Wednesday, August 03, 2011

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On the Ingenuity of Birds


This past spring, I hung a small set of chimes
from my balcony ceiling, all the while knowing
that they were way too close to the roof to get
enough wind momentum. It was tucked into
a sheltered corner of a balcony and although
I had some vague plan to eventually lower
them for more wind exposure, never did.

Soon after the last spring snow melted,
a pair of barn swallows scouted this area
for secluded nesting sites and appropriated
my chimes; the actual chimes were supported
by a flat vertically-hung 4" x 4" glass
decoration. And from their point of view,
a great surface on which to build a nest.
And so, their daily task of spitting tiny
mouthfuls of mud against the 'chime glass'
began. Back and forth all day long, each
time soaring low off the balcony into
nearby trees, and returning with yet
another mouthful to splatter. And
gradually over a two week period,
the form of their nest emerged.

Occasionally, they would spend more time away,
presumably foraging for tasty bugs or water. But
generally, theirs was a relentless task that never
let up from first light til sunset; this kind of
dedication was admirable. The weight of their
completed nest displaced my chimes only slightly
to one side. But best of all, whenever they arrived
back at the nest, I always heard the chimes jingle.
Like Pavlov's dogs, this sound always sparked
a joyful race to the window to see what they
were up to next.

Their next task was to line the nest and
to that end, both birds plucked breast feathers
daily. But all this during an exceptionally
stormy spring, one wrought with high winds,
cold temperatures and record rain falls.
Through all of this their nest was well shielded
from intense winds; they had chosen well. Still,
I wondered about the structural integrity; would
the mud absorb too much rain water and bit by
bit, or all at once, slide off the glass during the
next heavy storm? Or later in the spring, in
dryer weather, would it crack and crumble under
the added weight of eggs or newborns? Each night,
I watched them settle in, to sleep perched atop
their nest, and even took to chirping them a
goodnight call.

Meanwhile, I devised various crisis intervention
schemes, just in case the nest gave way, therefore
laying cushions and blankets directly below the
nest on the balcony floor. But just as an aside,
not only are barn swallows exceptionally beautiful
birds, not only do they portray an endearing spirit,
but they are excellent engineers.

At the other end of this balcony, hung a silver
orb that reflected the entire balcony along
with a panoramic view of everything beyond.
The male liked to perch above it when he wasn't
doing nest duty, and so there, atop a silver orb
he sang to his mate. It became my habit to sit
directly beneath him and mimic his musical phrases.
Our duets lasted throughout spring; him singing
first, then pausing just long enough for me
to repeat it, my inarticulate reply followed by a
new sound pattern from him and my subsequent
attempts at mastery. I discovered that swallows
have a complex language. Also, that the spring
of my personal discontent was suddenly populated
by these glorious avian solitudes filled with song.
I am now truly convinced that he was amused by
my dedicated efforts to sing in 'swallowese' because
if not, it is doubtful that he would have continued
his sing-and-pause pattern throughout the egg
incubation period. Both birds seemed to enjoy
my presence as much as I enjoyed theirs and so,
I am also convinced that (these) birds lead rich
emotional lives.

When they perched on top of their nest, their heads
barely cleared the ceiling. Apparently, swallows like
this feeling of being enclosed. Ironic that they would
desire this since I had just emerged from 2 grueling
years of feeling trapped by my neighbours' airborne
toxins. My own sense of entrapment had seemed
inescapable and these birds added a delightful
distraction. While searching online to learn more
about swallows, I hit a host of sites that uniformly
promoted quick and fatal solutions to the "swallow
problem". Apparently, there is no species on the
planet that someone, somewhere, does not consider
a threat to humanity.

But so it went, that the nest was built and snugly
lined with down. The female began her monotonous
task of egg laying and egg sitting. But whenever she
needed relief, her mate became an equal partner,
'sitting the eggs' for extended periods while she left
to find food or to stretch her wings. And then one day,
I found an empty egg shell on the floor beneath their
nest. A cream coloured shell with brown speckles.
Clearly, the eggs were beginning to hatch and
occasionally, I glimpsed a little pink head pop up.
Interestingly, the parents were not concerned by
my presence. Until one day, I found the last egg
splattered on the balcony floor. An infertile egg
that had been nudged out to make way for
growing babies. It took almost two weeks before
I was able to count 4 featherless heads. But most
astounding was their parents' backandforth tenacity,
flying off to catch a bug in midair and then return just
long enough to stuff it into any open mouth. Their
findandfeed food excursions were exactly like their
nest-building habits. Incessant. All day long from
first flight til last light. Filling up their babies'
hungry bellies was an all-day affair.

Another week passed; babies now had feathers
and wings. Also, the nest was becoming a rather
crowded place since all 6 birds slept there (with
absolutely no sign of nest slippage or crackage).
Until the first born began to perch atop the rim,
wobbling and fluffing his untested wings. Ultimately,
three out of the four babies began this daily wobble
on the edge until the oldest fluttered off and landed
on the nearby balcony railing. Soon, the second and
then the third one followed. But the fourth was
tentative. A few days later, the first three were
taking daily flights, short circles off the balcony
and back again to the nest. All four were still being
fed by both parents but the youngest was alone in
the nest for longer periods of time. Eventually, he
also wobbled off but fluttered to the balcony floor.
Disoriented, he eventually made his way back up
to the soft security of the nest. The next day, he
tried again with the same result. The wobbly edge,
the flutter and fall. And so, I sat next to him for a
moment, until he. he lifted and landed on the
balcony railing. His entire day was spent wobbling
on various nearby edges with no intent to push off.
I worried that he might be disabled. But his siblings
were playful and continued to fly past him until he
was entirely convinced of flight. When he finally
did lift off into the open expanse, that was the
last day this family used their nest for sleeping.
My swallow family had finally flown the coup.

Nesting swallows is a fantastic video that depicts
a 30 day nesting period shot on someone else's
balcony two years ago; I have watched it many
times. At some point, the videographer Andrey
Yeliseyev aptly describes swallows as birds that
keep their nest very clean. I had also observed
my swallow parents continually cleaning the nest
of debris. Afterall, 4 growing babies make a mess
and I had noted daily how the babies would perch
on the edge of the nest with head pointed inward,
about to poop; their parents were quick to strategically
position their heads directly underneath, ready to
catch the little bundles by the beak, a midstream
capture that then sent them flying off the balcony
to make yet another dirty drop somewhere far
away from the nest itself.

But even now, weeks after the nesting extravaganza
came to an end, I continue to count a cluster of six
swallows playfully swooping and soaring through
the open air just beyond my balcony. One or two
of them often venture in, flying within an inch of
their old nest and hovering like a humming bird
just long enough to peer inside, perhaps to reaffirm
that it is still there, or that it is still theirs. Their
swoopandpeek visits are still a daily event. And
so, it is my intention is to leave it hanging there,
in hope that it might get used again and out of
respect.

Mainly, what I've learned is this; that birds share complex
social relationships, lead rich emotional lives, speak in a
subtle language not entirely discernible to our ears, and
actually want to know us in some peaceful way. I happen
to live beside a fresh water bay and close to the tree tops
where I hear and see many kinds of birds flying past my
balcony at eye level. But I always make it a point to search
for the swallows, have newfound respect for who and what
they are, and appreciation for what we shared. Or to be
more accurate, for what they chose to share with me.

Swallowese, indeed.






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