Jun 5, 2008Nature’s reality showCurrent mood:peacefulI have had the privilege of watching a pair of robins in my aspen the last month or so. At first there was much singing, flirting of tails and downright chasing through the patio. Suddenly there was a nest right there in the fork of the tree, high off the ground, but easy to spot once you knew it was there. Then mom robin is spending more time in and near the nest, but also leaving it for long periods of time. On May 11 she finally settled in and barely moved from her sheltered spot for 9 days. Papa robin spent his time at the top of the roof next door singing his cheerful 'cheeroop, cheereep, cheeroop, cheereep.' He also would take turns sitting on the nest, with a quiet flight into the tree, a pause while mama robin stepped off and went off to see to her own needs, and then he would nestle down, too. Such diligent parents, both of them.May 20, early in the morning, there is a gentle pipping from the dad, standing over the nest with a tiny tidbit in his beak. They've hatched! Over the next few days little yellow beaks, scrawny necks and wobbly heads stretch their way toward the larger and larger mouthfuls being brought. Room Service! The noisy screes pick up in pitch and volume. Both parents seem tireless in their shuttling back and forth to feed this demanding brood. There are three of them.May 27: an evil magpie enters the picture. I encounter it outside our yard, but it is racing me home, on a beeline for our patio and the aspen tree. I was mulling over in my mind what actions I could/would/should take, when suddenly from out of nowhere came 5 adult robins who chased off the magpie, striking it forcibly and calling out when it fled: "And STAY out!" It did. I haven't seen any magpies around since, and we generally have a few. The robin security flock dispersed. Zip! The babies continued to flourish, elbowing and outstretching each other in their bids for the next meal. Soon they appeared fully feathered and WAY too big for 3 in the nest, and Mom still sitting over them at night.Tuesday, June 3: again at first light, the first bold hatchling took steps off the nest and onto an adjoining branch. By 10:00 he had moved to another branch and was hunkered down, beak pointing to the sky, demanding and receiving chow. By noon he had changed his posture from hatchling to young confident bird of the world, ready to seek his fortune. He spread his stubby wings and floated down, down, down over the fence and into a neighboring vegetable patch, complete with irrigation water and a handy supply of worms. From an upstairs window we were able to watch him, being shepherded by his father. By early afternoon, baby number 2 was out and stretching and preening, and soon flew off. Gone, just like that. The last baby, Junior, stayed hunkered down and made demands about food and more food. The parents continued to feed all day. Late afternoon the (presumably) female, 2, returned to the tree and stayed till almost dark. Dad brought her a snack at one point. She left again sometime after 7 p.m. Junior was still in the nest, plaintively expressing his dismay that no one was keeping him warm and that dinner hadn't been served. The parents both fed him once more before dark, and left the tree. Dad stayed within earshot; we could hear his evening song.Early the next morning Junior was taking tentative stretch breaks out of the nest, crying piteously, and then scuttling back in, just like a late bloomer home from college. Not leaving, nossir. Dad took pity and brought late breakfast, then disappeared again. Junior spent that morning in an adjacent tree bitching and moaning and hunkered down. AND it was starting to rain, and NO ONE was coming to help! I went indoors at about 10 a.m., having done all the wet-shirt-and-hair gardening I could tolerate. The mowing dudes came through, and when they were gone, so was Junior. The parents are still in the area; Dad Robin is next door as I type this, cheroooping away in the afternoon halflight. It's rained periodically this afternoon, and his cheery song makes me want to just go sit in a wet chair and listen, rain or not. Pour the wine, Beulah, I'm going out.