I named that one Orville, and that one Wilbur...

I’ve been bird-watching this morning, from the comfort of my living room. There’s a nest on the back porch, just opposite the door, and I can see it through the window near the ceiling. It was built several years ago by a phoebe (no, not the blond chick from “Friends”) – a type of bird that prefers overhangs and rafters for its nest locations. I wouldn’t know anything about phoebes, except my mom has about a dozen bird books lying around her house. And my mom wouldn’t know anything about phoebes, except HER parents are like card-carrying members of the Audubon Society (not to be confused with the Autobahn Society, which is people who like to drive really fast… ha ha ha… that wasn’t funny at all, was it?). Actually, I’m not certain they’re card-carrying members at all, but they’re definitely bird-watchers, and they probably know more about all kinds of birds than anyone else I know.

Take the piliated woodpecker, for instance. My grandparents instilled within my mom the importance of any sighting of this particular bird – it’s a very big deal, apparently. I can still remember the first time one of them said something about spying one of these members of the woodpecker family, talking in an excited, awestruck tone that suggested they’d just seen Elvis picking up groceries at the corner store –

Them: Guess what I saw today? A piliated woodpecker!

Me: A who-see-what-now?

Them: A piliated woodpecker! They’re as rare as spotting a Studebaker on the highway!

Me: What’s a Studebaker?

Of course, now I’m completely educated on the fact that piliated woodpeckers AND Studebakers are worthy of our silent reverence when sightings of such rarities are made. But I’m waiting for the ultimate sighting – a piliated woodpecker driving a Studebaker. That’s why I always carry my camera with me…

But back to the phoebes – the nest has been on my porch for several years, and at least three or four times a year, a phoebe will lay eggs in the nest (I don’t know if it’s the same phoebe or different ones each time… if it’s the same phoebe, it must be one TIRED bird…). And I can watch through my porch window as the bird sits on the nest, then, once the eggs have hatched, she flies around looking for food and feeds the babies. Eventually, I can see little yellow beaks poking over the twigs and moss of the nest, and within a week, the baby birds have grown so much that they crowd each other in their tiny little temporary home. They start to test out the edge of the nest, standing on it and flapping their wings like mad, almost like they’re revving their engines in preparation for flight. And I know, every time I see that wing-flapping, the baby birds are only days away from flying off and leaving the nest empty.

That’s where they are today – at the wing-flapping stage. In fact, last night, two of them actually ventured out of the nest altogether and hopped onto the little ledge around the porch ceiling. But I guess the idea of jumping off didn’t appeal to them quite yet, and they crawled back into the nest for the rest of the evening. How strange must it be to be born high off the ground, and then be expected to fling yourself from the nest at some point and trust that your wings work? I always wonder if those phoebes are brave, or merely flying off instinct. Do any of them ever need extra encouragement to finally jump? Do the other phoebes gather around the nest yelling, “you can do it! It’s not as hard as it looks!”? Is there a spiritual phoebe guru whispering, “use the wings, phoebe… the wings are with you…”?

And is it possible to be jealous of birds? Those phoebes accomplish what I’ve so many times been unable to – they take a chance, and throw caution to the wind (literally), and trust that their wings will hold them aloft. I’ve never been much of a risk-taker, but maybe those phoebes are on to something. By tossing themselves out of the safety of the nest, they have the opportunity to see all kinds of other things out in the world.

Who knows? They might even discover a piliated woodpecker driving a Studebaker…