They're At It Again!

Eastern Phoebes are building a nest on our utility box again and I'm absolutely here for it!

I’m re-publishing this essay from April 30, 2024 with some updates - because, the thing is, the Eastern Phoebes are at it again!

There’s this really wonderful quality of seasonality, where repetition and novelty intersect, combining the familiar with the delightful for a sense of warmth and comfort that just can’t be duplicated in any other manner. The same thing, happening at the same time, but new and different each and every time.

Being able to count on something that you look forward to is perhaps the very essence of peace of mind.

The Eastern Phoebes arrived this week. They made their presence known in the now-familiar way. First, we began to hear the male’s signature song, working its way around our property, staking out the bounds of his territory. And our spirits were lifted by his cheerful declarations, and we start hoping that he would find a nice young lady to settle down with.

Then, the telltale flutterings around our kitchen window alerted us that a hopeful pair were assessing their favorite nesting site above our utility box. Now, we see them every day, looping through the forest together, perching and singing and tail-twirling, hunting and tending and nesting.

We have looked forward to the arrival of the Phoebes every single spring since we first met them. Every year it’s familiar, and every year it’s special. So, it’s April, and the time has come, and they are at it again!

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It’s springtime in Maine, and all that comes with that! There are some early plants gently venturing into new growth, shy and tentative in the face of lingering morning frosts. There are new birds arriving, and singing, and gathering, and pairing.

The warblers have yet to make their grand entrance, filling the air with whirling color and melodious song, but the Eastern Phoebes are in full-swing! For a few weeks now, their namesake call - “Feee-bee! Feee-bee!” - has echoed from every raised platform. We’ve been declared a part of their territory, and now an industrious pair has set about the task of making themselves at home 🤣

This year’s pair is very chatty. They gently chirrup and trill to each other, modifying their public song into a softly conversational chatter, like best friends putting their heads together in laughing whispers. They loop around one another from branch to branch, hunting and perching and chatting. They. Are. SO. CUTE!

When we moved onto our homestead property, it had been abandoned for about six years. The wild had pretty thoroughly reclaimed it, so we spent our first year reclaiming some living space from the wild!

We emptied, scrubbed, and sealed our cabin, and then slowly worked our way outward, disposing of various collapsed structures and rubbish piles.

We disrupted porcupines, mice, squirrels, and birds, ushering them back into the forest from the plastic-metal-fiberglass refuges that must have seemed convenient but can’t have really been healthy! (The porcupines, especially, have some truly gorgeous tree-trunk dens, burrowed beneath the gnarled roots of towering Eastern White Pines - what is the attraction of dilapidated human garbage? Poor things 🙄)

The first Phoebes we met had been nesting in the rafters of the collapsed mobile home. They were immediately endearing. They perch on all kinds of surfaces to announce, Feee-bee! Feee-bee! Not only on tall treetops, but on fenceposts and rocks and anything at all that happens to be sticking up out of the ground. This brings them much closer to eye-level than many of the birds declaring their territories all around us.

And as they perch, and as they Feee-bee!, they flip their tail in a cheeky little twirl. I can often spot them at a distance purely by the tail flip.

They’re very poised. They look at you very directly, consider you very calmly, and then Feee-bee! right back to what they’re doing. They seem to view you with interest, but no particular concern. Like, “Hey. What’s up. Seen you around. Come here often? Feee-bee! Later.”

They’re small. Only about 6” tall, weighing less than 1 oz, similar to a chickadee. And they’re fly-catchers, so they swoop without warning into tight turns to capture insects on the wing.

When we deconstructed the mobile home and carted it off for disposal, I was concerned we might kind of lose the Phoebes. I thought they would melt into the forest, which would be better for them, but where we would rarely see them.

Instead, they continued to make themselves at home. They remained often around the homesite, often around the farm fields, a constant companion, singing and swooping and devouring abundant insects. And, you know, just taking care of their personal routines.

And then, it started. I would be inside the cabin, going about housework, chasing various acts of tidying and daily life. And there would be these peripheral-vision flashes just outside the window. A dark swoop curving across the corner of my awareness before whooshing out of sight again. A nearby “Feeee-bee! Feeee-bee!” What on earth were they up to?

We eventually figured out that the Phoebes were trying to nest on our cabin. They were bringing dobs of mud to start platforms on anything that resembled a ledge. Their early efforts to construct a nest on the window trim were unsuccessful. But they are persistent, and they eventually discovered that the utility box outside our kitchen window was juuuuuuust right!

Here’s Mom (I think). I have just crept silently along the back of our cabin so as not to disturb her. I have imperceptibly edged past the corner of the building with my camera…

…and found myself pegged by her laser gaze. She is impossible to sneak up on. She’s not overly concerned by me, and I can actually walk right past and she will remain resolutely on the nest, but that one eye is on lock as long an I am within range. The result? Four or five healthy little Phoebe-fluffs gracing the world with their cuteness.

Once the chicks have hatched, Mom and Dad take turns hunting and feeding and tending, and there are ample opportunities to draw near and be amazed while the busy parents are out gathering. (I’ve noticed that if they return while I’m still nest-gazing, they perch on a nearby low branch, one eye fixed tightly on me, and simply twirl their tail until I get out of the way.)

It’s incredibly touching. The soft nest woven with moss (which is exactly the luxury material I would choose if I were building a nest); the soft pile of complete trust (which is exactly the way I wish I slept at night); the soft business of days devoted to nothing more and nothing less than tending and raising a healthy generation (which is exactly ideal and wouldn’t that be nice).

There is something all-the-way peaceful about watching baby chicks just breathe. A bundle of fluff. Gently bobbing with the rhythm of a bundle of teeny heartbeats. Breathing-in springtime, breathing-out cuteness. Drifting through baby chick dreams.

What do baby chicks dream? Soft moss in summer sun? Feathers rippled by lofty breezes at the very tip of the highest treetop? Blue skies to eternity in every direction? A perfect strike, an unsuspecting insect snatched mid-flight? Mom’s warm feathers nestling in close? And how much closer may we draw to baby birds simply by imagining what they might be dreaming?

As the chicks grow, they expand to fill available space until they overflow and spill over the edge. I suppose this is how they figure out it’s time to go.

Nudging and squeezing until one-two-three, they fall off the edge and flutter onto a nearby branch. A long hesitation by the last in line, with no one to nudge him, but everyone’s heartstrings tugging him along after. 💕

So now, another spring has arrived, and they’re at it again. I stand in the kitchen and smile as flashes of shadowy movement dart through my peripheral vision, busily building a nest on top of a utility box. I will continue to sneak invisibly along the back of the cabin and edge imperceptibly around the corner to laughingly be caught by Mom’s laser eye. I’ll nest-gaze and wonder what dreams drift through the feathery currents of a pile of new Phoebe-fluffs. And I’ll just enjoy every minute, one more time!