From emptiness, fullness of joy

The Phoebe nest is empty and its occupants have moved off into the trees, leaving the garden to wrens and hummingbirds.

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A House Wren pauses briefly in the garden.

In relocating their fledged chicks to a place with more cover, the Phoebes have lifted a curtain on our surroundings, revealing activity we had barely noticed during their frenzied feeding phase.

Suddenly, it seems, we are hearing and seeing afresh the chatter and flitting of House Wrens and the movements of Ruby-throated Hummingbirds, both of which seem to have claimed the territory formerly ruled by the Phoebes.

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A Ruby-throated Hummingbird over the Bee Balm.

Now, instead of watching the aerial feats of flycatchers, our eyes are trained on the hummingbirds feeding on Bee Balm and Salvia and the wrens busily tending their young in an assortment of dwellings.

We are appreciating anew the songs of cardinals and robins, the bold whistle of the Great-crested Flycatcher, the varied sounds of the Tufted Titmouse, and the simple notes of the Black-capped Chickadee, all occasionally punctuated by a Phoebe crying “FEE-bee, FEE-bee.”

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We last saw a Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher during the spring migration, so were quite pleased when this one showed up under the summer sun.

We have been on the lookout, too, for birds that seemed scarce, likely because they were having their young, and now are reappearing more frequently closer to the house. Downy, Hairy, Red-bellied, and Red-headed woodpeckers and Northern Flickers have shown themselves again along with a Red-eyed Vireo and Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher we had seen earlier in the season.

As in life, it seems the absence of something we had become accustomed to seeing has given us fresh eyes and ears for other things we might not have noticed in our midst, or had taken for granted. Just as the departure of a high-achieving first-born can open our hearts to the quiet beauty of a younger child who has been living in an older sibling’s shadow, so changes in our landscape have the potential to enrich our awareness and appreciation of what is around us.

When we allow change to show us what is present instead of what is missing, we hear and see things that may have been obscured or drowned out by our focus on the very thing we had cherished. Just so, if we can bear to be quiet and brush away the distractions that drive our culture, perhaps we can open ourselves to receiving that which is given only in stillness.

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One of the last photos taken of the Phoebe chicks before their departure from the nest.

The Phoebe chicks, by the way, fledged on July 10. They were in the nest when I left that morning and gone when I returned in the afternoon. The day before, we managed to snap a few last photos of them in the nest. For days afterward, we saw nothing more than one adult, but my husband has since discovered them in an area of pine trees on the edge of the woods.

With a change of season approaching, we know it won’t be long before they will be moving on, along with the other migratory birds who have been with us in the spring and summer. When they leave, another curtain will be pulled back on a garden fading into fall, revealing a new landscape. May we look on it with eyes that are open to seeing its gifts instead of longing for what is passing.

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Faith, hope, and Phoebes

It’s little more than a cluster of mud, moss, and twigs, but to me, it is cause for joy, and not a little excitement.

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This year’s Phoebe outside my office window.

An Eastern Phoebe nest has been affixed to the stone on the front of our house under a soffit for several years now, serving as a marker of spring when it is visited by the brown-and-white flycatchers and refurbished for a new brood.

This year, the first Phoebe arrived the week before last and since has been insistently calling “FEE-bee! FEE-bee!” in the morning, afternoon, and evening, sometimes stopping outside my office window to bob his tail and announce his presence. One morning last week, another flash of brown revealed he has a mate and that she is shoring up the remains of the old nest. We can already see the evidence of this in the fresh mud, moss, and bits of vine she has applied as she ferries material from the pond and the garden to the nest.

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Nest-refurbishing in progress.

Our hope, of course, is that these industrious little birds who have worked their way into our hearts will succeed in raising a family like those we have seen in past years — though not the last two. The year before last, we suspect that a predator bird ravaged the nest and sent the Phoebes fleeing. Later, they began building new nests in two alternate locations, finishing one that still sits atop a post on our wood-storage unit, but despite some nest-sitting, no little Phoebes ever emerged from it.

Last year, the Phoebes again abandoned the nest on the house, this time early in the breeding season after a Brown-headed Cowbird had been seen nearby. Cowbirds lay their eggs in other birds’ nests and leave them to raise their young to the detriment of the host bird’s own offspring. Although we saw the Phoebes occasionally later in the season, there was no sign that they had established another home nearby.

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Time to fledge. Phoebe chicks getting too big for the nest in June, 2012.

After several consecutive years of watching these delightful birds raise their families, we had almost come to expect that we would spend our summer evenings on the front porch watching the adults swoop down in the garden to catch insects and fly them back to the waiting mouths of their chicks. While working outside and passing by the site, we also had become accustomed to the sight of little heads popping up and their bodies growing to the point that they were practically spilling out of the nest as the day of departure approached. One year, after the chicks fledged, and thanks to my husband’s keen eye, we even were able to spy the entire family in the woods through our binoculars and spotting scope.

Although the Phoebe is not a “pretty bird” like the Northern Flickers and Red-headed Woodpeckers who frequent our woods or the colorful warblers who pass through during the spring migration, its dogged, no-nonsense habits have endeared it to us. And for the privilege of being in its company, we are more than happy to provide it with an environment abounding in the insects that comprise its diet

In her enchanting book, Letters from Eden, Julie Zickefoose, who is so fond of this bird that she named her daughter Phoebe, writes that to her, the Phoebe “embodies bird spirit” in its constant motion and charm. I heartily concur and would add that underneath the Phoebe’s unadorned appearance seems to beat the heart of an indefatigable warrior with perseverance in its veins.  For that, we love these birds in the same way we love people who have little in the way of looks or sparkle to offer the world, but whose virtue most likely is keeping everything around us intact.

In this, they remind us of faith that is unseen yet is the assurance of things hoped for. So it is that each spring, the Phoebe beckons us to believe in possibilities and to watch for their fulfillment.

The best of the birds:  A post about spring birds is a great opportunity to include a plug for the Biggest Week in American Birding, which takes place May 8-17 in northwest Ohio. If you can get to this area, known as the “warbler capital of the world,” next month, you will not only see some amazing birds showing off their spring colors, but you will meet some wonderful people.