Every Spring, Mr and Mrs Love[bird] come to my front porch for a visit. They move in above the front door, gathering up twigs and other random fluff to create a nice little nesting place for their young.
However, a nest built directly above any home’s front door is not probably not the best-placed location for the laying of little rollie-pollie eggs. Every year, despite my request for all to enter and exit quietly, and use the garage door if available, eggs are dropped on the doorstep.
When we come home to find the egg yoke and half of the nest on the doorstep, we are saddened. Above the door, there is nothing left but a few twigs. And we are left with only the images of Mr and Mrs Love painstaking efforts to build a future.
These images of birds building a family each spring is more than just that for me. Watching them each year reawakens my own experience with raising little ones. I watch them and remember the excitement and possibility of bringing young chicks into the world, watching them as they learn to spread their wings and take flight, and although the path they take is never quite what you dreamed for them, it is their creation — and that is good.
This year, after BoBo and DD have returned home for Easter, BoBo’s 20th Birthday, and the celebration of Dad’s life, I am left with my own remnants of a nest. I have yet to pick up the twigs left behind in BoBo’s previously immaculate room. Like the mother bird on my fence, I sit and reflect on the days gone by and try to generate enough energy to pick up the pieces left behind (clothing, towels, and a half eaten Easter Basket).
My nest is not empty yet for in the next room my youngest bird’s wings are expanding as he lies in his bed dreaming of where he might take flight. And although it too may not be what I dreamed for him, I am pretty hopeful that it will good — leaving my chest filled with pride for all the love and life that setting out to build a nest brings.