The Bird Jumped

Little Bird's World

 [This post is an unexpected sequel to a previous piece, Dancing on the Edge of the Nest. It would probably be helpful to read that one before seeing where this one takes you.]

I stepped out onto the porch this morning with coffee and newspaper in hand. As we do each day, I went to check the status of the robin's nest, gently lifting it down from its hanger so as to see inside.

This time, to my horror and near panic, just as I touched the branch nestling the nest, there was a frantic flapping of wings and a no longer tiny bird flew past my hand, went briefly airborne, and then dropped to our porch's concrete floor. There was an understandable cacophony of clacking, chirping, screeching, as at least five birds descended on the scene, perhaps better referred to now as the crime scene.

I knew the old wives tale that once a human has touched a bird its family has nothing more to do with it. But without time to check Snopes.com, I chose intervention. I took the bird into my hand and reached up to try to return it to its nest. The small bird again flapped its wings mightily and again escaped my grasp, which was admittedly very gentle because of my desire not to hurt its fragile body. This time it sailed a bit into the air, wings extended, before landing in the yard in front of the house. [Quick Fact Update: According to Snopes, the common assumption that human touch of a baby bird drives mother bird away is false. See the documentation here.]

More sirens from the attending birds. I watched as the little thing hopped its way across the yard, accompanied by its entourage, huddling down for a bit and then venturing forward once again. One of the birds flew close in a circle and then landed on the grass within a few feet of the bird. It chirped away as if giving some last minute flight instructions.

I watched all this and decided its chances were better with me than with the neighborhood cats, so I reached out again for the bird, took it gently in my hands, and returned it to its nest. This time, I covered my hand over the nest so as to keep the bird from immediately flapping its wings, hoping that it would then try to get settled into the only place it had known as home. The birds chirped out their disagreement with my intervention, but I figured I knew more about cats than they did.

The strategy seemed to work. I sat nearby. Nothing happened for some time and then I saw the little bird peek its head over the top and then climb to the edge of the nest. "Go back, go back," I whispered just under my breath. It looked around, wondering what had happened to its secure little world. Several robins stood guard and then one flew to the nest. It hovered there for just a short while and then went back to the tree.

Little Bird - Not quite ready for prime time

For about 15 minutes, I sat and watched as the little bird stood on the edge of the nest. I looked away briefly, tending to my lukewarm coffee. When I looked back, it was gone.

I was hopeful it had returned to the nest and saw nothing to suggest otherwise. Time passed, then mother bird approached. As she landed on the side of the nest there was squawking and flapping and feathers flying. The little bird emerged, took briefly to flight, and then plummeted to earth. She hopped through the grass and then huddled down, perhaps seeking the shelter of the grass. An understandable hope, but I knew the mowing schedule.

I do not know just when and how I lost sight of the little bird. In one minute,  I could see its head bobbing up and down above the grass line as it hopped. I could see the members of its supportive community as they circled above or hopped alongside, chirping their encouragement. And then it disappeared.

When I wrote my previous post, I had no intention of returning to the birds. They were a metaphor for the larger issue of how life is not fair, that wealth is unfairly distributed, and that fame is often undeserved. I thought they made sympathetic examples of my point.

I ended my previous blog with this:

Three robins in various forms of viability are struggling for life on my front porch. It seems only fair that they each have a chance. But they don't.

What happened today leaves me with two lingering thoughts. My point was that the struggle for fairness, for a safety net that applies to everyone, is something that all of us need to join in, both personally and systemically. I like the way it is being understood these days as seeking the common good.

And so, thought number one is a reminder that there is still a blue egg in the nest.

Thought number two is to confess with sadness that the little bird today had a safety net.

It was me.