Nesting Instinct: A Love Story
A new family just moved into the neighborhood. And I mean the immediate neighborhood. As in 18-inches-from-our-back-door neighborhood. They didn’t ask for permission, but since we had an instant fondness for them, we didn’t consider asking them to relocate. The truth is their presence made the neighborhood so much more beautiful.
The family started off as a couple, but it grew rapidly. We don’t know their names, sadly, and probably never will, because they will not be here for the long haul – at least not in their present location. But that’s okay. It’s the natural order of things, and with all the vitriol and violence and hatred in the wider world these days, it’s nourishing to pay attention to the natural order of things
There’s an important rule of thumb about housing. Before you can move in, it’s helpful to have a place to move into. A nest, as they say. The couple built it stick by stick, straw by straw, over the course of weeks, maybe even months.
The finished product was round and sturdy, no less an architectural marvel than the Roman Colosseum in its own woodsy way, requiring no cement foundation or timber or massive stone girders to keep it intact, and perfectly engineered to fit into an empty plant pot, 5 inches in diameter. I will forever be in awe about how they did this, without hands, special equipment or a Home Depot.
Once the nest was done, the couple did what young ones do: they procreated. Soon there were four eggs in the nest, and about 12 days later, when we peered into the nest from a distance, we saw that one of the eggs had hatched, and the tiniest of babies – 5.5 grams, or the weight of a quarter, according to ornithologist Laura Erickson – had entered the world, resembling little more than a piece of pulp with an infinitesimal beak. Erickson says it can take the babies almost a full day to break out of their shell. Once one does it, the others` follow suit, one per day.
Their food, in the first day or two, is in the form of a bit of digested morsel regurgitated by Mom or Dad. Soon the nestlings are able to open their eyes and get to know their parents not just by sound but by sight. After four or five days, they graduate to earthworms and insects, and that’s when the show really begins, the parents making scores of hunting trips every day, returning to the nest with a worm or other delicacy. As the worm-toting parent gets close, the little ones squirm in anticipation and open their beaks and point them straight to the sky, making the best possible target. What baby robin doesn’t get excited about a worm?
At night, the mother returns to the nest to keep the nestlings warm underneath her. Both mother and father have very busy lives from all the hunting and protecting and feeding their babies, but the most intense part of the rearing only lasts two weeks, which is all it takes for a baby robin to become the same size as its parents – and to be ready to go on its own. If you are scoring at home, that’s about twenty years faster than baby humans take to leave the nest. (Some take longer than that.)
Our fast-growing friends have been with us for about 10 days, so our time together is down to four or six days. The babies seem to double in size every day. Feathers and wings are taking shape. Flight is imminent. The whole experience has been full of joy. Robins, in many cultures, are a symbol of rebirth, and of a renewed connection to a loved one you have lost. For me, they’ve provided a serendipitous reconnection to the wonders of nature. Like a lot of parents, I am dreading when they leave.