I notice
something sitting stationary in the middle of the entry to the bluebird house
and grab binoculars. As I focus in on the baby bluebird peering out, I realize
this is an auspicious occasion, the day when little ones leave the nest to venture
into a huge world of gigantic trees, large fields of green grass and miles and
miles of flight space containing evil predators waiting to scoop them up. Settling
on my back deck, I silently sit and study.
Papa bird,
donned in brilliant blue coat, perches nearby along with mama bird in her drab
blue. Does it bother anyone else that males get to wear the bold colors, or is
it just me? The birds chatter constantly
as I envision daddy chirping, “You can do it, child. Don’t be afraid. Just push
off and start flapping your wings. Mom and I are right here, and we’ll keep you
safe. Nothing’s going to happen. We’re keeping laser sharp eyes on all the
surroundings.”
Time clicks
on, and baby appears to summon courage then slips back inside the safe confines
of the tiny house. Fear of the unknown pulls it back from the door to new
adventures. Rousing its confidence, the bird fluffs its wings, placing tiny
feet on the outside of the small hole. Then, it disappears from view again. To
fly or not to fly, that is the question. Maybe this little one argues back to
dad like Moses did with God, “I can’t do it. Maybe I can just stay here and you
can keep bringing me worms and bugs. It’s kind of scary and really, really big
out there. I’m little and I might fall.”
Fifteen
minutes, and I’m still stuck to my chair. I can’t miss this, since my own firstborn
is finding his wings right now—getting married in a few weeks and soon to be
out of my nest. I’m here to learn how birds do this empty nest thing. I observe
the baby edging out again. Looking right and left, peering way out to see the
male, it pushes out and away, flapping furiously until it precariously lands on
top of the swing set. Shew! First flight not pretty, but successful. The baby
is absolutely still, yet I’m certain its heart is pumping a million beats a
minute.
I swing the
binoculars back to the nest where a second baby is peeking out. I wonder how
many comprise this family and how long it will take for each of them to gain
the courage to flap into the world. I wait. And wait. This baby looks about
ready to take off, then chaos ensues. Birds squawk and swoop. Mama and Papa
bird sense danger and chase off crows and others who threaten the successful
flight of their baby. The parents depart and return about a hundred times while
the baby looks like a statue in the middle of the hole. It does not move a feather.
At least 30
minutes pass before the baby moves. I can only surmise that he’s been given the
all clear signal. Examining the surroundings, head straining far out of the
nest, this next bird begins flapping towards his mom and dad and safely lands.
Papa flies to the seed feeder a few feet from me, pecks a bit, zips back to the
newly flown bird and plops food into the open mouth. Did this dad just bribe
his son to fly with food? I wonder. Didn’t I just do that last week urging bites
of broccoli with the enticement of ice cream?
I look once
again to the nest and wait for another head to pop through. The hole remains
empty. No more birds. I guess they really are empty nesters now. Sigh. I ponder
how they feel, if they are sad when they look at their cozy home with no babies
left. Siting the family of four alighting on top of the trampoline I watch as
the parents pause for their babies. They don’t fly off as soon as the babes are
out of the nest but stick around for support and encouragement. They wait for
the babies to practice using their wings more, and yet the tiny feet seem stuck
like glue. Wings flap but feet fix tightly to the trampoline. It’s hard to fly
that way, feathers fluttering but feet not letting go. Yet, the only way for
these birds to find their wings is to let go of their comfort zone.
My firstborn
is also finding his wings. A two and a half hour trip north to college began
his journey four years ago. Split between home and dorm during holidays and
summers, his wings fluttered the distance between both. But, he always came home.
This summer—in three short weeks—he flies away, not returning to the nest. Just
as the baby bluebirds will eventually, he is creating his own place with his
bride. This journey to his new life outside familiarity began gradually years
before and culminates with wings fully spread soaring smoothly to bright skies.
He’s excited and ready to go.
Unfortunately,
a son finding wings causes a mom to find a few boxes of Kleenex!
