Gretel.

Alecsandre gave Gretel a push. She flew.

“Look at me!” marvelled Gretel. “I am flying like an eagle!”

But she wasn’t flying like an eagle at all, silly. She was flying like a magpie!

“Another wretched magpie,” said Farmer Jasper aiming his gun.