Wren in Rome

We have been experiencing bone chillingly cold weather here in the Northeast these last few days, the kind where code blue alerts are issued and the newscasters tell you to keep all companion animals inside. Our home is not known for being particularly well-insulated - it is nearly 200 years old with windows as thin as a silver dollar, in fact, the other morning I awoke to a thick layer of ice on the inside of the one window not sealed with plastic for the season - but on these nights as I snuggle into bed with my four dogs and a cat surrounding me, my heart goes out to anyone with less, be they human or animal.

My mother called to tell me that the other night my dad found a dead cat  frozen in one of their barns. It was a stray but it still upset my father who, though he is a hunter and farmer, would have done everything he could to provide a warm bed and food for this animal had he known it was in need. I know the feeling; if I could welcome every deer, rabbit and fox from the fields into my home on these bitter cold nights, I would.

Common sense, of course, tells me that is not possible, save for one little bird - sometimes as many as three - who have decided to call our home theirs. Peer into the rafters of our porch most any night and you will see them nestled together, out of the wind or rain and as warm as any wild creature can be. We call them the "Tuckies," as in, they tuck themselves in each night but they are properly known as Carolina Wrens.

Thryothorus ludovicianus 

These cheerful little song birds seem to enjoy the company of humans or at least not mind it much. We first met on a spring day several years ago when one decided our patio heater would make an excellent nest box. It stands roughly 7 feet tall, is constructed of steel, kept on a screened porch and not used so it really was a practical choice. Day in and out we watched as the little bird filled the enclosed basket with twigs, string and dog hair. Being from a patriarchal family I assumed the nester was female but soon found out home decorating was a duty handled by the man of the species, as was singing.

For weeks he would stand on the lawnmower or grill just outside our window and warble his heart out, "teakettle-teakettle-teakettle," in search of a mate. He must be a multitalented fellow because before long there was a brood of chicks requiring constant care from both mother and father. To and fro they flew, bringing in bugs and taking out waste. Once the little fluff-balls learned to fly (that was an adventurouse day for our dogs) we assumed our empty-nesters would move on but they stayed for the summer and then into fall, never seeming to mind our, or our dogs, comings and goings.

We worried about their fate during hurricane Sandy until - I don't remember why - one of us looked up into the rafters high above and saw a familiar fluffy form. We continued to see them on and off throughout the following year and through another nesting cycle. One evening after a long absence of sightings I was watering plants out front when I heard the familiar song. He/she serenaded me from the fence - not more than 10 feet away before flitting up into the front rafters. We were delighted to know they were still safe, and had simply moved from back porch to the front for the summer. Many nights we would creep out to peer up in the rafters, and sometimes quietly cheer the arrival of new visitors. 

Winter is upon us and the Tuckies can again be found on the back porch each night. They have realized we are the sort of neighbors that don't "lock our doors" and have found some way to enter another of our porches, this one enclosed in glass. At first we thought it was a mistake, that one had flown in through an open door and become trapped, but this weekend they had to be released on several occasions. The porch, slightly warmer than the outdoors must be a favorite hibernation location for the plethora of spiders and insects we suffer from as the Tuckies can be seen repeatedly hopping into the rafters and snatching up some tasty morsel. The last time I opened the door, my guest could not be persuaded to leave. He/she paid me no mind as I stood mere feet away holding the door like a dutiful Walmart greeter. After finishing a meal it found its own way out again and I suspect it won't be long before they are sleeping on that porch during the coldest of nights (don't tell my cat). "Snow birds" indeed.

I cannot tell you why but it does my heart good during these brutal nights to look up and see these tiny birds huddled into the eaves of our home. I often think of a Bible passage particularly meaningful to me, being both a gardener and a worrier: "Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." Matthew 6:25-34 

Even as I worry about the lack of work, frozen ground and the next fuel bill I am reminded that someone, somewhere is looking after me just as I look after these little lives and I am overjoyed to fit into the grand scheme if only through the shelter I can offer.