The little Phoebe flew from the budding apple tree landing on a dry branch a few yards away. With something between curiosity and apprehension she looked straight at me, sizing me up. Locked in a gaze, we studied each other–my eyes drawing a line from the curve at the tip of her beak to that funny tuft on her head. Her tail would flick, and she’d fly off only to return a minute later on another branch. I would come to realize that she was caring for a nest just above my head in the eve of the house and we would share a lot of time together as I was in the process of residing the barn with fresh boards. I’d often hear the babies crying when she would fly up with something good for them to eat. But I soon came to the spot where hammering might disrupt the nest, so I held off completing that section. One day carrying a freshly cut board behind the house my gaze fell upon the unfinished section and I thought “Oh… this board is perfect for that spot!” So I began prying off the older boards and with one big “ugh”… the nest and all of the tiny birds tumbled to the ground. “Dear god, what have I done!” I knelt down and gently placed the little birds back in the nest… all seven of them. Turning, I saw the Phoebe on the usual perch and my heart broke in two. I placed the nest on nearby saw horses and chanced a quick glance at the Phoebe… then retreated to the house. Peering from the window I felt empty gazing at the nest of lifeless birds… and I actually prayed: “Dear god forgive me. Protect the little ones I’ve injured and please don’t let that Phoebe suffer any more”. I returned to my desk and tried to focus on something else, but it was impossible. Returning to the window I was overjoyed to see the little Phoebe sitting on the nest atop the saws horses! But in those precious moments the skies had darkened and heavy drops were beginning to fall. I thought of a little plastic foot stool I had seen in a closet and ran to retrieve it. Flinging open the kitchen door, the Phoebe flew from nest and I quickly positioned the stool over the bed of woven grass and hurried back to the house to avoid the rain… whereupon the Phoebe flew back shielding the little ones with her body as the rain became heavier and heavier then turning to hail the size of marbles. I was transfixed at the sight of the brave little mother pummeled over and over by the stray pellets sacrificing herself for the little ones beneath her wings. The next day I visited the nest while she was away. Only three little babies remained. Four lifeless chicks lay motionless on the board nearby. They remained there for several days. I observed their progress for almost a week. The babies grew quickly and the Phoebe remained ever vigilant. But then, one Sunday morning, glancing out from the window I was grief stricken to see the nest turned upside down… and the little birds nowhere to be seen.

I rushed outside to study the scene. Some predator had devoured them. I looked for clues, but couldn’t tell if it had been a hawk or an owl, or maybe even a snake. It really didn’t matter at this point. They were gone. I stared at the overturned nest… and then spotted the Phoebe sitting quietly in the usual perch. We gazed at each other. “I’m so sorry” I said to the little bird. She just looked at me… not even flicking her tail as Phoebe’s will do. Our gaze broke and I mumbled an inaudible “good bye” and returned to the house. That afternoon, washing dishes at the sink I caught a flash of feathers dart past the window and lunged out the door to see what it was. Looking up, I saw the Phoebe in the eve of the house. She had built a new nest, and was starting over!   From that moment, I would keep my distance and soon lost track of my special Phoebe. I would sometimes see her and her mate bringing food to the noisy nest, but I never saw them fledge. One day at the end of summer I spotted the Phoebe in the perch a few yards away. We gazed at each other. Her tail would flick and I would draw a little line from the curve at the tip of her beak to that funny tuft on her head.

 

• This is lovely in every way. My husband Jerry loves plants, particularly rhododendrons. Many birds live in them. In the past while pruning them he has knocked down bird nests which he has tried to carefully replace never knowing if the damage was fatal.   Trina Sears Sternstein

• Stunning photography and a beautiful story! Our lives are made rich with them.   Jan Bradley

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