Learning to Let Go
I knew at an early age I did not want to be a parent.
I did, however, want to be Pippi Longstocking. I remember first reading the book and wanting more than anything to live in a house with a monkey and a horse and do everything myself.
As it turns out, I am living that dream, albeit with dogs instead of the more exotic members of Pippi’s household.
I don't recall if Pippi considered herself a parent as much as a pal to her housemates. I view my role as a parent of sorts (sometimes known as pack leader) to all of the dogs with whom I have had the honor to share my life. In eighteen years, there have been five. All of them came to live with me as puppies. I would like to say as each new one has come through the door, I have slightly improved as a dog owner/parent/trainer. Still....a long ways away from being a human parent.
Two years ago, I made my debut as a caterpillar parent. I raised five Monarch babies to butterflies and released them without any losses. It was a bit stressful, as I tend to be a worrier about things I cannot control. To that end, I have found myself becoming increasingly protective of the smaller creatures that spend time in my yard, primarily the birds and the butterflies. I have redesigned my gardens to be more hospitable with native pollinator plants. I rescue caterpillars. I watch the birds.
As I wrote previously, I had become quite attached to the Cardinal couple I dubbed Mr. and Mrs. C. They are a handsome couple who spend lots of time on the fence bordering the north side of my yard. This summer, when the nesting activity began, that attachment ramped up to an obsession of sorts....
When the nesting began, the excitement was almost too much to bear. On July 9th, during a dinner gathering for friends, one of them was able to snap a photo of the eggs. I could hardly contain myself. We pulled up the various cardinal calls on our phones and I was amazed when we lured them close to the porch simply by playing those calls. I came to understand the difference between the peep peep peep (sort of an alarm call) and the song, which can be quite rollicking.
Ten days later, my cousin snapped the first picture of the babies.
It was after that, that I became a stalker. I watched the barberry bush every day when I was on the back porch, scrutinizing it for activity. While both parents would zoom in for feedings, Mrs. C. was doing the bulk of the work. However, Mr. C. was never far. He would perch on the fence or on a utility wire high up, where he could survey the surroundings for any trouble.
I must confess that at some point, I became that very trouble he was watching out for.
I set out a small step stool so that I could easily hop up and snap a photo. I tried to wait until both parents were off grocery shopping, but they often would return home early and chastise me. I didn’t care, I was hooked on these baby birds and could think of little else.
The following week we had horrible heat followed by torrential downpours. I was beside myself wondering how Mrs. C. could shelter the babies (whom I had named Jack and Jill – equal opportunity you know) from the barrage of elements.
I checked in regularly and documented the progress.
I also got a close up of Mrs. C. and was startled to discover she was missing a foot. I never would have known. As each day passed, I became more and more in love with, and in awe of the resiliency of these little creatures. Excessive love = obsession = questionable judgement.
Finally, on the last Saturday of July, it appeared as though things were heating up. There was a lot of movement in the barberry bush and both parents were bustling in and out of my yard. When I returned home from morning errands, I decided to get my camera and take a peek.
I came face to face with one of the fledglings as it rocketed out of the bush and onto the ground behind me.
I was horrified. What had I done? I had provoked the entire family. Mom started zipping around giving off the alarm squeak. I knew I could not allow this baby to remain on the ground. Without thinking, I put my camera down and scooped it up and placed it back in the barberry bush and hightailed it out of there.
Ugh. The delicate balance had been upended all because I wanted another picture.
One would think that would be enough to curb my enthusiasm.
One would be wrong.
I had to mow the lawn. It was not an option, as I had let it slide from the week before. I decided to give the area a wide berth. When I was finished and was tidying up, I noticed a kerfuffle in the neighbor’s yard. Both parents were hovering around, darting from lawn chair to fence to plant, squeaking the alarm sound. There was baby….bobbling around on the ground in my neighbor’s yard.
I need to add that this was now next door to the neighbors who let their cats stay outside. I was ready to have a heart attack. I rushed over (note: this neighbor was gone for the weekend) and, as both parents let me know of their outrage at such blatant meddling, I swooped baby bird up and put it back in the bush. I then morphed into COMPLETE control freak and called those neighbors on the other side and pleaded with them to keep their cats inside, “just for a couple days.” They at least appeared amenable, but informed me that one had been gone for a few days, so they could not make any promises. UGH.
Thankfully I had plans that evening or my meddling would have continued and possibly escalated.
Sunday morning, I peered in the general direction of the nest and was able to see Dad feeding one of the fledglings. I then heard peeping and, to my utter surprise, the second was all the way on the other side of the yard, in a tree right by my screened porch. I decided she was Jill (#1 daughter).
I was delighted for I had now seen both out of the nest. And one had survived my repeated interventions and had not been rejected by the parents. In talking with a friend that morning, I learned that the eggs could have been laid days apart, and hatched days apart, which would mean that one was considerably more advanced in development than the other. I decided that Jill had been the one flapping about on Saturday and Jack, (#2 son) was the one still being fed by Dad on Sunday morning.
I was in and out most of the day. By the afternoon, Jack, was starting to make me nervous. He ended up hopping around on the ground out near my front yard. Cat territory. I had to save him. With Dad swooping and hollering, I grabbed him and put him back in the bush.
To no avail.
He was pretty insistent. At this point, Mrs. C. and Jill were on the south side of my house in a mock orange bush and Mr. C. was keeping a close eye on Jack on the north side. The last I saw of those two, they were making their way around to the front of the house. Again I had to leave for the evening. My emotional roller coaster would have to come to a rest.
That Sunday evening was the last I saw of the fledglings. Monday morning I went around the house to where I could hear the peeping. Mr. and Mrs. C. were still around, but I could not catch any glimpse of the youngsters. I didn’t know what to think, but I had to hope for the best.
Which brings me back to this whole parenting thing. I’m pretty sure it’s one of the hardest thing for humans to do in life. You spend the first 8-10 years hovering, the next 8-10 struggling and at some point the offspring leave the nest. Or at least that’s what’s supposed to happen. But often times it is not a straight and easy path from when the egg hatches to full flight. There can be lots and lots of struggles and heartache. But in the end, human parents can only do the best they can and hope that the foundation they have constructed will hold up as the child becomes an adult.
I think our wildlife friends have it figured out. They really do the best they can and do it without much fuss. I was thrilled to watch both Mr. and Mrs. C. run a chipmunk out of the barberry along the fence with much commotion. They didn't need me, they had it under control. And when it was time for Jack and Jill to move along, they kept a close eye until such supervision was no longer necessary.
When I got home that Monday evening, they seemed to still be in the vicinity, but instead of the peeping I had heard pretty regularly during the nesting period, I heard the song.
It’s different. More relaxed.
I’ve heard that singing now for a week. I hear songs and calls I think might be the youngsters. I choose to believe they have made it to high levels of trees and are safe from predators.
And some day, I hope to see them again. And I hope Mr. and Mrs. C. can forgive me for the obnoxious meddling.
I've put out grape jelly as a peace offering.