We have a Japanese maple tree next to our backyard deck that has played host to many a bird nest over the years. The birds usually build their nests above our deck sight line, and our house and the tree usually provide nice shelter from the elements for young families. Unfortunately for this birdie home, our Midwestern spring has been more wet and windy than usual this year. After a recent storm, our 16-year-old son found a fledgling robin and unhatched robin egg in the lush grass not far from the tree. We are animal lovers and delighted in this wee discovery. The baby robin had some downy feathers, but was still very young and looked to be barely breathing. Nearby, the likely momma robin protectively admonished us from our massive oak tree, flitting about every so often to draw our attention away from her little one on the ground. The sun was shining and our teen and tween were more enthralled with nature than they had been in quite a while.
What to do?
I’d seen many a robin’s nest growing up in rural Missouri. During childhood my parents and grandparents always told us not to touch baby wild animals. (We found baby bunnies and squirrels in addition to baby birds on our outdoor adventures.) They warned us that the parent animal would reject and abandon its young if humans handled them. Maybe they really believed that was true for all animals and maybe they just did not want us getting any animal diseases. At any rate, Doug and I were hesitant to do anything immediate with the fledgling, knowing that animal rescue was probably not an option for “just a baby bird” that might not survive anyway. We checked in a few more times that evening. The little bird stayed very still in the tall grass. Remember that wet spring? Doug was itching to mow the yard, but obviously did not want to disturb our little guest or leave a large uncut area. Our yard is fenced in and reasonably well-protected, so we decided to leave the fledgling in its spot overnight to see if the situation would resolve itself.
The next morning, we headed outside to check on “our” baby robin, for at this point, that was what we had taken to calling it. Still there, still breathing, but not terribly active. Again, the presumptive momma robin swooped by to chirp at us, and perched on our fence along with likely daddy robin, who had a different but no less derisive chirp. Our son made sure to keep our curious and active dog away from the baby bird. He also asked if we should move it back into the nest. He had identified the likely nest in our maple tree, barely accessible to us from the top of our deck steps. Seeing his concern for this small creature was like catching glimpses of an earlier version of him in younger years, when the natural world captivated him. He was eager to join me on nature walks to look for acorns or unique leaves or bunnies. He spotted this bunny on a walk nine years ago.
Compared to birds or almost any other animal, human children take forever to grow up. Baby robin eggs take about 14 days to hatch, and both parents care for the resulting nestlings. About two weeks after hatching, young robins are ready to fly but still take several months to become fully independent, staying near their home nest as they continue to get food from their parents and develop the capacity for sustained flight. Human offspring are dependent on parents for much longer. We now know that human brains are not fully formed until the mid-twenties. The prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain used in executive functions like planning, working memory and impulse control, takes the longest to mature. Because our son recently got his driver’s license, I am deeply attuned to concerns associated with immature brain function, including the propensity for risky behavior in teens. In his book “The Grown-Up’s Guide to Teenage Humans,” Josh Shipp explains that as our children transition to adolescents and then to adults, we parents also transition from “air traffic controller” of their lives to “coach” and hopefully, to trusted advisor. It doesn’t often feel smooth for either side. They are our most treasured gifts and we are biologically hardwired to defend against every risk posed to them, and to chirp “Warning! Warning!” We parents struggle with letting go, and yet we must prepare them to thrive without us.
Back to our robin. Doug decided that he *might* want to mow and was worried about one of us inadvertently stepping on the bird. He put up two small garden trellises on either side of the fledgling, about one foot on either side of it. (You can see them in the video above.) It actually started looking a little fluffier, although it still froze when its parents chirped at us from their posts on our fence. Maybe it would survive after all. Maybe its parents pushed it out of the nest! We read that it sometimes happened. A nest is nice and cozy when the weather is rainy and windy, so I could understand wanting to hang around a little longer. We got additional reassurance when we saw one of the parents swoop in with a worm and feed it. (Something else that baby robins and 16-year-olds have in common is that they EAT. A LOT. As in five meals a day for our cross country runner.) That little fledgling came to life, surging up from the ground with bright yellow mouth wide open like a runway for its meal. A heartening sign!
The following day, we went outside and discovered that the baby robin had actually moved a couple of feet away from the two trellises. It definitely did not appear to be hurt but we had not yet seen it move along the ground. Having a portable research device at his fingertips, our son concluded that if he wore plastic gloves, it would be ok to move the bird back into the nest. We continued the debate but ultimately allowed him to do so. He carefully picked up the baby and gently placed it in the nest. He even dug up a worm in our yard and fed it to the fledgling. Moving it was the right decision; it stormed that night and there was plenty of standing water in our yard the next day. Our fledgling stayed nice and dry under a leafy canopy, and momma and daddy robin remained on watch. What a relief, and not just because the yard was cleared to mow once it dried out.
By now, we concluded that we had interrupted backyard flying lessons for our robin. It seemed much livelier in the nest, and the parents continued their food delivery services. How much longer would it take for this little one to figure things out? Not long at all. The next day, Doug found the baby bird down on the ground again. When he came inside to find me and we followed him outside, the fledgling was already gone. Hoping I might get another sighting, I took up watch in our basement sitting area with large windows looking out into our backyard. Sure enough, that little one landed back in the middle of the yard, perched upright and looking proud. It had a silly little tuft of baby fluff hanging on to the top of its head, somewhat similar to the currently trending messy teen male hairstyle. The bird parents were still nearby and noisy, but it was clear that their mission would soon be accomplished. A few minutes later, I looked up again and our robin was gone.
Someday soon our own chicks will fly our cozy nest, and as we consider college visits for the eldest it feels closer than ever. From the moment we brought them home, we were told by wistful experienced parents that it all goes by so fast, that “the days are long but the years are short.” And so it does and it is. It is not all bathed in a rosy glow. These days they can instinctively find my weakest, most vulnerable points and take direct aim. (My mother described this trait in adolescent me as “going for the jugular” and I accept this as penance for my own teen transgressions.) Our kids know they are unique human beings and are working hard to define and differentiate themselves while in the safety of our home with our guard rails. Doug and I are trying to gracefully transition from the air traffic controller to coach role. It hurts sometimes. These backyard flying lessons reminded me that it is a natural and healthy process, and I will be so proud when they take flight.
So many lessons from backyard nature if we just take a moment to regard and learn!