At first light they were gone and it seems a bit lonely. We had been watching Miss Helen Phoebe for weeks ~ building her nest, laying eggs, and patiently tending her eggs. We watched every day . . . Miss Helen had built a lovely nest on the side of the old mill above the light. She is a most conscientious mother . . . keeping her nest in proper order. Every year she has two families. Very early each morning, she flies about catching bugs for her babies. She is an inspiration to us. Her family of three babies are so patient and quiet when she is out and about. Everyday they have gotten bigger til they just couldn't fit in the nest and were forced to take turns perched on the very edge. We all knew they would soon be gone . . . time to leave the nest. It was hard to watch. She took them one by one guiding them over the edge and down from the nest on to the grass, then a short weak flight to the creek for their first drink. I watched the last one alone in the nest, waiting for her to come, trusting she would come, trusting her to lead her to a new place . . . a new world filled with adventure and danger. It's hard to see them go this was her last family for the summer. Now it's time to gather all the little birds and move to a place of rich food and warm breezes--plump bugs, flowing water, with family all close by. The last gathering for summer before everyone is gone except me. It's going to be sad not hearing her songs or her baby's chirps. One just has to grow up and accept the adventures that will come and live carefully, contentedly, sing songs to the morning light.
Miss Helen has never fussed about what others are doing ~ she just keeps to her business and never worries. I hope she will return next year. Some wonderful spring morning I will hear her sing.
It's past midsummer, the cicadas are noisy and my family is growing! They are learning to enjoy the corn pile and how to call to the Man With the Long Blue Apron, and nap in the sun in the soft green grass in the afternoon under the mill window.
Until next time . . .
