Come spring, we watch fat female robins and the wreath on the west pavilion post. A mama robin built a nest in the wreath’s cradle years ago to become a popular destination for breeding our state bird.
A benefit of husbandry, harboring songbirds is not for the fainthearted. It’s sad to find a baby that didn’t survive to fledge its nest. Considering what Ben Franklin said, “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure,” we visit the nest daily.
Mind, not excessively to frustrate Mama and Papa into a tizzy, but a quick peek in the morning and before sundown to confirm all is well, especially in this heat wave.
“I’m worried the baby robins are dehydrating,” I said to my husband during dinner last night. “They’re leaning their beaks over the edge of the nest.”
He laughed. “That’s what they always do. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Well, I have found dead babies on the pavilion floor,” I defended.
“Don’t worry. They’ll be okay.”
Trusting Mel’s judgment, I didn’t check the robin’s nest before I left the house this morning for Seven Ponds Nature Center. A pair of Sandhill Cranes crossed our dirt road just yards before me, aiming for the bog. A resident of this former cow path thirty years, I’d never been so close to the cranes’ beautiful stick-like legs.
Again, I worried for the wild birds because I’ve seen mink emerge from the marsh by the roadside. Those slinky black critters invaded our hen house once. We’ve since closed the chute at nightfall.
As I drove north, orange day lilies lined Rochester Road in full bloom, a sign of July’s Independence Day. Last week, day lilies bloomed in ditches along the routes I traveled in West Virginia and Kentucky, a memory of blissful childhood vacations.
Upon returning from weeding the herb garden awhile with fellow members, I carried my camera downhill to our robins’ nest. To my relief, I found four breathing babies and rejoiced at the sight.
I’m thankful for these imprints of stability within Nature. No matter the weather, condition of our health, or demise of our country’s moral convictions, we may depend upon baby robins to occupy our wreath each summer.
The faithful robins, cranes, and double portion of day lilies are timely gifts in our country where some folk clamor to seize public places and opinion, raze historic statues, and impose myriad forms of sexual behavior upon the human race.
Predictably, lavender shrubs bloom in my gardens—another tribute to the Fourth of July, flavoring the celebration with lavender lemonade and its heavenly scent.
And should you visit Seven Ponds Nature Center, you’ll find Flora at work with the foliage and sweet yellow flowers of Lady’s Bedstraw.
Both strewing plants from medieval times, lavender and Lady’s Bedstraw remain gardeners’ favorites for their beauty, food, fragrance, and medicinal value.
Dear Reader, if our earth’s goodness mattered to malcontents, might they forgive perceived injustice and embrace this significant summer of birds and flowers?
Contact Iris at irisleeu@sbcglobal.net.
