Every year we have wrens nesting on our porches, in our basement, under our eaves -- anywhere they can find a protected location. Dried grasses, mosses, ferns all go into the construction of these little nests -- and lots of hair -- from the dogs and from my own hairbrush. One little Jenny Wren has taken over a miniature zinc bucket, originally a country-style citronella candle, that hangs on our front porch, just beneath an outdoor speaker. And this morning I heard peeping.
Mama flies away whenever we walk out on the porch. So I lifted up my camera and shot blindly into the nest. The picture above isn't great but it does show an egg and a rather naked-looking hatchling or two.
I cane back about an hour later and got these: the babies have dried off and look a little less awful ---- and they're ready to be fed!
It's a precarious business, raising a brood on the front porch. We'll try to keep an eye on the cats when the babies are ready to fly and we'll hope that the resident blacknakes don't discover the nest. If they live, they'll be tough little birds, brought up on NPR and Bluegrass music, and used to paparazzi from their earliest hour.
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