I plucked this nest out of the branch of the pear tree in the back forty over the weekend. I’ve been watching it for over a month – there hasn’t been any action.
It was difficult to see nestled into the leaves at the very end of a long, low branch. My sister and I laughed about the wild ride that bird had to have taken on a windy day.
The nest is quite small, the cup itself no more than three inches. It is lined with dog fur and sheep’s wool, a testament to the animals in the area. It amazes me the way it is constructed – almost totally of various grasses from large on the outside to fine in the cavity itself. It is so perfectly round.
I have quite a collection of bird’s nests. Some, like a robin’s nest are heavy and substantial. This one is light as air. It was tucked right into the small branches that hold the leaves on the pear – it wasn’t going anywhere. This is the kind of nest you find in the fall, blowing around in the field, let loose my the dropping of a tree’s leaves that once held it tight and close.
I’m unsure of the type of bird that made this nest. I thought it might belong to a wren but after doing a little research I’m not so sure. There are so many different birds out back it could be anything. I like to think of these nests as little gifts they leave behind.
6:30 this morning this is how it looked toward the back forty. The only place where you can see bare ground is the driveway. The difference is how it sounds. Spring is here, the birds know it, they are all singing their spring songs. The woodpeckers are all around rapping away at the dead trees. They have all returned from some warmer climate to sing spring in.
Bill doesn’t understand why I sleep with the window cracked open this time of year. I’m a very light sleeper and there is nothing that compares to having the birds sing me awake at dawn. As the sun is coming up their songs build to a crescendo. By the time it’s 10:00 they’ve settled into whatever they do for the day but there’s nothing like dawn in a quiet country meadow. When I was a kid I used to love to sleep in a tent out in the yard just so I could hear that. The sun would come up and heat up the canvas (yes, before nylon) with the birds singing away. I’d open the flap to see the dew rising over the grass and smell that sweet smell of morning. Then I would just sit and listen to the birds.
While there’s too much snow to sleep outdoors right now each morning you can walk out early and just be quiet and listen.