Fledgling leaves mailbox home

A pair of Carolina wrens nested in an old mailbox placed under our house's eaves.

The other day while I was sitting outside, the baby birds fledged. Although I missed seeing the others, I managed to capture the last baby bird to figure out how to leave the confines of its metal home and make its way into the world.

Bluebird nesting update

Lots of bluebird activity lately.  The male and female bluebird keep going in and out of the nesting box.

They are busy feeding babies. Below is female bluebird on a windy day standing on top of the nesting box with what looks like a spider in her beak.  Click the image if you'd like to see a larger view.

 

One time while I was watching, instead of carrying food as the bluebird was entering the nesting box, I noticed one of the birds leaving the nest with something in its mouth.

It turns out that bluebirds are meticulous housekeepers.  The white object in the beak of the bird on the right is a fecal sac containing the waste products of of her nestlings.

Ma and Pa Bluebird spending some quality time together before their baby birds fledge

After hatching baby Eastern bluebirds remain in the nest for 16 to 22 days.  I don't know exactly how many days have gone by since the babies in our nesting box hatched but considering how busy the parents have been bringing food, their offspring must be almost ready to fledge I am so looking forward to seeing the little ones leave the nest.  I sure hope I'm here when it happens!

Bluebirds sure do spend a lot of time guarding their nests

How convenient to have a perch so close to the nesting box

The male bluebird checks to make sure everything is okay

Mother's Day thoughts...

With Mother’s Day just six days away, many folks are focused on what gift to buy, what card to send and how best to express heartfelt emotions. While those are understandably relevant questions and concerns, my thoughts keep wandering to different kinds of mothers.

At our lake, a soon-to-be-mother sandhill crane is sitting on eggs. Each morning, I look through the binoculars to make sure she’s still there. She always is. It doesn’t matter if it’s hot and dry or pouring down rain, foggy mist or sunny morn. Sandhill crane mothers are innately patient, persistent and protective of their future brood.

The sandhill crane nest is a soft bundle of lake weeds set upon a small tuft of grass about 30 feet off the shoreline. Although the male crane is often away during the day, he returns every evening to spend nights by her side (sandhill cranes are monogamous and mate for life). Once the eggs hatch — about a week after Mother’s Day — the pair will raise their young together. I’ve watched sandhill cranes raise babies before and have always been impressed by how seriously these magnificent birds take the task of parental responsibility.

Not far from where the cranes are nesting, a female downy woodpecker is carving out a home near the top of a dead slash pine. I came upon the nest-building bird a couple days ago, but excavation must have begun several days earlier. As I watched from the base of the tree, the bird diligently drilled away at the hole. She exhibited steady effort, pausing only to survey her surroundings for potential threats.

On the day I discovered the downy woodpecker, the hole she had made was only large enough to fit the front half of her body. However, by the following day, the entire bird could disappear within. So much labor went into the creation of a home for future offspring. Although male and female downy woodpeckers typically build nests together, I saw only the female working on this one. The male was nearby, but she was the one pecking away at the wood.

When excavation is complete — a job that can take up to two weeks — the female will lay a clutch of three to eight eggs. At that point, the father steps in to do the majority of incubating. I always find it intriguing how differently nature divvies up parenting chores. In some species, females do all the work. In others, it’s the male. Often both parents share the responsibilities of bringing children into the world.

When the downy woodpecker eggs hatch, both parents will struggle to feed their brood. Yet, despite their best efforts, only one or two of their babies will survive. That often happens with baby sandhill cranes, too. The mother crane usually lays two eggs, but only one chick tends to survive. I can’t help but wonder if they feel sad.

The third parent I’ve been thinking of lately is another woodpecker. A family of pileated woodpeckers lives in a dead slash pine across the lake from my home. Several weeks ago, I noticed several large holes drilled in a snag and shortly after, saw a male pileated woodpecker land on the tree before entering the hole. Although I assumed the birds were nesting within, I didn’t know for sure until I chanced upon a magical moment a few days ago.

As I was setting up my tripod in the forest in the late afternoon, a female pileated woodpecker flew to the snag. As I watched through my camera, two red-topped heads appeared as their mother approached.

Although I don’t pretend to speak bird, unmistakable cries of “Feed me!” filled the air. Mama bird did her best to satisfy the baby birds’ demands. Nonetheless, one offspring craved more. How do I know? I saw the baby bird peck his mother in the chest with his not-so-tiny beak. Yet, despite his rude and perhaps painful reproach, mother bird did nothing more than reposition herself. She neither erupted in anger as I’ve seen human parents do, nor did she retaliate or disappear. She simply moved out of his way.

You don’t have to look far to see examples of what it means to be a good mom. You don’t need a special gift, card or sentiment to express the wonder that is a mother’s love. Mother’s Day may be around the corner but in nature, lessons in mothering go on every day.

Twin grandbabies doubles the pleasure

Twins Ella Lily (left) and Maya Lilac with grandparents Ralph and Sherry Boas.

Simply Living
August 22, 2011

No pleasure is quite as pure as the sight of a newborn baby and that pleasure doubled when my husband and I attended the birth of our twin granddaughters.

Jenny and Brett live in Central Massachusetts. Last year, they rode a tandem recumbent bicycle across the country. This year, they gave birth to two babies. Doing things by twos seems to be this couple's norm. When they asked us to be there for the twins' birth, Ralph and I had no hesitation. We eagerly said "Yes!"

Two years ago, I was in the delivery room for the birth of my first grandchild, Atom, but Jenny's birth was going to be different since the babies were to be delivered by a scheduled Caesarean section. Hospital rules allowed only two people to accompany the mother. Daddy-to-be Brett had the place of honor, leaving one slot available for Ralph or me. Since Jenny was happy to have either of us in the operating room, we decided it was Ralph's turn to experience a grandchild's birth.

Brett's mother and I waited together after they wheeled Jenny away. About 20 minutes into the surgery, Ralph came back to update us on the progress.

"It's amazing! Incredible!" he gushed. "The babies are born and Jenny's doing great. Everything went well. It's almost unbelievable what they do."

His joy was so pure, his excitement so real — I was glad we decided Ralph would be the one to witness the birth.

In less than an hour, the surgery was over. Nurses wheeled Jenny and the girls back into their hospital room accompanied by new daddy and one awestruck grandpa. Kathy and I finally had a good look at our new grandchildren. Blond haired 7 pounds, 2 ounces Maya Lilac and her dark haired 7 pounds, 8 ounce sister, Ella Lily, were love personified.

"They're so big but so small," I thought as I held the swaddled bundles of bliss in my arms.

Little fingers, tiny toes…bright eyes take in a world suddenly so large. The magic of birth is one of life's everyday miracles.

Ralph and I spent a week in Northampton enjoying the wonder of newborn babies. We changed diapers, soothed the twins when they fussed and cuddled against their newborn sweetness. Being around babies is a transforming experience. It makes you see the world through different lenses and changes your perspective.

Each of us began life as tiny babies, dependent upon others for comfort, care, nurturing and sustenance. We enter this world innocent. Our needs are basic. Feed us, clean us, keep us dry and, most importantly, cradle us with love.

It's easy to let everyday worries, problems and cares predominate. It's easy to let family take a backseat to the needs of others. But being there for the birth of your child's child (or in our case, children) is a none-too-subtle reminder that family comes first.

We're back home in Florida now, 1,500 miles away from our two newest grandchildren. I have a strong feeling Ralph and I will be racking up those frequent-flier miles in days to come.

Taking baby on walk down memory lane

Simply Living

(First appeared in Orlando Sentinel August 24, 2009)

Thirty years ago, when I was a young mother living on Cape Cod, I used to slip my infant daughter into a blue corduroy Snugli and take her for long walks. Inevitably, Amber would fall asleep, I'd get some overdue exercise, and we'd both be outside feeling the breeze against our skin. Sometimes I walked along a nearby bike trail. Other times I'd head toward the beach or town, strolling alongside roads and stretches of woods until I arrived at my destination. Whichever route I took, I always returned home with two things — a sleeping child and a wildflower bouquet.

I was thinking about those pleasant hikes the other day when I took my grandson for a stroll through my daughter's neighborhood.

In preparation for our new role as grandparents, Ralph sorted through boxes in the attic looking for our old baby paraphernalia. One of his finds was our reliable Snugli. Even after supporting the rumps of four children and spending a good 16 years tucked away in an overheated attic, the Snugli remained in tiptop condition. After a fresh laundering, it was ready for a new generation of use.

Although Amber and Scott have a spiffy new stroller complete with several cup holders and storage bins, I brought the Snugli with me when I headed over to baby-sit. I'm glad I did because it came in handy. About an hour after Amber left, the baby began to fuss. When even a bottle of warmed milk didn't do the trick, I decided to try the Snugli. After tucking my grandson's 8 pound, 4 ounce body into the soft fabric enclosure, we headed outside for a stroll. Almost immediately, he calmed down.

My daughter and son-in-law live in a lovely subdivision in Winter Garden. It's an older neighborhood with well-maintained yards and wide sidewalks. As I went out the front door, I turned left and started walking in what I expected to be a quick loop around the block. It turns out that subdivisions — or at least that particular subdivision — are not designed for quick loops around the block. A left at the nearest cross street followed by another left at the next two intersections did not bring me back to Amber's house as expected. Instead, it took me in a circuitous route around the neighborhood until I finally — about an hour later — navigated my way back to Amber and Scott's address.

I'm not complaining. It was a good walk, a long walk and a soothing walk for baby Atom, who managed to pass most of the time in peaceful slumber. What it didn't do was yield a bouquet of wildflowers the way my walks on Cape Cod did.

As it turns out, subdivisions, even older ones in more well-established neighborhoods, do not lend themselves to wildflower foraging. In fact, foraging for any sort of plants would be unacceptable behavior in places where the only flowering plants visible are those planted by homeowners to accentuate their landscapes.

In the years when I lived on Cape Cod, subdivisions were a rarity. Most of the homes I passed on my outdoor forays were well over a hundred years old with landscapes that reflected decades of plantings. In the spring, blooms from ancient hedges of lilacs and forsythia overflowed onto roadways. Wild roses and beach plums flourished near the bay. Clusters of delicate violets and the edible red tops of clovers escaped domesticity and wandered out of yards and onto the wayside. Tall stalks of Queen Anne's lace, black-eyed Susan and fluffy milkweed flowers grew with abandon along stretches of woods. I'd walk along my chosen route picking a flower here and another there until, before I knew what was happening, I had gathered a beautiful bouquet.

I haven't been back to Cape Cod for years, but I imagine that most of the stretches of woods have given way to modern housing units where, as in Florida, homeowner-association rules restrict what can and cannot be planted. I understand the need for rules, and I'm glad my daughter and her family live in such a tidy neighborhood with individually designed yards, but I can't help missing the wildflowers. I miss knowing that no matter where I turn, I'll find flowers growing by the wayside waiting to be picked.