Empty Nests

I pulled up today to the purple martin colony that I’ve been tending this summer, expecting to find the final two nests to have fledged, and what I first saw was a clear hint of that. Unlike five days ago, during my last check, there were no birds in the area – none perched on either of the racks, none perched on the nearby wires, none flying around, and none flying out of the nests when I lowered the racks (there were probably at least a couple of dozen or more in those various positions five days ago). I only needed to check the two nests today, the only two with hatchings remaining last week, two in one, four in the other. And as expected – and hoped – both were vacated today. Apparently the season is over, all the birds that would hatch and fledge have done so, and all are apparently readying or already on their way back to South America.

I didn’t know what to expect when I volunteered for this project last May. Would it involve the regular cleaning of nests? Fumigation? Fending off protective parents? Trapping or killing predators? Feeding baby birds? With eye droppers? Teaching them to fly? I did have to clean several nests regularly the first couple of months of sparrow and starling nests. One time as I reached in to clear the amazing amount of crap stuffed in a nest by a squatting starling, the bird itself flew out, brushing my hand as it passed, fortunately fast enough before I could register and suffer a heart attack. After one nest had been decimated by starling attempts to usurp it, I had to clear what remained, clean the nest out, and lay down a bed of new pine needles. A few times I had to reach in and move hatchlings around, a delicate process especially the first couple of weeks after hatching, to make the count accurate. Early in the hatching I had to pull out a dead baby, from what cause I don’t know, and again just a couple of weeks ago I pulled out a juvenile, dead from what looked to be parasites, just a couple of days from its expected fledge date (its three siblings were successfully fledged four days later).

But that was the operational tending of the colony. More interesting is the observational tending. As I was at first flushing out sparrow and starling nests, I was also waiting eagerly for the first eggs. My instructions were to check the colony every five days. But I checked it every four days. When I found the first eggs, I carefully calculated when to expect the first hatchings, wrote down the anticipated date for each nest. And when the hatches began, I was amazed at the fragility and the vitality of my little chicks, and the daily growth and maturity. I was convinced the parents recognized my car and me as I arrived and they flew off and perched on the wires, watching, knowing I was only helping. I began talking with the hatchings in the nests when they would look up at me, thinking again that they must recognize me. “You’re looking good.” “You’re just about ready to head out, aren’t you?” “Aren’t you gone yet?” They never showed any fear. Selfishly I’d like to think there was some sort of inter-species relationship formed, nanny and children, though I know that’s just my projection. Still, I spent three months watching their parents arrive, pad their nests, lay their eggs, hatch, grow day-by-day, mature, and finally leave the nest. I have to savor some stake and satisfaction in that.