In my last blog post, I was getting out of Memphis, heading to Mississippi, and looking for a Waffle House. But sometimes life interrupts those road trip sagas. I have a note on my desk that reminds me why that happens.
Hard to follow that advice when you’re writing in late June about
events that took place in early March and then relating them to American
history fifty years ago or longer. Today
I am busting to tell you what’s happening right now around me. It’s smaller in scope but exciting.
I was mowing past the clematis on the corner of the garage next
to the patio when a bright red cardinal flew out of the vines past my
head. That’s never happened. I didn’t think much of it till the next day
when I walked past that same corner to get the hose and a female cardinal flew
out of the same spot. I informed my
wife. During the pandemic, we turned into
bird watchers. It gave us more to talk
about.
“There’s something going on in the clematis with a pair of
cardinals.”
We’ve had that clematis for I don’t know how long, but soon
after we bought the house in 1987. It’s
been moved at least once. We could take
care of it better, but it does well on its own and is easy to ignore until
songbirds start flying out of it.
“You know,” my wife said.
“I’ve noticed a pair of cardinals being closer to the house than normal for
a week or so. The male has been perching
on your tomato cages. He’s never done
that before.”
I built new raised beds close to that corner of the garage, within
reach of the hydrant and the hose.
“Let’s go look.”
We slowly snuck up on our clematis. Odd behavior for seniors in their own backyard,
but we didn’t want to disturb a Cardinal again if it was lurking there. Not seeing anything with feathers, we inched closer. I’m taller than my wife, so I got up on my
toes for a better look.
In a tangle of dead clematis vines I failed to cut back last
fall was a smooth brown basket holding three tiny eggs. Light gray with dark spots.
I announced the news to Colleen in a whispered flourish.
“We’re about to welcome baby cardinals to the neighborhood.”
There is something wonderful about discovering new things in
nature, especially when they happen so close to you. The nest is fifteen feet away from an
umbrella table where we spend a lot of our summer. It’s less than eight feet from our new
garden. And no more than a foot from an
access door to our garage, just inside is the fridge where we keep beer. We want to give the expectant couple privacy,
but the cardinals built their nursery in the middle of our summer hangout. It’s nerve-wracking, likely for them as much
as us.
Two summers ago, during Covid when we lived like lepers, we watched
a pair of bluebirds hatch their babies in a bluebird house fellow bird-loving neighbors
gave us. We did that mostly with
binoculars. We saw the fledglings fly
awkwardly for a few days, then disappear. But the bluebirds were across the yard and far
away.
As fate would have it soon after discovering eggs in the clematis, I borrowed another neighbor’s power washer to begin preparations for a family 4th of July party. My wife’s three sisters, my granddaughter June and her parents, a bunch of cousins. Does this happen at your house? My wife declared a list of home improvements that had to be done, and could not fail to be completed, before the party.
One assigned to me was power
washing the patio. I had to admit it was
long overdue. I borrowed the washer from
another generous neighbor. But after I
was underway, and realized the noise that thing made, let alone the cloud of
water and crud it raised, I quickly stopped.
“Colleen, I’m afraid I’m going to scare the cardinals away
from their eggs for good.”
“Oh, come on,” she said.
“No, really. Let’s find
out about this.”
Because we wonder long about nothing in this smartphone
phase of our lives, we sat down at the patio table and furiously googled the
habits of the Northern Red Cardinal. Here’s what we learned.
·
The female builds the nest 3-10 feet above the
ground in shrubs, vines, or low trees. The
male brings her the building materials. Nest building lasts 3-9 days. It’s an open cup of twigs, weeds, grass, and leaves
lined with fine grass or hair. They
build a new nest every year, sometimes more than once in a single year.
- · Cardinals don’t migrate. They can start nesting as early as late February (though I doubt it in Illinois) and often continue into late August or September, raising one or two broods a year, one beginning in March and the other in late May or July.
- · Cardinals generally mate for life, which only averages 3-5 years. However, divorces do happen, and when they do the partners search for a new mate.
- · A male Cardinals defends his territory during breeding season, chasing away intruders and predators. While the female is busy building, then nesting, the male keeps an eye out for predators.
- · Cardinals rarely abandon their nests because they are very protective of their brood during the breeding season.
Trusting that last bullet point, I went ahead with the patio
power washing. I washed the section
nearest their nest last, worked quickly, and the male Cardinal didn’t make much
of a fuss. A day after that was done, while
taking a break from painting the patio steps with Colleen, I craned my neck to check
the nest again when both parents were gone.
When I peered in, wide open beaks with big eyes above them rose and gaped
open at the top of the nest. Tiny naked
bodies below those big beaks seemed almost an afterthought. I was so shocked to see live hatchlings
instead of eggs I didn’t count them. I
went in the house and reported the news immediately to Colleen.
“The Cardinal chicks are here!”
Young people might think of retirement as boring when they realize
big news in their parents’ lives to be the arrival of baby birds in a
bush. But be honest, how cool is it to
witness new life bloom right beside you?
Very. I don’t care what stage of
life you’re in.
We had the party, the weather was good, and our guests were
on the patio all afternoon and into the evening. We made a general announcement to them about
the nursery in the clematis and they were good about staying away. The Cardinals went about their jobs as new parents,
gathering food, regurgitating it into their chicks’ mouths, and keeping watch
over their nest. It may have been my
imagination, but I think the male stayed especially close. I saw him perching in my garden, watching
from boughs in the cypress tree, even standing guard on the rain gutter above
the clematis.
I have to say I identify with his style. I remember when our first child, our daughter
Maureen, was born. The day after her
arrival when all was well, and she was scheduled to come home I went to Kroger
and bought $250 worth of groceries (in 1983 when $250 bought a whole load of
groceries). Early the next morning I was
one of K Mart’s first customers and bought our first microwave oven. I was imagining warming up our baby’s milk and
feeding her myself to help my wife.
I’m not suggesting human beings have similar parenting
instincts as American songbirds, but the prospect of providing for my family hit
me hard. Like the male Cardinal I took
parenting very seriously. Still do.
Of course, Northern Red Cardinals have been in Ottawa a lot
longer than humans have. If they only
live for five years, there are uncountable generations of Cardinals who have built
nests, hatched eggs, gathered food, and stood watch over their chicks. Maybe they too feel a need to make sure their
kind survives and thrives in the ravines, valleys, and bluffs along the Fox and
Illinois rivers, or wherever they their lives take them.
My wife and I feel honored to be part of it if even in a
small way. The birth of a nest of Cardinal
hatchlings in our clematis on Fields Hill is extremely local news noted only
here. But its good news. For me, it comes at a time when good news
seems scarce. As a country we’re going to embark on an ugly
election season that will last too long and exhaust us. Be present in the moment and pay attention to
the breadth of what is going on around you.
These are things that make up our lives.
Post Script: I finished
this piece on the 4th of July to the sound of fireworks going off
over the Illinois river down the hill. This
morning I checked the nest.
The chicks have fledged. One never hatched. From what I’ve learned, the fledglings fall from the nest, hop around on the grass, stretch their wings, and imagine flight. All that while being watched over closely by the male and female Cardinals. Another version of helicopter parents. Unlike humans, they become empty nesters quickly. Do you suppose they still worry after their offspring fly away?
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