Mockingbird Serenade

"Shoot all the blue jays you want, if you can hit 'em, 

but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."

~ Atticus Finch

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Over the last couple of weeks, we have been serenaded by two mockingbirds. On 'opening night', one had found a perch on the top of the power pole just outside our bedroom window. His repertoire was not only absolutely amazing...it was quite loud and continued for what seemed to be hours. As I lay there listening, I was fascinated with all of the different songs it knew; how many of them had choruses in groups of three and how there was little repetition. He even had the bark of a squirrel down to a tee!

After two nights of this gig we had a brief reprieve. However, it now seems the show has been extended indefinitely. Charlie is threatening to take action if it doesn't take the show on the road! This reminded me of the quote above...of which I gently shared with Charlie. I will admit it is hard to ignore the serenade. Shortly after we are asleep, the songs begin and we are once again awake. While sleep eluded us, I laid there listening...thinking...and remembered a story about some mockingbirds that were in our garden a few years ago.

June ~ 2006

We spent the weekend working in the garden. It was going to be another hot day ~ 90 degrees! So, we started early hoping to beat the heat. While I was busily snipping and dead-heading the climbing rose bush (next to the patio), birds were squawking everywhere! I looked up and discovered a brambly stick nest with three baby mockingbirds ~ mouths wide open ~ peeping merrily.  Behind me, hanging on the string of party lights was the parent, watching my every move.

                

I carefully, but quickly, backed off...all the while apologizing to him/her. The parent buzzed in, deposited bits of something into each mouth and was off again. The babies went silent until the parents returned. This continued all afternoon...peeping and eating.

Several nights later, I looked out the dining room window and saw a little puffy, rolly-poly bird standing on the driveway, beak in the air...peeping softly...almost in question form, while watching the sky.

Snippet from my garden journal...

I called to Charlie and told him one of the baby birds was out. He went out back to check the nest and discovered the birds had left the nest! We heard one by the wall fountain, we knew one was on the driveway...where was #3? I went back to the bush and there he was...straddling two small branches next to the nest, obviously not keen on jumping just yet!

I returned to the driveway to check on bird #1...and came around the corner just in time to see him hop under the gate to the front of the house! Cat central!!!

...another snippet from my garden journal...

 

So, I followed him. He found a nice, dark, cool place just to the left of the gate by the corner of the wall. There were several large bags of mulch and potting soil next to the wall. On the ground, kind of behind/under the stack of bags, there was a bunch of old leaves, dirt and dog fuzz that had collected over the winter. In went the bird...and again the peeping began. 

As the sun set, I went out to take roll one more time before bed. The driveway bird had returned from his brief and daring trip under the gate and was now under the stack of plastic chairs between the garage and log rack...and still sending up 'peeps'. The bird in the brambles hadn't moved and the one by the fountain could still be heard...nighty night, little ones!

The next morning, before leaving for work, I purposely closed the gate that separated the driveway from the back garden so the dogs would remain in the back yard and leave the little bird alone.

When I returned home, I headed to the back garden to see if the birds had regrouped. I opened the back door and Pete jumped up to greet me. Annie was lounging on the walkway, sitting like the Sphinx...with her front paws crossed. In between her paws lay one of the baby mockingbirds. Annie looked at me and without thinking, I said loudly, "No, Annie! OOHH!!!" Of course, remorse immediately set in; she didn't know why I was upset. She was taking care of the baby bird. I think she thought it was someone to play with. Unfortunately, the little bird was loved to death. 

I'm not sure which bird Annie had, but she was guarding its limp little body as if it were her own baby.

The Circle of Life ~ Nature's way of checks and balances...necessary, sure. Still, I was saddened to know one of the birds wad dead. And, my heart went out to the parent birds. They had worked 24/7, flying back and forth with food to the nest. One was always close by, keeping an eye on the kids in the nest.

While we didn't see the remaining two babies again, we did hear them in the distance, peeping their signal to their parents for a few days more. Then, the silence that followed told us that the babies had taken flight. This story, while bittersweet, continues to remind us that there is always something going on in the garden...and we need to take the time to stop, watch and listen. There are many more stories yet to come! ♥

  

Mrs. Wallace

Early one summer night (2010), at 7:45 p.m., I heard a lawnmower fire up. I couldn't determine where this was coming from or who was doing lawn work at dark on a work night. I went out on the front porch and listened ~ . It seemed to be coming from a house around the corner. We hadn't seen the owners in years and I think  probably both owners are deceased now.

The wife died years ago. I would often see her working in her garden. To the casual observer, the tiny front yard was just a plot of over grown grasses and weeds; dead flowers that were now dry and brittle sticks with heads shriveled and brown leaves scattered beneath ~ remnants of glorious blooms from long ago. 

Dressed in her down vest, I would see her shuffle up to the tall grass or a petrified rose bush, and slowly work in one area or another. Her gnarled fingers addressed each plant as if it were a prized specimen. I imagine, to her, the garden was in full bloom ~ wild grasses dancing in the breeze and big cabbage roses, fragrant and plentiful. Neat and tidy paths of old red brick led her from plant to tree to bush. She never spoke but quietly pruned and plucked all that did not 'belong'. She would spend hours grooming her tiny garden until it got too cool or the sun began to sink. Then, almost reluctantly, she would straighten her small frame a bit and toddle back to the house.

Every so often, a lone sunflower or a stray cluster of morning glories from previous seasons would appear, unannounced and never in the same place. To her, those little sprinkles of color must have been like diamonds.

Just recently, I learned the family name was Wallace. I never met Mrs. Wallace; she never spoke or acknowledged me when Annie, Pete and I would pass by on our walks. Yet I think we were kindred spirits...both loving our gardens and the beauty they held.

the Black Phoebes

Early in June in 2003, while watering the roses in the front garden, I noticed some movement by the water faucet. I looked down and there was a baby bird hidden in the overgrown grass. Then, I caught more movement to my right, and sure enough, there was another baby bird! Worried about the many cats in the 'hood, I scooped up the one that was headed toward the driveway. In the Sycamore tree over head were two full-grown birds watching me and making enough noise to let me know that they were the parents. Charlie came home and he noticed the remains of a mud nest high in the eaves by Whitney's bedroom window. Obviously, this is where these little guys started! What a fall, I mused.

We put a small terra cotta pot on its side next to the faucet. I put some lint from the dryer inside to make it cozy and then we rounded up the baby birds for the night. We looked up the parents in our bird book and decided that they were Black Phoebes.

Over the next few days, the baby birds became quite brave. The morning after we had found them, they had moved to a spot under the garden bench. Periodically, we would go out on the porch to check on them. They were always somewhere else! The following morning, I went out to fill the little fountain and accidentally kicked on to the log shells and out popped the baby birds! "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" I said. They had stayed in the hollow overnight.

The next afternoon I peeked out and couldn't see the birds. I walked very carefully across the yard (there was a lot of tall grass) to see if I could find them. Sure enough! Under the old wagon sat the pair, watching me!

It was mid-afternoon the next day when I came out to see if I could find them again...and I was having no luck. I went to the driveway and turned back towards the house, and there, on the lip of the porch, sat one of the babies...just scouting out the situation.

The other one was nowhere to be found. I went back inside and returned later to discover the bird had left the porch and relocated to the arm of the garden bench.

Still no sibling was seen.  Throughout the afternoon, I would return to the porch with my camera to check on the status of the babies. Every time I returned, they were in a different location. They were so cute! I ventured out into the yard and finally located baby #2 sitting on the log shell by the fountain. Back up on the porch, I watched them sit (kind of like watching paint dry). And then, suddenly...without warning, the baby on the garden bench took off for a short, awkward flight and landed in the little tree about ten feet away. Whew! He made it! It was so fun watching them make their progress. But, it was kind of sad, too, because I knew it wouldn't be long before they would be ready to move on.

A little while later, I came out and again looked for our two feathered friends. One was sitting on the north wall...while the parent birds sat on the branches of the tree nearby. Charlie came home from work shortly after and I told him about all of the antics. We both went back out on the porch and there, sitting on the north wall, were both birds, shoulder to shoulder. I quietly (and, quickly) went down the driveway, up to the next house, across the lawn and sat down. I gently lifted my camera and took one more picture of the two of them. You could still see some of the downy feather fluff thad hadn't been shed. What a pair.

By the time I returned from work the next day, it was obvious the babies had mastered their flying skills. The parents were nowhere to be seen or heard; a sure confirmation that the babies had successfully taken off for a destiny unknown. But, according to all of the bird books and online web sites, Black Phoebes are know to return to their nesting place. We will just have to wait and see.......

...Postscript...

Since this story was written, we have had many Black Phoebes frequent our garden and the little fountain. We've had several nestings over the years and there are remnants of deserted mud nests high in the eaves above our kitchen. We look forward to their return each spring, announced by their distinct chirp.