New Neighbors

No, the burning-Bronco human neighbors did not move away. These new neighbors are of the avian variety, and there are two pairs of them.

About a month ago, I started to hear the joyous, burbling call of a house wren. I heard him singing from various vantage points in the neighborhood, but the viburnum in the backyard seemed to be a favorite perch. Last year I hung a nest box in the viburnum, but it went unused during the spring and summer (though when I cleaned it in March, it was full of twigs, so someone must have utilized it as a winter roost). I was most pleased when the wren began construction, stuffing sticks, bark, and plastic Easter grass through the entrance hole.

Male wrens build several nests and then take their mates around to inspect them. Mrs. Wren makes her choice and then proceeds to rebuild to her specifications ("Dammit, Harry, I told you I wanted the couch over there"). I did my own part to try to impress the female by leaving some plump grubs exposed when I finished turning over my garden. "Convenient location, close to dining and shopping," I thought, hoping she'd decide on the house in the viburnum.

And I think she did. After I thinned the radish seedlings yesterday, I stood on the toes of my sandals, trying to peer into the nest box without getting too close. Out darted a tiny wren. It hopped around the viburnum for a while, not singing, so I hope it was the female. I thought I saw some softer materials in the nest cavity. I hope there will be little wrens soon.

The second new neighbor is a bit more of a concern. When the blue jays started inspecting a beam in the "garage" (more like a three-sided carport), I was amused. I like blue jays - they're smart and colorful and mouthy. When I returned from Point Pelee this weekend, I discovered the female already sitting on eggs. The nest is not even two feet away from where I park my car. While I feel a certain wonder at having such a beautiful creature make a home so close to me, I also feel a certain caution. Blue jays are not shy. They screamed for several minutes at a cat that wandered too close to the garage. They will peck my head, I guarantee it. My car has already taken a direct hit of white bird doo. When the babies fledge and fall from the nest in their first attempts to fly, I'm afraid I'll run them over.

But such things are in the future and may not come to pass. I've left the jays alone, and so far they haven't seemed bothered by my presence. Yesterday I stood directly beneath the nest and watched the mother bird's black-edged tail move up and down with her breath. I'm thinking of leaving some peanuts in a dish nearby. Welcome to the neighborhood, feathered friends.