An aspiring father wren wants everyone to know that a certain hanging bird house is his his his! And the chest-high young shagbark hickory tree seems a grand post from which to declare it.
Now he waits for inspection by a certain female wren. Will she accept his excellent little house? Probably so. Wrens nest there every year.
It’s a haiku birdhouse, a Zen poem in wood. Haiku poems have seventeen syllables. The haiku birdhouse is made of seventeen pieces of cedar, assembled with tongue-and-groove joinery. The door on the back side is held in place by locust thorns. It was a gift from Jack Eastman, a dear friend, now gone, who was a master woodworker.
In this household, the female seems to do most of the feeding. She slips to the nest quietly again and again, bearing caterpillars and other delicacies for the babes.
Jennie Wren is what my grandmother called the mother wren nesting in her mailbox. (The mailman brought mail to the door until the baby birds fledged.) Maybe my soft spot for wrens began then. I hear myself using the Jennie name today when a wren becomes friendly and assertive.
A second wren perches out in the open, singing the whole time. That would be the male.
Sometimes in summer I offer mealworms to help parent birds feed their young. I’ve won the trust of bluebirds, titmice, and catbirds simply by sitting quietly outdoors with mealworms nearby on a table.
One day a wren flew up close, looked me in the eye, and let out a loud chirp. The message seemed clear. I poured some mealworms into a jar lid and set it on my knee.
At my movement, the bird flashed away and vanished, but a minute later she landed on my hand and picked up a mealworm.
As she flew toward the nest under the eaves, carrying the mealworm, I heard the babies begin to chatter and beg. After that, she returned many times, and over the next few days she grew confident around me.
Just how confident? Watch the movie. The wren appears after 10 seconds.
I love wrens too. That video is adorable, how wonderful to have such a friendly wren visiting!
Ooh. She took a peeler! This is so dear. I wish I could love house wrens as you do, but alas! I am on Team Bluebird here in Ohio!