Mom has had little wooden birdhouses hanging out on the front porch for years, but we’d never noticed any birds making use of the free accommodations until this year. I looked out today and saw a nesting pair of Eastern Bluebirds feeding their babies–at least two, possibly three–working in tandem, Papa an exuberant blur of blue and orange, Mama a more sedate and dignified slate in color, both flying fast as they could to fill up those voracious little mouths in the house.
It occurs to me in passing that in country music, we have a lot of songs about bluebirds (although our preferred bird 😉 is probably a tie between the mockingbird, who gets its name from being nature’s perfect mimic, or the whippoorwill, whose melancholy call at dusk can bring both a smile and a chill). Here are a few of them:
Hank Snow, “Gonna Find Me a Bluebird”
The Browns, “I Heard the Bluebirds Sing”
Mac Wiseman and Lester Flatt, “The Bluebirds Singing for Me”
The birds, and the songs, brighten up a chilly, damp, sunless day here in Knobite Corner.
(BTW, I have a sneaking suspicion this might be whippoorwill winter, the cold snap that usually accompanies the first calls of the whippoorwills in late spring.)