Last summer a mama bird made her nest in our apple tree and we got to watch as the fledglings left the nest. It coincided with the time that our first foster baby was leaving our nest. This year we got an even closer view of a mountain chickadee laying her eggs, taking care of her babies and the babies leaving the nest. This time it coincided with graduation season. This was a year of several special graduations, including my Godchild and another child whom I have known since she was a baby. My friends who are the parents experiencing these graduations could probably relate even more, but I found myself relating quite a lot to the mama bird.
The chickadee had laid her eggs in a bird house in our front yard. As soon as we discovered our bird house was being used, we spent as much time as possible watching. We had our homeschool mornings outside under the tree. We just happened to be in the bird chapter in our science book so it couldn’t have worked out any better. We watched as they must have barely hatched because we couldn’t even see their little beaks stick past the doorway, but mama bird flew back and forth all day long with very little breaks. The babies sensed her presence before she flew in somehow, maybe they heard her wings, maybe they smelled her…I don’t know. She would fly to a close branch with something in her mouth, the babies would immediately start tweeting their little squeaks. I don’t know how she chose which beak to fill, but back and forth she flew all day. As they got bigger, we could see their beaks popping open desperately hoping for another bite of food. The mama bird kept working, never seeming to tire…but she must have gotten tired. I remember nursing my own babies, literally nourishing them with my own body. My son was always hungry or always needing to be comforted. It was painful nursing him for the first 3 months due to an undetected tongue tie. My daughter was the opposite, she was so sleepy and underweight that she hardly ever wanted to eat. However, she was even harder to feed. I would nurse her until she fell asleep, pump with a machine that tugged and pulled, then feed her again with a bottle. Then start the cycle all over again 1.5 hours later. I felt a force much higher than can be explained compelling me to keep feeding her, so I did, again and again, until finally she started gaining enough weight and enough energy to stay awake. I remember reading somewhere that the human body turns blood into breastmilk and I understand Eucharist in a way I never had before. The communion hymn goes through my head as I hold my suckling babies…”take and eat, take and drink, this is my body given up for you.” I no longer nourish my family from my own body in that way, but I do feel the relentless call to keep my family fed. Now, our foster baby is usually the first to wake me with a hungry cry pleading, “feed me.” As I get her bottle, our cat notices movement inside the house and starts scratching at the door saying, “feed me.” In the summer months, the suffocating house beckons to me to open the windows to let in the cool morning air, saying its own kind of, “feed me.” The kids soon wake up needing breakfast. The flowers and garden need watered and no sooner will I have cleaned up from lunch will I hear someone say, “I’m hungry.” Yes, little mama chickadee, I see you. You are a good mama.
Then one morning mama bird is swooping down low to the ground and we see why, a little fledgling has left the nest! It is hopping around on the ground, clearly a little stunned and awkwardly learning to spread its wings. We lose track of her, but are able to find her again because the mama’s work is not done. She is still feeding her, not so baby, baby. The next one leaps out, flutters and falls halfway down the tree and clings to the bark. Mama bird is squawking now, is she proud, afraid, giving instructions? Maybe all three. How does she know her babies are ready for the world outside of the sheltered bird house? All they have known has been 8×8 inches. They can’t even fly yet! They are literally just flailing down to the ground. And I realized I was wondering the wrong question, they are obviously NOT ready for the outside world…yet her instinct is wiser than our rational thinking. I know I have never actually been ready for the big moments in my life- leaving home, living in another country, my first teaching job, becoming a parent. The big moments can only be learned through experience- there is no “being ready.” The baby birds literally cannot learn to fly in a bird house or nest. They must leave the nest first. How can we parents be that brave? Must I allow my kids to fall so that they can fly? I admire your trust in a higher power, little chickadee. My squawking would be even louder!
I read that the fledgling stage is the most vulnerable to predators. We watch with delight as the baby birds hop so close to us despite the mama bird’s swooping and squawking. I tell my kids not to touch them and I see them using all their will power to listen to me. We watch as they hop and every once in a while flutter a few inches off the ground in a poor attempt at flying. It is adorable to our eyes, I’m sure it is terrifying to the mama’s. Who might these fledglings trust while in such a vulnerable state? Eventually we lose track of them and, though we wait all day, the rest don’t leave the nest. Now I know mama chickadee was squawking instructions. “There are predators waiting, stay where you are, I’ll tell you when you can leave.” When we return the next morning they are all gone. I still see mama swooping around in 5 different directions for the next couple days so I know they haven’t gone too far. I worry about being a helicopter parent because I know that is my tendency, so I begin to project that onto mama bird…is she hovering for too long? No, a helicopter wouldn’t have let her baby fall at all, that is the difference. A good mama chickadee lets her baby fall into the real world, but stays close enough for comfort as her baby spreads her wings. May we all be so brave. And to all you graduates: we cannot wait to watch you spread your wings.