Flying the Coop

Yesterday was a traumatic day for Sean and Bluette. One of their five babies decided to fledge.

Bluebird babies usually fledge, or fly on their own, between 15 to 18 days of age. Yesterday was Day 15 exactly.

I'm still not sure what happened, or why. I had just finished setting up the bluebirds' new Dinner Bell feeder, stocking it with both fresh, roasted, and vacuum-packed mealworms in an effort to entice them here (the last feeder, the Rubicon Recycled Bluebird Feeder, had been thoroughly rejected). Having set the feeder up, I'd headed over to the bluebirds' bird bath to clean it out and fill it with fresh water.

I was in the process of measuring out the cleaning enzyme when I heard a soft crash, as if someone had sat down in a small pile of brittle twigs. Moving carefully, as Sean and Bluette were watching me from the nearby shrub, I turned to see someone in the Dinner Bell.

It was one of their five babies.

What was she doing here, I wondered, designating her as female because she was smaller than the other four nestlings and far less blue, as well -- a fact I discerned several days earlier when I checked the nestlings for blowfly infestation. I slowly drew closer, quickly snapping a shot with my camera. It was only Day 15. Were the four other babies going to follow? Did she actually see the mealworms and choose to eat on her own? That didn't sound likely ... from what I'd read, the parents would bring their fledglings to the feeder and then feed them. A fledgling wasn't supposed to find the feeder on her own yet! Before I could take another step or another photo, however, the bluebird baby flapped her wings and took off for the tall forest in the back of our property.

Sean and Bluette were instantly after her, a trio of birds flying into the woods, with the baby at the head.

I didn't know what to feel. Amazement that this little baby bird that I'd known from eggdom was on her maiden flight into the forest, her parents right behind her. Horror that this little baby bird was on her maiden flight into the forest, her parents right behind her, trying to bring her back to the nest. Sorrow that one of the little baby birds that I'd known from eggdom had flown the coop.

After a couple of minutes, Sean and Bluette were back, alone, and I immediately knew that all was not well in birdland. The two were chirping louder than they had ever chirped at me, calling in hopes that their voices would guide the baby back to the nest. The two would take turns, one staying with the nest, the other flitting from tree to shrub to playground, chirping continually. Both Sean and Bluette kept ducking into the playground fort every couple of minutes, checking their remaining babies but looking as if they'd hoped their baby had somehow snuck back in. Sean winged back into the forest several times, chirping loudly to the baby that, finally, impossibly chirruped back in reply.

It was the sweetest little chirrup, far more melodious than her parents' anxious squawk. Sean immediately flew back to the swingset beam, perching next to Bluette, both parents chirping together to signal their location to the baby, who had never been outside the nest before as far as I knew. I stayed by the birdbath, watching the drama unfold and watching as the fluffy little fledgling glided in from the forest and landed on the playfort roof.

Sean chased her away.

I almost yelled at Sean. This was his baby, not an invading bird! It was all well and good when he chased away sparrows, finches, and blackbirds, but this was the baby that he and Bluette had been calling out to for almost 30 minutes... and he let instinct take over and chased her away?

The fledging fluttered over to the nearby shrub, the one from which Sean and Bluette usualy watched as I monitored the bluebird trail. Bluette chirped again, and the baby chirruped from the shrub. Sean started his search again, going back into the forest and, from there, to a tree on the other side of our backyard.

Bluette just sat there, plaintively chirping at the baby not 20 feet away. A few female finches landed in the shrub near the baby and cheeped at her, too, but the baby stayed put, chirruping in response to Bluette's calls.

I watched the exchange between mother and daughter, and Sean's searches around the yard and in the forest, for 15 minutes, silently encouraging the baby to hop down onto the ground, so that Bluette could join her and guide her back to the nest. What a story she'd have to share with her brothers! But the only thing that happened was that a female blackbird, perhaps curious about the commotion, lit upon one of the branches in that shrub, scaring away the finches... and the baby.

I don't know where the baby flew off to. I don't know if Sean and Bluette were ever able to find her and guide her back to the nest. I just know that, later yesterday evening, Sean and Bluette were at the feeder, grabbing mealworms and bringing them to their nestlings. When J and I took our evening perimeter walk, neither bluebird flew off or squawked at us. They just sat atop the playfort roof, watching us go by. They seemed sad and resigned to me.

Three more days until the rest of the babies would be flying, hopefully under their guidance this time. Hopefully, the babies would hang around and the whole family would fly south when the time came. Or perhaps each one would choose to go its own way. Given that my own brood would soon start fledging, off to college in two years for my oldest, I could commiserate with Bluette... and marvel in pride over how well her babies have grown.