This story does not have a “…and they lived happily ever after” ending. It’s more in the vein of “harsh reality”, so please be forewarned. I want to tell the story because of what I learned from the birds involved. I wish to honor their amazing dedication and tenacity in the face of overwhelming challenges.
Their story begins with a young moose. It was a June evening and I was driving up to the Y and passing a creek. I glanced down at the pond to the east, as I always do, and there stood a young cow moose, looking up towards the road. She stood on the north shore in a pool of sunlight, her ears swung forward. Her warm chocolate-brown hide was in contrast with the bright summer greens of the foliage around her and I caught my breath at the perfection of the sight. I swung the car around and grabbed my camera. There was a drive heading east off the Spur, and I cut the engine and rolled to a stop, hoping not to spook the moose. She had already headed into the forest by the time I left the car, but I still hoped to catch a glimpse of her. I walked carefully along the gravel drive, listening. A metal rail gate was across the drive, and I stood near its south end, camera ready. I did not hear the moose, but was startled when a small bird flew up from a sapling next to the gate, about knee-high to me. When the bird did not leave but hopped in amongst the nearby bushes, I knew there must be a nest. I looked carefully, and soon spotted a perfectly round nest nestled in the sapling by the gate. I quickly snapped a couple of photos then backed away so the little mother could return to her nest. To my delight, I found that she was a Blackpoll Warbler. I had never found the nest of one before. Looking at my photos, I noted that the six tiny eggs were pale bluish-gray with magenta mottling. The nest was made of various grasses on the outer layers, the inner cup was lined with moose hair. Why she had built her nest in such a vulnerable location was a puzzle. The nest was in the open, out from the shelter of the forest, and not under the shade and protection of any of the large trees nearby. My guess is that this was the first nest of this bird, and somehow the little sapling had been appealing to her and her mate.
Since I didn’t know when the eggs were laid, I didn’t know when they would hatch, so I stopped in every other day to check on their progress. Eight days after my discovery, I was thrilled to find six little hatchlings in the nest. They were surprisingly orange with a black stripe running down their backs, and black on their heads and wings. They were quite featherless, blind and looked more like baby dinosaurs than birds. A few black down feathers stuck out of their heads, and they lay in a heap amongst the moose hair. The mom bird was tolerating my presence now, and even dad-in his handsome black and white plumage-would come into the trees while I was photographing the nestlings. In earlier visits I had not seen nor heard him, though I’m sure he was watching me.
Then, three days after they hatched, disaster struck the family. Up until then, the gate across the drive had been closed and chained with a lock. When I arrived that morning, I discovered the gate open. My breath caught- had the people seen the little nest? It was obvious to me, but they wouldn’t have been looking for a nest. To my distress, I found the nest gone. When the gate had been swung open, it had knocked the nest from its sapling. As I approached, I saw the mama bird fly up from the grass near the foot of the sapling. I looked and found that she had been sitting on a nestling in the grass where it had landed when the nest had been sent flying. I found two nestlings nearby, but they were dead. The mama bird had been unable to help all the nestlings, which had been scattered as the nest fell. She had chosen one nestling and spread herself over that one, keeping it warm and alive. I couldn’t find any other nestlings, and I assumed predators may have found them. I searched and found the nest and gently placed the nestling inside. As I backed away, the mama bird returned to the nest. But as I stood watching, I knew it wasn’t a good idea to leave the nest on the ground-it was just too vulnerable. It took the better part of an hour to get the nest back in its original location. I placed the nest slowly nearer and nearer and- after each move- I backed away and let the mama bird come in so she could find it. I got it tied in to the sapling to it couldn’t be knocked loose again.
I got paper and felt-tip pen from my car and made a sign to point out the nest to the people so they would know it was there. The next day I brought a better sign, one that would withstand rain and wind. When I approached the nest I noted that the sun was beating down on the nest in its exposed location, and mama bird was on the nest with her wings spread, panting in the hot sun. When she left, the baby bird was soon panting. The larger sign I had made was able to shade the nest, and when it was secured and I had crossed the drive and stood watching the mama return, she settled on the nest and wasn’t panting in the newly-made shade.
Over that day and the next, I noticed that the baby bird was not active like a normal nestling. It didn’t gape at the mama’s return, but I thought maybe with only one nestling, the parents were keeping it well-fed, and perhaps the heat of the sunlight made it drowsy. The nest location had it in full sunlight for about three hours in the morning, then it would finally get shade from the forest. I hoped the shade from my new sign would help the situation. I worried that the weather might change and rain would present a new problem, but it looked like the sun would continue on until the nestling fledged in another week or so.
Two days later I arrived to find the nest empty and the parent birds gone. The baby bird was not yet ready to fledge- it didn’t have any flight feathers, and its eyes had just opened the day before. I don’t know exactly what happened. My guess is that it had been injured in the fall, had died of its injuries, and the parents had left.
It was such a strange place to build a nest- at the edge of the forest, instead of within the forest. So exposed and vulnerable. Yet something compelled the parents to build there. When the birds realized that I wasn’t a predator, they tolerated my presence, and so allowed me a glimpse into their lives as parents. I found the distance I needed to be where they relaxed enough to hunt insects in the trees and bring them to the nestlings. When I returned the surviving nestling to the nest, the mama bird came back to it with me there-almost relieved, if I could put a human term on her actions. I imagine she may have spent all night and morning protecting her baby on the ground, probably in a high state of stress in such a vulnerable location. When she was safely back on her nest, I had stayed to watch her mate hunting insects in the trees. The male Blackpoll Warbler has strikingly different plumage from the female and he was relatively easy to spot amongst the green leaves in his distinctive black and white stripes. The female has lovely gray and crème-striped plumage with a pale yellowish-gray belly. Both have yellow legs and feet and a yellow stripe on their black beaks. Both have white eye rings. I’ve seen many juvenile Blackpolls and their plumage is not at all like either parent’s. I was so hoping to see what the nestling’s plumage looked like just before it fledged.
It was heart breaking to see the efforts of the parent birds dashed. I know this happens more than we know-especially with first-time nesters who have so much to learn. And then there were this summer’s forest fires, which claimed the lives of so many young birds not ready to fly. It’s a harsh reality, sometimes, but I also feel privileged to have had the opportunity to have spent a short time with these birds, watching them care for their nestlings, and watching how they handled the challenge they had to face. They learned what not to do, when selecting a nest site, to be sure. It was a high price to pay, but an important one. I admire their dedication in caring for their surviving chick, when they could have chosen to abandon all of them. Instinct? Love? Who’s to say? Lessons to be learned by birds and people, for sure. And next nesting season, a pair of Blackpoll Warblers will be a little wiser.
Writer’s Voice-KTNA
Oct. 2015
Lessons From A Nest
