by Kay Gibson | May 29, 2006
I survived the empty nest syndrome.
It was difficult at first when all my fledglings had flown out into the vast blue sky to make nests of their own. It seemed the birds scrambled out of the nest far too soon after they’d hatched.
I hadn’t minded staying home and warming those eggs. After they scattered, I missed the loud warbling. I missed poking worms in those little mouths each day. I missed gathering seeds to feed my young.
But after awhile, I began enjoying my new found freedom. No one there to clutter the nest after I had tidied it. I enjoyed flying anywhere, anytime I pleased. I scaled new heights. What a feeling to soar high above the valleys by myself.
I was chirping a new song. Humming from flower to flower, I was gathering my own nectar.
Migration was becoming a daily summit for me. I would hover awhile and then dart to new horizons.
Then one day, one of my migrating fledglings returned with a tiny new nestling of her own. They wanted to move back in for six weeks.
Can you imagine how a robin would react if little robinette flew back home and said, “Ma, I’m moving back in”?”
I suspect mother robin would say, “Sorry, but I threw out your feather bed.”
But, I’m like the yellow warbler, put another egg in my nest and I’ll raise it as my own. I loved spreading my wings to protect the new baby bird. Papa Bird warned, “You’re getting too attached to someone else’s young.”
It was true, too. I began ruling the roost, as I’d always done. I became too possessive of another’s young. Feathers ruffle when there’s too many mama birds nesting in the nursery.
Was the nest too small for all of us?
No, not really. A nest if made of twigs and scraps woven together with life. No matter if this nest is on the ground among the grasses and weeds or perched on a craggy clifff; it is sewn together with family ties. Nests are plastered together with love.
Natalie Caine, M.A. natalie@lifeintransition.org
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