nesting

Unclear as this first shot is, I was happy to capture the husband finch in action, early in our finch nest's progression. Thanks to our chirpy little couple, I am learning some things about bird habits in suburbia. My usual inattentiveness to such details has certainly changed during the past week.

It might look like the husband is feeding wifey a worm. Actually, that's the hook for our outdoor blind behind him. What he was up to right then was giving his mate food from his own tummy. Such a romantic gesture, yes?

Twice now I've watched the food delivery by the husband to wifey; Tim observed it, too, and he smiled when I pointed out that at least all the things he himself went through during my prenatal periods did not include regurgitating seeds into my mouth.

I very much enjoy the tuneful finch husband.

I've learned enough from the helpful information highway to confidently state he and wifey are House Finches. A bit disappointing it was to find they are the most common of finches, rather than some exotic species seeking us out. But I'll take them. It is perhaps interesting to note (though Wikipedia has yet to document) the fact that I go all motherly toward almost any creature coming under my roof (or, in this case, under my eaves). This has applied to rats, snakes, and a duck, besides the more conventional dogs and cats.

As might be inferred by the blue sky background (in Western Oregon -- gasp!), our days have been the kind that surge the mercury and the human husband's instinct to tend to outdoor work, such as keeping the sun off our west-facing walls. Saturday Tim was out lowering blinds, except for one. This isn't the first time, by the way, Tim has adjusted his efficiency for the sake of family members. Our bedroom's window-to-the-west no longer has a blind over it at all, so I can view the yard while treadmilling. Though once in a while a small sigh escapes him, my male of the species takes the cares of others to heart.

Sunday afternoon I read a book on a baking-stone-warm back step, my spine against the door. (Believe me, if I were in charge of blinds and so on, they would not be lowered each year until I had at least broken a sweat in or outside the house.) I noted wifey finch in her nest, keeping, hopefully, the correct temperature for herself and any eggs she may have laid by this point.

I hadn't heard the husband since the day before, when it looked like a few other birds (swooping sparrows and a raspy jay) were in the area specifically to aggravate our finch couple. The husband had seemed to be drawing them off. Now the yard appeared quiet. Maybe too quiet. Maybe something had happened to the father of those fledglings-to-be.

I took a long look at our Dear Sweet Westley lounging on the deck. As far as I know, he hasn't caught a birdie in ages, but in his prime he was quite the terror of the winged community. One year I even bought him a fancy bib meant to curb his hunting sense. Westley came home a week or so later sans bib, looking proud of himself, and soon after that he brought a woodpecker in to release it in James's room for an exciting morning. That, however, was years ago.

Still, the empty wire and the silence worried me. Was our little wifey now a single parent? Who would help her? Would she abandon the nestlings and would I have to hear their pitiful peeps and...

Early this morning I saw him, across the yard on a different wire. Soon he was giving wifey her post Mother's Day breakfast-in-nest. I was ever so happy.

Comments

Dee Ready said…
Dear Deanna, . . . I'm so glad to learn what 's happening with the Mr. and Mrs. Finch and their soon-to-be children. And glad also to learn that Mr. Finch
is fine and that he accomplished his mission of chasing off the terrorists! Please keep us posted. Peace.
As I child, I loved climbing the big old oaks that were in our back yard. Mother always knew where to find me (with a book). I would pretend one branch was the seat of a sofa and another was the back. I still love the idea of living in a tree house, and it sounds like you do, too. Your finch in the photo almost looks like a painted bunting.
Deanna said…
Dee, I'll try to check in again as soon as there's something more to report. Wish I could peek into the nest...

Beth, I did devour a lot of books, but mostly I watched my brothers climb way up in trees. Still love to read in the backyard, though. :o)