First Flight

In early July, I noticed a robin’s nest built on a lower branch of the tulip tree. The robin sitting in the bundle of twigs and grass kept a wary eye on me as I passed numerous times on my way to the schoolhouse. I stopped parking my Jeep under the tree to give her a little peace. When I brought out the telephoto lens to photograph her, I startled her with the flash. She took off. Attempts to take other photos of her resulted in her quick departure.

About a week ago, I noticed a baby robin hopping down the road. A chirping robin flitted in the lower bush along the side of the road. When I returned with my camera I found neither bird. In the nest sat one little robin. I assumed the baby fledged, or attempted.

Each day I watched the baby. As it got bigger the nest began to deteriorate. Bits and pieces dangled from the branches as the bird outgrew its home. The adult robin was seen less and less, but I could hear her chirps in the near by trees.

On Tuesday, the speckled chested baby sat outside the nest that had fallen apart. The bird perched on a branch looked angry. He lost a home, a mom and was faced with an expectation to fly. Life spread out before him and the ground a good twenty feet down, where an equally angry machine gobbled up grass and spit it out with a roar. I'd be a little reluctant to spread my wings.

I got the camera, took a few photos and went back to the schoolhouse.

When I returned later in the afternoon, he was gone. I would have loved to see the first flight. I assumed it was successful. Either that or Dad hit it with the lawn mower.

Mission accomplished. Mom's work done.