Once upon a time, or just yesterday, I saw a robin in the backyard. He had gold lines around his eyes, and so when he looked at me he seemed to be wearing glasses. He hopped down the wooden steps where Jack likes to jump off, hopped up on the rock that Jacob likes to climb, and then hopped across the dirt under the roses that Tehya likes to pick. Stopping once, briefly, he turned his head sideways as if to listen for underground worm sounds. He must have heard some because he began to chirp excitedly. Continuing on his inspection tour of the yard, he hopped to a sprinkler head and stood there like a king of the grass. "Chirp, chirp," he called to living things. To my great surprise, a lovely, fat (with eggs) robin jumped out from under the deck and joined him in conversation.
Flying quickly to a familiar branch of the cherry tree he seemed to say, "This spot is perfect, just like the place where we built last year's nest."
"You silly daddy bird," says mother robin chirping back. "It is the place. Maybe a fall wind blew our nest down to the ground and some sweet boy took the nest to school for show and tell. I like this yard and love the tree. I know it will be full of wormy cherries. Let's live here."
I wanted to tell the robins to be careful. A fat, orange cat lives in this yard. This is her yard to explore at night and sleep in during the daylight. But I didn't know how to speak robin, so I just watched. Robins, take care.
If the robin family does come back to our tree I think I will make a collection of building materials: newly cut hair, stuffing from quilts, yarn pieces, stuffing from quilts, and soft flannel. Scattering them on the ground, I will wait for mother robin to fly over and see them. "Oh, my," she will say. "They are having a sale. I think I will choose the hair and the yarn and the stuffing. The colors are perfect for my nest, just like the ones I saw at Mt. Vernon."
Little ones, do you remember last summer's picnic under the cherry tree? We ate sandwiches on a nice blanket and watched the mommy and daddy robins fly to the nest above our heads. All afternoon long we watched the parade: Mother robin flew in with a worm, naked baby birds popped their heads up all saying, "Me! Me! Me! My turn! My turn! Feed me the worm, I'm starving." Mother robin stuffed the worm in a beak and flew away. Dad comes in with his worm and the babies cry again. "FEED ME!"
Perhaps I should plant worm seeds this summer and grow fat juicy worms for the baby robins. Although I don't think Costco or Target or Walmart have such silly seeds for sale.
And so my dear little ones, you too are my baby birds. Your mommy and daddy bring you pizza and cookies and noodles and apples, but never worms. Sometimes you cry and say me, me, me, my turn, my turn, I'm starving. When nighttime comes you snuggle in your soft cozy beds with quilts and warm blankets, say your prayers, and know that you have a mommy and daddy who love you as much as the robins loved their babies. Sleep well, little birdies.
Love,
Grandma
