THE CHICKADEES ARE BACK!

The chickadees are back.

I haven't wanted to mention it. Afraid to jinx it or something. Every morning, I sip my coffee, tense until I look out and see that they are still there, still coming and going from the nest box on our gatepost. 

But we are into it now. We are past nest-building and egg warming. There are babies in there. The mama and papa are flying in and out of the nest box faster than BP executives trying to shift the blame. Last night at dusk, which lasts so nice and long as we near the solstice, I took a huge stockpot of compost down to my worm bin. But to get there, I have to go through the back gate. Actually, I don’t. I could have gone around through the side door, but I thought I’d just lift the latch sooo quietly…and as I walked through I heard the soft whoosh of the chickadee leaving the nest and wondered if I’d done it again. If I’d scared the adult off the nest for the night and doomed the babies. If you don’t know what I am talking about, you can do one of two things: You can read my post “Bad hair color and roasted chickadees,” or you can just trust me. My life is an arrow, aimed at nurturing the wild in the city, but last summer I misfired and I have a karmic debt to the chickadee gods.

But they are back and I can hear at least one little baby in there, making his bid for the bug of the hour. The box is so close to the path of our life. It’s in a stupid place, one of the many mistakes I have and will make in this attempt to live in a finer way. But I will keep trying. When winter comes, I’ll move the box. But I want so much for this year’s nestlings to fledge. I want to look up from my kitchen sink and see one hop out into the crabapple branches, test his weight in the world and decide to fly.