House Finch – Amy Lee-Tai

Listen to the Birds: Do the Best You Can

Amy Lee-Tai Living Life May 31, 2019June 10, 2019House Finch, inspiration, Process

Two Aprils ago, I blogged about a momma and poppa House Finch who built a nest on my front door wreath. I had the privilege and joy of witnessing the various stages of their nest and babies’ development–from the first few twigs in late March to an empty nest in early May. Awe-inspiring!

A pair of House Finches—I assume the same pair—went through the same process in the same place last spring. Repeat visitors! I guess they were happy with the way things had gone the previous year. I sure was happy to see them and their new sweet brood.

This past March, I was behind schedule. I hadn’t yet put up the spring daffodil wreath. On the door still hung the white flower wreath, the “filler wreath” between the holiday pine wreath and the daffodil one.

When I heard that familiar sound on the other side of the front door—that dainty scratching of twigs against the door during nest building—I knew the birds were back. Yay!

Later that day, I took a peek at the beginnings of the nest. And I worried. The base of the white flower wreath wasn’t as wide as that of the daffodil wreath. Would the white wreath provide enough support?

I thought about switching it out with the daffodil wreath, but I didn’t want to throw away the birds’ hard work. So I left up the white wreath. (Yes, this decision would continue to haunt me.)

Over the next week, a beautiful nest appeared. I still worried. Not only was the white wreath not as wide, but the birds had placed the nest somewhat off-center from the top. In addition, the outer layers of the nest didn’t appear as tightly constructed as the two in the past. This nest was lovely in its wispy way, but would it be sturdy enough?

The first egg appeared! I still worried. I asked my handy husband, Rob, to build something to support the nest.

His reaction? “It’s best not to mess with nature.”

I couldn’t bear the thought of the eggs/baby birds falling from the nest. Rob reconsidered and added cardboard and plastic below the nest. It looked comical. I felt better. But I still worried.

Four more eggs joined the first one. Momma bird sat atop the nest, warming and protecting her eggs. Poppa bird watched vigilantly from a nearby tree branch.

The five eggs were replaced by five baby birds! Momma and Poppa tended to them faithfully.

But as the babies grew, the weight turned the wreath a bit counterclockwise. I moved the wreath back to its original place. It was time for more intervention! I taped the wreath to the door (knowing that the tape would pull off the paint, but who cared at that point?). It looked even more comical. I felt better. But I still worried.

Then one day, I pulled into the driveway after work and found this sad sight:

The nest had come undone. I ran to the door. There was no sign of the birds. Except for a trail of poop that increased near the base of a nearby column.

Could it be? Could the babies have scurried underneath the column? Were they hiding there?

If the babies were there, I didn’t want to scare them. So I left and didn’t return.

I felt awful. And I still worried. I regretted not having switched out the white flower wreath with the daffodil wreath. I wondered if I shouldn’t have pressed Rob to build that cardboard and plastic contraption, or if I shouldn’t have taped the wreath to the door. I wished I had laid down soft padding in case of a fall…

But soon, I saw Momma and Poppa hanging around the base of the column! Chattering away. Momma poking her beak underneath the column, presumably delivering food. The babies had to be there!

Can you spy Poppa amidst all of that brick and moss?

Can you spy Momma sitting on a nearby branch?

For a week or so, I saw and heard Momma and Poppa every day. The poop oozed out from underneath the column—a great sign! I don’t think I ever felt so happy to see poop.

Ah, those smart, resilient, devoted birds. They amazed me.

But then one day, Momma and Poppa didn’t return. Rob looked under the column. No sign of the babies, either.

Maybe it was their time to fly away! At the same time, I worried: maybe something horrible had happened to the babies.

I’ll never know if there was a happy ending; there’s a lack of closure. But that’s life: sometimes, it’s messy. On top of all of that, I wonder at once if I made the process worse and if I’m assuming too much blame.

The previous two years, the birds’ journey was downright inspiring to witness. This year, my awe was mixed with stress, because of the family’s bumpy road and the babies’ uncertain “ending.”

And yet, watching the family handle their incredible obstacles was inspiring in a different sort of way: They did their best with what they had.

Another takeaway: I’ll put up that daffodil wreath way earlier next spring. It’ll be waiting for Momma and Poppa. I hope they return! And I sure hope their babies made it safely into the world this spring.

Until we meet again,

Amy

A Little Birdie Told Me: On Writing, Parenting, and Living

Amy Lee-Tai Living Life, Raising Kids, Writing Life May 30, 2017June 9, 2019Courage, Hard Work, House Finch, inspiration, Joy, Loss, Nurturance, Process, Self-care

via http://www.quotesvalley.com

Until this year, my favorite writing place was my 20-year-old sofa, tucked away in my bedroom. It’s comfy and embracing, as if cheering, “You’ve been here before. Many times. You can do this writing thing!”

But it became impractical to keep my piles of books and other writing materials on the bedroom floor. So this past winter, I ventured out to the dining room, a sunny room with an empty tabletop. And a big window that allows me to look out onto grass and trees and sky. It has turned out to be the perfect spot, offering lovely surprises and unexpected lessons along the way.

One blue-sky morning in late March, I was sitting at the table when I heard a gentle rattling at the front door. I looked up to see my cats, Wall-E and Howie, already sitting in the foyer and staring at the backside of the door. I glanced out the window and saw nothing unusual. I resumed work until the rattling and my cats returned.

This cycle continued a few times until I noticed a small brown bird, carrying a leafy twig in its mouth, zip past the window toward the front door. It was the closest thing to a peace dove that I’d probably ever see, and the fleeting sight was magical.

OH! Could the bird be building a nest on the wreath? I hurried out the back door to take a look. When I was about 15 feet from the front door, the bird startled and flew away to the nearest tree, an oak tree in front of the dining room.

The next time I heard the rattling, I peeked out the window. Yay! A nest in the making! This city girl posted the breaking news on Facebook: Momma bird was building a nest! To lay eggs in! And there would be teeny tiny birdies!

3/28/17: the beginnings of a nest at the top of the wreath

I was in awe of momma bird’s brilliant idea to build a nest on a wreath (camouflaged!) under the porch roof (protected!); her expert skills in crafting such a beautiful and sturdy nest; her intense focus and abiding devotion. I was in awe of the miracle of life, with its newness and hope, unfolding at my front door.

How did I live on 2 acres of land for 15 years and reach age 50 without witnessing this? And yet, how lucky I felt to still have so much of life to see.

I went out of town to NYC for a writing conference. When I returned, I found five eggs! Perfect eggs. Gorgeous eggs. My husband Rob and I did research and determined that these were House Finches.

Well, that was it for the front door. No more using it for the whole family. No more visitors at the front door. I posted this sign:

I asked visitors in advance to come to the back door. Whenever an unexpected visitor came to the front door, poor momma bird fled to the oak tree. No doubt she was worried about her eggs, but what else could she do? She had to take care of herself, too. And take good care she did — of herself and her eggs. Before long… Happy Birthday!

The babies thrived. I could tell from all of the poop! It was not a pleasant sight, but poop was part of the package (and seemed to act as an adhesive between the nest and the door). Be forewarned: as the birds grew, so did their poop!

By early May, I noticed that momma bird had a companion in the oak tree. He was brown with red markings; poppa bird, I assumed! They chirped and flitted about in the branches, moving between the tree and the nest where they fussed over their babies.

One morning momma and poppa birds were particularly chirpy and active. I heard what I thought was a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Could this be the day for their babies to take flight? It was — for one!

During the next two days, whenever I heard a flurry of activity, I checked the nest.

In the end, what remained was an empty nest and a whole lot of poop. And quiet. Momma and poppa birds had moved out of the oak tree.

In the days following their departure, I missed the cheerful sounds and the sight of the sweet family. I was surprised by how much joy the entire process had brought to me. And equally surprised by how wistful I felt after the birds had left. But then, when something brings you joy, isn’t it natural to feel its absence?

Yes, I was experiencing empty nest syndrome.

As the babies departed, I sent the photos to Rob. In response to one photo, he emailed back:

“Wow! But they’ll never call and never write. Sigh.”

I think this was his way of saying that he’d miss them, too. I shared his email with our 11-year-old daughter Miya who commented, “But they can Tweet.”

Ah, I can always count on these two for a little levity!

Still, why was I so moved by the birds? Other than allowing me to witness their amazing process, the birds also spoke to me as a writer and as a mom.

Building a writing career – building each story – is a process. And raising a child is a process. In the end, after doing the best we can, we send each manuscript and each child out into the world. We hope the world will be kind to them; we hope they’ll have good luck. And this is the case for whatever we invest our hearts into and then have the courage to let go of.

I’m a writer who has just started the process of querying literary agents and sending them manuscripts. It’s exciting, and it’s hard. Realistically, I’ll receive many rejections, and they’ll sting. But as they roll in, I’ll continue to nurture my manuscripts before sending them out again… and again… and again. And, hopefully, one day an agent will think that one of them is ready.

I’m a mom who has two kids wrapping up another school year: 9th grade and 5th grade. Part of me wishes I could keep them in those sweet elementary school years forever. But even if I could I wouldn’t, because moving on means that they’re privileged with life and growth. They’re still in my nest, but the reality is that they’re already leaving it on a daily basis, growing more independent; and one day they’ll leave for good when they’re ready.

Momma and poppa birds had but one month, filled with quick and numerous transitions, to spend with their babies. Their abbreviated cycle of life seems to make each moment that much more important and their process that much more obvious. Here’s what the birds shared with me:

Pick a good spot.
Build a strong foundation.
Focus and work hard.
Take care of others (and yourself).
Embrace the joyful moments and the process.
Celebrate!
Let go.

Maybe the babies were afraid to fly, or maybe not. Maybe their parents were afraid to see them fly, or maybe not. Maybe the babies and their parents miss each other, or maybe not. Whatever the case, they all did what they needed to do. And that to me is beautiful: that they did what they needed to do.

My family and I are back to using the front door. I’ve cleaned up the poop. But I’ll keep the wreath and nest up in case another momma bird (maybe even the same one or one of her grown babies) finds it and makes it home. It would be my privilege.

My move from the old sofa to the dining room was practical. But it’s turned out to be instructive and inspiring, too. I’m glad that I’ve been able to look out the window to see new sights. In a way, the window has also served as a mirror, reflecting back those new sights into deeper insights. Some days I may still choose to sit on my comfy old sofa and write. But for the most part, I think I’ll stay put at the dining room table.

Until we meet again,

Amy