A Nest at Rest

My wife's sharp eye recently noticed some bird activity around the grill of our pickup truck. Looking closer, she noticed that a bird had built a nest in there, tucked into a corner, up against the radiator. It was most likely a Carolina wren nest, as they are inclined to select obscure locations in human structures, such as mail boxes, inside buildings (when a door is left open for a few days), or even in pockets of shirts on the clothesline. It's almost as if they feel that raising a brood near human structures will keep them safe from animal predators.

As I peered into the dark recess of the truck's grill, a bird flew off. Yes, it was a Carolina wren. To see if it had laid eggs, I gingerly stuck a finger into the nest and felt several tiny eggs—about the size of a fingernail. It's a good thing that we only occasionally use the truck, because for the next 2-3 weeks mom and pop would need to be left alone to raise their babies. Fortunately, small songbirds can lay, brood, hatch, and fledge their young in 3-4 weeks. We decided to keep a good distance from the truck, so as not to disturb the prospective family.

Several days passed, during which we kept a keen eye from a distance, but saw no action. That was worrisome. The eggs should have hatched by now, and we'd expect to be seeing the parents making frequent trips to feed their babies. I slowly approached the truck to investigate. No bird flew out. Reaching in, I once again felt several eggs. Hmmm... that's a real concern. They should have been hatched by now. We'll wait a few more days, to be sure.

After a couple more days—still with no birds flying in or out—I once again checked and felt unhatched eggs. Something had clearly happened to cause the parents to abandon the nest. Why? We'll never know. Did a predator get one of them? I can't believe that our presence caused them to forsake the nest. Over the years we have watched several pairs of Carolina wrens raise a family right under our noses, in the garden shed or the workshop, while we wandered by, often ignorant of their presence, until lots of fledgling activity began.

Reaching carefully inside the truck's grill, I pulled out six tiny eggs, one by one. Six chicks that will never be. It's sad, but it's nature's way. The parents have likely already started another nest, in another disguised location—if they are still alive. Working slowly, I was able to extract most of the nest intact. I placed the delicate eggs inside it and for several minutes admired the exquisite workmanship (workbirdship?) of the nest and the beauty of its tiny eggs.

I decided to honor the nest and its unhatched embryos by placing them on a shelf in my meditation hut. They will make a fine object to focus my attention on—an ongoing reminder of the sacredness of all life. Eggshells breathe a little. In time, the interior of the eggs will desiccate and they should last for many years.