Empty Nest Syndrome (the real thing)

It all started on a lovely spring day in early May, after a grocery shopping trip. As I approached my front porch, arms laden with packages, I was greeted by a frantic bird flying across my path. "What's her problem?" I wondered. It only took a few more trips into the house for me to realize that the bird was not just flying ACROSS my path, but was actually flying DIRECTLY AT me as I came to the front door. Upon closer examination, my suspicions were confirmed.

A mother bird had built her nest right inside the heart-shaped wreath which adorned my front door. As I stood on my toes to peer into the nest, I could discern three tiny brown-speckled eggs.

Cute.

So.....what do I do?

The wreath was perfect for nesting. The point of the heart was filled with that crafty mossy stuff, partially concealed behind some big pink artificial flowers. It made a lovely soft bed, several inches deep, and sheltered from sun, rain, wind, and predators. I'm sure the mother bird felt absolutely brilliant with her find....she hardly had to add anything to this prefab luxury hotel. What a surprise it must have been to her to have her new-found haven swinging in and out, in and out, every time one of the two legged giants approached. Hmmmm.

It would have been easy to ditch the eggs and remove the nest. Yeah, easy for the heartless. It would have been easy to move the nest to a different location. Yeah, and have the mother bird never return. Three warm little eggs getting cold, life slowly waning..... Nah.

It would have been easy to leave things as they were, wreath and nest on the door---except that next time I opened the door might be the time that three little speckled eggs would fall plop, plop, plop onto my foyer floor. Which would pretty much make me a murderer.

I looked online and determined that my little friend was a "Carolina Wren." The brown speckled eggs and the behavior were a perfect match. Carolina Wrens are indigenous to this area, and often build nests on or around human homes. For example, the article said that if you left a boot out on the porch, a wren just might build a nest in it.

Keep in mind that it was one week before Mother's Day, and I was preparing a Sacrament Meeting talk about supporting mothers in the important and arduous task of nurturing their children. OK, I had to take things into my own hands.

I put a sign up on the front door, which said, "Caution! Bird's Nest! A mother bird has built her nest in the above wreath. Use back door if possible."



(See three eggs inside wreath, pictured above)

The only problem with this plan was that people would still come to the front door, scaring off the mother, before they could read the sign. So, more drastic measures had to be taken. Now, I strung a rope across the front porch entrance, and hung another sign. This one really meant business. "Sshhhh! Babies peeping! Birds are nesting in our wreath! Please use alternate entrance."

That pretty much stopped all traffic to our front door. It was so successful that even the UPS man left packages in our driveway instead of on our front porch. In fact he left one of them right by the trash, and I almost carried it to the curb that night!

Even though the signs on the outside were successful, it was easy to forget about the nest when you were inside the house and wanted to exit. More than once I swung my front door open on my way out, forgetting about the precious cargo on the wreath. So, we put some bright blue tape over the interior lock, and ANOTHER sign, to remind us NOT to leave the house by the front door.

For the next several weeks, all visitors--home teachers, JillSaidSew clients, granchildren, friends--entered by way of the back deck into the family room. It must be noted what a supreme sacrifice this was for me, because my deck is less than optimal, usually covered in sandbox sand, with a broken patio umbrella, and a screen door that that won't close properly...and my family room is generally where we relax, and is often covered with toys, magazines, papers, etc. I completely lost my pride.

But I was rewarded. A couple of weeks after the signs went up, this is what I found in the wreath:


(Do click on this one, to see it big.)

Once a day I allowed myself to slowly, slowly, open the front door and take a peek, just to make sure they were still alive. These little fluffy balls were usually all curled up together, and I could see their little bodies breathing peacefully as they waited for their mother to return to feed them. Usually I could not see their heads, but only their round sleeping bodies all snuggled together. One day I opened the door to show them to 2-yr-old Aaron, and he said quietly, "A kitty! Can I pat it?"

Sometimes I put my ear up to the inside of the front door, and I could hear right through the hollow frame of the door....little rustlings and peep peep peeps. Sometimes I could hear the mother and father singing to each other in my front yard.

Whenever it rained or was windy, I thought smugly, "That nest sure is in a good place."

I read that once the babies leave the nest, they don't come back. It's not like the nest is a home that the family lives in. It's only a place for them as long as the babies are too small to fly. Once they leave, they're gone. I got to worrying about the babies, how they would leave the nest that was so high up, and over a concrete patio. What if they fall on the concrete and get hurt? Don't birds usually land first on grass or soft earth? Maybe I should put a carpet or blanket on the front porch so it's softer.

At this point, my family was laughing at me. "Mom, you have done enough for those birds!" said Hannah. And she was right. Sometimes you just have to let go, and let nature take its course.

On Friday, I looked in the nest and thought how pretty the babies' feathers were getting. I was busy and forgot to check the nest on Saturday. Today, on the way home from church, Steven asked me "Mom, are you even sure there ARE birds in that nest?"

"Yes," I responded. "I check on them every day. Let me show you, but you have to be quiet." We came in through the garage, went through the house, and I gently opened the front door, and this is what we found:


Empty! Sometime, between Friday and Sunday, the birds made their entrance into the world. I felt suddenly sad. I went out on the porch and looked around. No sign of any injured fallen birds, no lost feathers or signs of trouble. No little birds hopping about. Just an empty nest, and a vague feeling of loneliness. I took down the wreath, for good. It was full of bird poop. So was the front door:



I wiped down the front door, and then went out on the front porch, swept it, watered the flowers, and cut down the sign.



We're open for business again, if anyone wants to come visit.
Just knock on the front door.