Baby Birds: I Find Them in the Oddest Places

Ever since the black-tailed gnatcatcher built her nest on top of a box of fence stakes right behind the "No Trespassing" sign (can birds read?) hanging on a nail inside the garage, I've been quietly vigilant, trying not to scare her away. Sometimes bird parents abandon their nests if there's too much going on in the vicinity, and over the years I've found eggs in unlikely places that never made it to the hatching stage. But this particular bird is hanging on despite the regular disturbances to her environment, and she has produced three chicks. One day recently, out of curiosity and when mama bird was off catching insects, I rapped on the box gently, and, as if attached to the same "on" button, all three chicks instantly went from lying with their heads down to popping up with their mouths gaping open in anticipation of their next meal. It was downright comical.

Another gnatcatcher has made a so far unseen nest on the top of the rolled up garage door. I've learned my lesson with that door. A couple months ago I inadvertently knocked down a nest that was precariously perched on a corner of the door, and I don't want to do that again. I've been debating with myself about getting the ladder and climbing up to see how many chicks are up there, but I don't want to upset the delicate balance of nature and human technology. It seems to work for the birds, it makes us feel a part of an ongoing evolutionary process, and even our dogs and cats are content to let matters continue as is. Both mothers are quite vocal and often fly out of the garage if I spend too much time there, and I leave as quickly as possible.

In years past, breeding birds have nested in all kinds of places, like in a box in the tool shed, in a discarded pocketbook, even in an African "baby carrier" I hung up in our Hogan. Just a few times, bird parents have been more conventional and chosen the birdhouse my husband built, but they seem to like locations that are less obvious and more hidden away. I've watched as chicks have gone from naked nestling to feathered fledgling. I've found them on the ground after falling from the nest, and I've discovered dead chicks who just weren't successful in their maiden flight. I helped a clumsy chick once who was flying around the Hogan crashing into things because she hadn't quite mastered her technique. I picked her up and placed her on a ledge, and off she flew to a nearby juniper. I hope she made it to adulthood. For all I know, the mother I've been observing might be that same bird, all grown up and ready to reproduce more of her kind.

We have lots of ravens in our area, and since I make a point of slathering the branches of two junipers with peanut butter every morning, they've been encouraged to hang around and breed. We now have hundreds of them, and the younger ones sometimes take to the sky all at once in a kind of raven rumble. It's spectacular to watch, especially because they're so fond of aerobatics. Despite all those ravens, I have yet to come upon a raven's nest and chicks. This is mostly because ravens build their usually permanent nests in out-of-the-way places like cliff edges and the high branches of trees. But I haven't given up hope, and in the meantime, I'm happy to witness the annual baby bird boom among smaller birds like the gnatcatcher.