June 13

Each time I go out to the barn, within ten feet of passing near the burning bush that sits on the front corner, the mother robin emerges from within and flies away low and straight toward the berm woods.

I feel guilty about disturbing her so, but one does have to wonder about the sense robins possess when planning the logistics of nest building. Our robin pair that has been coming for  ten years, albeit likely a couple of generations of the birds, inevitably decides to build their nest in either the viburnum bush in the front of the house or the burning bush by the barn. This, despite the fact that these two locations are heavily trafficked by us.

I notice throughout town a similar pattern. The robins seem to prefer human activity, yet when it comes to time sit on the nest, any interruption is met with protesting cries and taking flight in the manner of these birds.

I decided to peek yesterday, after the mother had taken to the woods. There within the bush, the nest contained two babies, nearly at fledgling stage I’d guess by the look of them. They regarded me silently with beady black eyes and mouths slightly open, feathers still tufted with downy-like fur.

I stayed long enough to whisper to them that should they decide to return here next year, not to build their nest so close to the barn or house; they would be welcome nonetheless.

Notes:

Daisy fleabane blooming