I plucked this robin’s nest (with egg) out of a small spruce tree in our backyard in Enfield after watching it for a number of weeks to make sure it was uninhabited.  I have a little collection of nests in a china cabinet in Rowe but this particular one is a beauty.  I placed it in a potted ivy that Amanda gave me when she was in 5th grade (it’s now huge).  I stuck 3 wooden skewers into the plant right after repotting it and placed the nest on top of them so it would rest in anything moist.  The ivy has grown all around it and almost hidden it from view, perfect.  It sits in the bay window at the end of the living room facing south.  I move it to a different place in May or so because the sun becomes too intense, but it is the perfect winter spot.

This morning I looked nest up and this was the definition they gave me “A nest is a place of refuge to hold an animal’s eggs or provide a place to live or raise offspring.”   I personally would put a comma after the word refuge because I have always thought of my home as a nest, a place of refuge, a place to raise offspring.  In the years since my children have left the nest in Enfield my intense interest in making it a “home” has waned.  It doesn’t have that soft lining anymore. I don’t decorate it for the holidays, I barely keep up the gardens.  The house in Rowe is a bit different because I’ve been trying to make it into more of a retreat for family and friends. A place where you can feel warm, safe and welcome, where you can spend some time discarding the worries of day to day life.  A place where you can walk in the grass in your bare feet, breath the fresh air, enjoy your morning coffee ourdoors sitting in quiet.

Spring is slowly approaching.  The birds are all feathering their new nests.  I am not so much feathering as regrouping, cleaning, organizing –  in a word nesting.



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