May 23

The wrens have taught me a lesson in patience in two ways today.

In the mid afternoon, I heard the distinct trilling call over in the area of the new box I put up a few days ago. I had been resigned to rejection, thinking our pair had decided this year to nest in the honeysuckle bush on the edge of the access trail, pathetically only twenty feet from the new house.

One of the pair was flitting about, evidently on inspection, and I sat on the porch for a while to watch its movement. It (she?) would fly up to the box and land on the roof, pause to call in the trilling way, then hop down to the perch in front of the hole, peek in, then enter. She’d stay within for only a few seconds before emerging to take flight to the nearby woods. This was repeated a dozen times or so, before she seemingly left for good.

A half hour later she had returned with her mate, both entering and inspecting for a few minutes, then starting foraging trips to the woods for small sticks. I was smugly proud that my box was deemed acceptable.

I was, admittedly, concerned about the intelligence of its new occupants, as each would return with nesting sticks that were rather long and sinuous, clearly intended for base material in the bottom of the box before the upper layers of grass and fluff would be added. The birds would hold the sticks cross-wise in their beaks and try to enter the hole, failing of course as the sticks became caught (illustrating perfectly the adage of long pegs not fitting into round holes).

They would poke and prod, often dropping the stick to the ground, causing them to fly to the woods in search of another. Patience however did win the day, as the birds seemed to figure out the trick of tilting their heads to encourage the sticks to go end first, and I am happy to report that they have been busy ever since building and singing.