While hanging laundry on Sunday, I watched a house wren furnishing her nest in a birdhouse hanging nearby.
Last year, we had a house wren inhabit the same birdhouse, which then hung at one end of the clothesline. The wren emerged every time I came out to hang or unpin the laundry. She’d fly to a nearby elm and chatter. Perhaps she was giving me a tongue-lashing for coming so close to her home, but it seemed too melodious for a scold. And sometimes, she just perched at her front door and appraised me with her sharp eye. I’d like to think we became tolerant neighbors.
Last month, we cleaned out the birdhouse and hung it from a fence further from the line. I heard the wren before I saw her. Maybe it was the same one; maybe one of her offspring.
I stood still.
Sure enough, the wren lighted on the perch to the house, carrying a twig in her mouth. The twig was about four inches long; the entrance to the birdhouse only one-and-a-half. She gripped the twig in the middle. How was she going to bring the twig inside?
In a series of deft moves of her head, she moved her beak to one end of the twig she now held alongside her body and slipped into her home. In a moment, she flew off again, returning with another twig for her nest.
While I waited for her to return, I heard a buzz, as if the two Russian blueberry bushes were preparing for lift-off. Both honeybees and bumblebees were working over the small, yellow blooms.
The wren returned. I welcomed her to her seasonal home and thanked her for helping me stop and take notice. After hanging the laundry, I took a stroll and took photos of some of what I saw.