A Mother is a Mother

So for the last few weeks we have been hosting a finch family in our hanging basket out on the front porch. It's not like it was our idea. We noticed a flurry of activity in the basket in June, and sure enough, the husband and wife finch were creating a nest. A couple weeks later, 4 eggs. A couple weeks later, 4 babies.

The plant was brand new. It was pretty and flowering and perfect. Once the nest was built, the plant started suffering, mostly because we were nervous to water it. Eventually we started watering one side, the non-nest side, and everything was fine, Even when there were eggs. Even when there were baby birds. We were extra careful around the baby birds, but they didn't really react when my husband watered. He was super careful not to get the water anywhere near them. They just kind of looked at him when he came around. The mother watched from a distance and once my husband was inside, she flew back to the nest and checked to make sure no harm had been done. It was a good system.

The other morning, my husband went out to water as usual. He got up on the bench, carefully and slowly put the watering can up to the edge, and in a huge and semi-violent flutter, all four baby birds took off. For the first time ever. Three baby birds went left towards the neighbor's yard, and one went just a few yards away into the grass by our mailbox. My husband came in, a little shellshocked. The birds had clearly never flown before, and he felt horrible for scaring them off.

I was devastated. I was worried. I watched as the mother finch came back to the now-empty nest and called for them for a solid two minutes. I cried. After she flew off, I decided I had to find the birds and return them to the nest. I wasn't sure if that was the right thing to do, but leaving them in the grass, open to all kinds of predators (including the pesky orange outdoor cat that patrols the street) seemed super wrong. So I put on my husband's work gloves and set out to retrieve the birds.

I found the littlest baby bird by our mailbox within 30 seconds. It had just huddled down in the grass and tried to make itself as small and invisible as possible. My biggest worry at that moment was that I would scare it off again and into the street. Thankfully, that didn't happen, and I was surprised at how it let me gently pick it up. I have never in my life picked up anything wild before. I was super scared of hurting it. But it climbed right up into my gloved hand and I oh-so-carefully placed it back into the nest. It promptly jumped out. I put it back and rested my hand lightly on it until it settled down. Then I rehung the basket and prayed the thing wouldn't jump out again as I went to look for its siblings.

This search didn't go as well. To spare you the fruitless details, I never found any more baby birds, despite my combing through the grass of my neighbors' yards. My husband looked as well, after I came back empty handed. While he looked, I cried. I completely applied human psychology to birds as I imagined the mom crying and frantically searching for her babies. I felt totally responsible for the little lost babies as well as the one in the nest, which I was worried she would now abandon. I googled everything I could find on finch behavior and diet (in case we had now another mouth to feed). I cried some more. I watched from the window as my husband scoured the yard of our least friendly neighbor (without permission, by the way). I cried even more. I mean, I was acting like these little babies were MINE. I'm sure it was entirely inappopriate to be acting that way, but I could not help it.

My husband came back having found no more birds after looking high and low. It was his assessment that the three that got away were stronger and ended up not on the ground, but up in a tree somewhere, probably with the parents. He felt the one that ended up in our yard was the "runt" and maybe couldn't quite make it as far, especially when startled into fledging. I nodded through tears and prayed he was right... I wanted him so badly to be right.

Some time went by with the littlest bird still in the nest. FINALLY Daddy bird came and said something to baby bird. He left, then came back with the mother. They squawked at the bird, and the father kept giving little pushes to the baby. It was pretty clear that they were urging it out of the nest. My husband said today was probably their day to leave the nest anyway. We watched as they talked and prodded and pushed. Then the parents left the nest to a spot not far away and encouraged the baby bird to join them. The baby bird stood up at the edge of the nest and looked around for a few minutes. My husband got this picture (from a safe spot through the window):

It seemed like this little guy - or girl -- just did not have the nerve to try it again. Just then, and just like that, it took off and joined its parents. My husband and I were ridiculously relieved and happy and the whole tone of the day went from dread/guilt to delight/glee.

What I took away from this was -- well for one: just let the plant die next time, and for another: a mom is a mom. No matter the species. I felt nearly as invested as the actual mom of these baby birds in finding them and making sure they were safe. I searched for those last three through tears while sweating in the July heat and humidity, and I didn't want to stop until I found them. Though this was all brought on because my husband scared them off, I recalled worrying about them when we had a big storm with winds that knocked out our power, and again when we had strong rains blowing onto our porch. I checked on them every day and I was totally invested in their well-being. I felt like they were at least a little bit my responsibility because they were on my porch, and being a parent, I wanted to see those little babies thrive! So when they were scared out of the nest prematurely, I felt like it was my own babies scared out into the big, bad world. I was so happy to know this situation had a good outcome. Because a mom is a mom, no matter what the baby.

And not to take away from my husband, he felt the same way. Minus all the crying.