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Friday, June 30, 2006

Fledglings

We had a robin's nest underneath our balcony. We watched the adults build the nest, worried that they would fall victim to what happened to the last pair who tried to nest, their eggs were eaten by crows. But we didn't interfere and eventually, through the boards of the balcony, we could see three neat blue eggs lying so vulnerable in the nest.

The eggs hatched and three tiny pink creatures lay wound up tight in the nest, their bodies heaving with each breath. But they grow fast, and within a week, they were covered with feathers and their beaks were long and hooked. We covered the balcony boards above them with cardboard boxes, just to make that much more difficult for the crows to find them (that's how we discovered how the crows discovered the last nest: we found a crow standing on the balcony peering down through the boards).

Then, two days ago, I had gone out into the backyard to have lunch. There was a lot of noise coming from the nest and I heard the caw of a crow. I ran over, but what I saw was the three chicks jumping out one by one. The noise I had heard was the first making the leap, and a crow interfering. The crow left when I arrived. The chick, now fledgling, sat in the middle of the lawn, with its mouth agape. The second one leapt from the nest, crashed through the rosemary bush and disappeared into the long grass at the side of the house. And the third literally plopped itself down onto the trellis and tumbled down through the honeysuckle. From one nest, they had managed to end up at opposite ends of the garden.

The crow was hovering around the one in the middle of the grass. So I went inside and grapped a chair and put the chair overtop of it. The chair also protected it from the midday sun. It wasn't trapped at all, just not easily visible from above. When I went to see what had happened to the other two, I couldn't find them. They had completely disappeared. It was puzzling.

When I stood out in the middle of the grass, a crow that had been perched at the top of the chestnut tree yelled at me. It circled above, paused mid-air directly above me, and then dived. I moved my work out onto the balcony and kept my eye on the fledgling in the grass. I worried about what would happen when I left to pick up the children. But I didn't have to. After about an hour and a half, one of the parents appeared at the nest, mouth full of insects. It flew over to the fence and started to sing. Immediately it was answered by the fledgling in the lawn as well as the ones who were somewhere on the other side. The one in the middle of the lawn stood up and ran to the hedge at the side. It was amazing! It scurried in amongst the daisies and lemon balm and then disappeared completely.

That evening, an adult was sitting at the top of tree next to the hedge, singing madly. I went outside to see what was going on. Then another was making violent chirps in the chestnut tree. Below, playing with the woodchips, was a raccoon. The raccoon saw us on the balcony but wasn't interested. It lumbered along the side of the hedge, until just before my compost box. There it disappeared into the hedge.

I haven't seen any of the fledglings since, but I have heard them once or twice. I hope that at least one of them makes it.

This helpful resource: Encounters with Breeding says that only 25% of chicks make it to adulthood.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Pernacious native rose


While I have pulled out two of the three native rose bushes I originally planted, little "volunteers" are popping up everywhere. The nootka rose send out roots in all directions and I thought I had dug them all up. But now that true spring days have arri ved you can hear the garden growing. Even if it was only a small twig of the former plant, it is sending up shoots.

And in my far end of my native garden, I've got another variety growing, another volunteer. I have no idea how it got there. The leaves are much smaller and the thorns are much thinner than the nootka rose. Coincidently, it happens to be in the same area as where I threw down some native seed last year - I think the seeds were supposed to be for the arbutus tree. Like the lily of the valley/chocolate lily mix-up, could it be that instead of a much-desired arbutus tree, I've got more native rose?