Phoebe and The Snake...a Story of Ultimate Victory

Charlsa came running into the kitchen, screaming, "David, it's a snake. Oh, David, it's a snake..."

We live in the woods. Snakes are not uncommon. Seldom is it more than a shock, and seldom does it cause us to get a little hysterical. Basically, we've learned to live together: Don't bother me, I won't bother you.

But this snake had brought a small tragedy into our lives.

Here's how it began...

While sitting on our deck not long ago, we noticed two birds that we hadn't seen before. We know our bird population pretty well. With bird feeders hanging around the house, the Indigo Buntings, Rose-breasted Grosbeaks, Nuthatches, black-capped Chickadees, Ruby-Throated Hummingbirds - all know that they're very welcome.

We love they're music.

When we saw a couple that we didn't recognize, my wife dove into the field guide and discovered that they were Eastern Phoebes, a non-distinct gray-to-olive green bird with a very distinct tail wag.

The male and the female are hard to distinguish, but seem to travel in pairs.

In nearly four years of living here, they made their first appearance known to us...and they made themselves home. Diligently, they were flying to the rafters in the eves at the corner of our screened-in porch.

In fact, we could sit at the table and watch as they built their nest in the shade of the roof. Back and forth, back and forth they came, alternately bringing in grass and the makings of a first-class home.

The Missus sat on the nest as the Mister sat in the nearby tree flipping his tail up and down. Shortly, we snuck a peak at the nest with a hand mirror to find four white eggs buried in the nest.

In what seemed like just a few days, the eggs were replaced by little brown lumps with wide-open beaks. Mom and Dad took turns bringing food morsels to the nest as the young ones matured enough to cheep lightly for food. While we had dinner on the deck, we could hear the kids crying out for more like little eating machines.

We delighted in the natural display outside our window.

Then one early morning, with coffee in hand, my wife said, "The phoebes are acting strange. Watch. They take turns going up to the nest and fluttering, then race away."

I shrugged it off as nothing, as I poured my cereal.

Charlsa went into the utility room to get a better view. That's when she came running back into the kitchen.

In my bathrobe, I grabbed a stick and ran to the deck. There, a gray rat snake lay coiled around the nest, guarding it closely as if it were shielding the nest from anyone else. I knocked it out of the rafters to the ground below.

Rat snakes are useful varmints to leave unspoiled. They keep the mice population low. I've side-stepped several rat snakes, maybe even this one, to let them do their job in our world and to honor them and their work. But they are NOT my favorite creatures.

But this one made me mad. And he paid the price, although it was a useless slaughter because he'd already done the damage.

All four of the baby phoebes were gone - small bulges in the snakes belly attested to their fate.

Back in the kitchen, I held Charlsa as she sobbed. "Those poor parents," she said. "They must be heart-broken."

As the phoebes fluttered to the nest looking for their young, I felt their loss. For nearly two days, they flew to the nest, expecting something different each time they showed up.

I started to take the nest down. It was spring and time to pressure wash the house including around the nest so we could re-stain this year.

But the Charlsa begged me not to mess with the nest, please. "They might come back," she said.

Fat chance, I thought. Birds won't come back to a nest where the snake has invaded. They're defeated. It's over.

But three days later, the phoebes were adding material to the nest, making it higher and deeper.

And this week, the missus was sitting on the nest again. Yesterday, hand mirror at the ready, I peaked into the nest and found four more gleaming white eggs.

A big smile erupted on my on my face. They won.

This is where I can add a paragraph or ten driving home the moral of this story: never giving up, or how we all must respect our own nature as well as our partners on Earth, or about the beauty of God's innate natural laws.

But frankly, I'm just tickled to imagine the phoebes starting over against all odds. I'll let you know when the babies fly away this time.

BTW - we've put a plastic Great Horned Owl on the deck below the nest to scare off the invaders.

Tell me about your experiences of starting all over again...

Comments

[HP van Duuren]

How about the 'Destructive Recovery' I did for my computer beginning this year?