What’s the adage in birding? Eggs by mother’s day, fledged by father’s day? Whatever–WE HAVE BABY WRENS!

The little one that made her nest in my hanging geranium has been a blur of activity, bringing bugs of every description to a baby (babies?) who went from not-a-sound to racket response between Friday evening and Saturday morning.

Watching her cautious, evasive path to the nest is fascinating. If she perceives a threat, the way back is circuitous; if she feels safe, it is direct. She often pauses before diving in, looking carefully around her.

The male seems to have begun to help her feed the tiny guys. And a fully fledged youngster has shown interest, settling in among the plant stems, though not in the nest itself, not trying to cadge the food that’s being brought in.

Also, woodpeckers. I heard a tapping that I couldn’t track down; a quality of sound I’d never heard before. On Sunday morning, I discovered the source. A downy has been clearing out a clean, fresh hole high in the dead top of the maple closest to the house. I’ve watched him tap-tap from inside the tree, then poke his head out of the hole to toss out 20 mouthfuls of shavings.

He’s a very persistent fella, stalking the female, and mating with her–many times. She doesn’t seems especially happy about it. I hope she appreciates the home he’s building for her.

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