Empty Nest

June 18th, 2008 at 07:18pm reckless G 277

My babies have left the nest. One morning last week I picked up my binoculars as I had every day for the previous three weeks, aimed it at the House Finch’s nest in the Blue Spruce outside my second story office window, and all five nestlings were gone. They’d been stretching and testing their newly feathered wings for several days, but I just assumed the process of leaving the nest would take place slowly over a day or two, under my careful observation. Instead, they stole away suddenly, leaving me with literal “empty nest syndrome.”

I’d been observing the nest since its construction, as first twigs, then dried grass and finally bits of cattail and cottonwood fluff were meticulously placed by both male and female. I watched the male bring his mate morsels of food while she steadfastly sat on the eggs, day in and day out. I admired her patience and empathized a stiff discomfort and a desire to once again feel the air beneath her wings. I marveled at the amount of work required by the male to feed not only himself, but his mate. What wondrous devotion to procreation these two tiny creatures displayed.

In about ten days the eggs hatched, and when I was lucky enough to be peering through my binocs at a time when mom was shifting her weight, I could just make out a few round bald heads bobbling on scrawny necks. As the chicks grew, mom began leaving the nest and both she and dad spent their days bringing food to their hungry offspring. The nestlings slept until a parent arrived with food, then they’d lift their heads and open their comically oversized beaks to receive sustenance. Their high pitched squeaking alerted me and allowed me to quickly snatch up my binocs and observe the feeding frenzy.

As soon as the food was gone, the chicks would immediately fall silent and settle back down to sleep. And I’d go back to work. I quickly became addicted to observing the new family, picking up my binoculars a dozen times or more each day. I cherished this routine and the rare opportunity to observe nature’s wonder at such convenience.

Within a week, the chicks began to develop their adult feathers, or ‘fledge’ as it’s called in the birding community. I anticipated watching them learn to fly; jumping out of the nest onto the thickly needled branches of their spruce abode, awkwardly testing their new wings as mom and dad encouraged them to explore the outer branches and eventually take that big leap. But it didn’t happen that way at all. One day they were there and the next day, they were gone.

Fortunately, my sense of loss was filled by the coincidental return of my own son and his wife and daughter, not quite to my nest, but to their own apartment in the building where my husband and I live. Eleven years ago, we were all living together in California when we decided to sell the house and move to Colorado. Our son didn’t leave the nest, the nest was sold out from under him, forcing him at 20 years old to make his own way with a new family. They did pretty well too.

Over these last eleven years, we've enjoyed weeklong visits together several times a year and kept in phone contact. But with our feelings for each other growing fonder with time and distance, came a desire to be reunited. Now they’re here, and I’m a happy Mama and Grandma.

And to top it off; another House Finch couple is building a new nest in the tree outside my window.

Entry Filed under: Colorado, Garfield County, The West, Carbondale, Women, Outdoors, United Post