Loving the Nest at my Front Door: Spring Muses
There is a nest on top of our front stoop light, that has been there in some shape or form, for as long as we have lived here; about 9 years now. The robins find that since the light is under the eave of the house, they are sheltered and safe from many things. The light, I imagine, brings warmth to them as well in the evenings when it is on.
I feel a deep fondness for them, having witnessed many generations grow up in our yard. They know me too, the ones who decide to stay. I often feel a tangible connection and awareness between they and I, as we have negotiated the front door territory and fresh water nearby, consistently through the years. We have found mutual trust and respect in sharing our homes.
This spring I found that someone had stripped down the nest to the bare bones of it. Last week it sat atop the light, simply a dry mud shaped cup, awaiting something. I assumed at first that it was the robins, eager to begin again, even though it is early.
Because the nest has stood the test of time, they have had to work less and less, allowing them to really delve into their creativity with decorating. There have been some extravagant and lavish designs they have woven around the clay cup, really works of art. I wish I had taken up photography earlier so that I would have documented each one through the years. At times, it was so much decoration that it spilled out onto our mailbox and the front stoop. When we would step out of the front door, and turned to look up, and see where it all was coming from, we would stop in our tracks and exclaim, “Wow! That is really beautiful and wild looking!”
That is not what is happening this Spring though. Not yet anyway. What I discovered was that two mourning doves had moved in and laid eggs already. I chuckle at them, and those of you who have witnessed mourning doves trying to make nests, will understand this more.
Mourning doves are not known for making fabulous nests. They are notorious for making the flimsiest, sorriest excuses for nests of just about any bird, and in terrible and sometimes mind boggling locations as well. Luckily for the ones living near me, we have two amazingly generous old yew trees that are home and hearth to countless birds year round– from mourning doves, sparrows and grackles, to catbirds and finches.
Usually the mourning doves have stitched together a thin liner on the crux of some of the Yew tree’s inner branches. We have peered in at them as they have sat like wide eyed children upon their new little babies. I chuckle now at their stroke of genius to use the robin nest, and to make it their own. After stripping it bare, they have begun the day and night task of taking turns warming the eggs. Also, they have begun decorating. This desire to decorate a found nest must be something that satisfies their impractical, whimsical nature.
The latest generation of robins are here too. They stayed all winter, in fact. It is easy to hold a deep admiration for all the birds right now. I look out at them all through the picture window and say to myself/to them, “You are all survivors.” They lived through a deep, long, bitterly cold winter. I watched them do it, hunkering down in the yew trees when it was 20 degrees below zero, night and day for weeks.
I didn’t always offer seed either. I couldn’t, because of how expensive it has gotten. I took comfort in the fact that I offered them a heated birdbath. I know this is a precious gift, as most birds die in the winter from lack of water, not food.
The robins are watching the mourning doves. I told them a few days ago, as they sat perched on the trellis near the front stoop, watching their family nest being used by a different kind of bird, “Be patient. They will be done with it soon and you can begin your two or three cycles of broods that will carry on into the summer. You will have your time in the home you grew up in. It is still early.”
They are trying to be patient. Mourning doves don’t stay in one place too long it seems. I am pretty confident they will raise their young quickly and move to a slightly different location, as they have before. Hopefully the robins and the doves won’t need to fight it out.
In the meantime, I am their quiet companion, witnessing their lives unfolding, and lovingly supporting their home life in the midst of my own. They are inspiration and hope perched on the light at my front door.
The fervent songs of all the birds here lately have burst outward, like waterfalls cascading in a tropical paradise. This is their way to celebrate warmer weather and their survival through a difficult winter. The enthusiastic songs this weekend were absolutely amazing, magical sounding and robust. It is not something we humans could survive, a winter like we’d had, without heat, homes, blankets, hot water and long underwear. The birds sing like beacons of light showing what survival’s rewards can be.
Their singing and the chance to see how creative they become when some of the hard work has already been done for them, is pure joy. It must be a little how our ancestors may feel, watching us progress in creativity, precisely because so much dedicated and hard work has already been laid out as foundation for us.
This is the robin waiting, looking up at the family nest, presently occupied by mourning doves.
Here are the decorations the doves have added so far. This is quite elaborate for a mourning dove. Though, not quite as lavish as some of the robins have created.
This mourning dove is not done decorating. He thinks their new home can be even more beautiful. The female is on the nest keeping the eggs warm while he works on finding more embellishment. He will stand on her back and hand her the new pieces, and she will decide where they belong.
For more info on mourning doves and other birds visit “All About Birds”.
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