Anyone who knows me will tell you how deeply I appreciate schedules. I like to know when when is. I’m perfectly good with change, I’d just prefer a heads up. Clearly no one alerted Mrs. and Mr. Bluebird. I think they’re toying with me.
Really, I have no clue what this year’s couple is up to but I’m beginning to wonder if our nest box is their weekend home and they’re actually breeding in the new (as of last year) box in the neighbor’s field or the other new very cute chalet up on the hill. The nerve of my neighbors wanting to enjoy these thrushes. But neither nest boxes are in within easy viewing range, you know, like from my deck or sofa.
It’s been an interesting lesson in patience and, if they don’t lay in the nest they’ve built here, it will be an even larger lesson in letting go of pssession. It’s interesting how I’ve come to think of all the Bluebirds around here as mine. I know they’re not, but in the course of a season they quickly come to feel like family. I can tell many of them apart by sight or behavior. I certainly spend more time with them and have more photos of them than anyone in my family. Possibly even more than pictures and videos I have of our various cats, though Jack would argue otherwise. So when a new nest box or feeder goes up on these corners, I can’t help but take it personally—like what gives? Stealing my blues? But then I remember when I put up our first nest box about five years ago I might have stolen someone else’s delights and muses.
I’ll manage to find other birdly happiness even it the nest stays empty, but honestly, what will I stalk all season without a fresh brood?
The photo above is from 2019 that I happen to come across this morning.