My one precious little egg had been doing just fine, nestled in the soft fibers in our nest. The sod clumps brought home by my partner have built up into a nice little cup edged by plenty of large tree limbs that brace the nest and protect it from wind.
Our egg was three days old, and we had been working on creating a second, and that’s when I felt those same familiar signs. Joy welled up in me as our second bundle of speckled joy made its appearance. And then two days later our third joined the nest.
Now I can’t leave much. Our babies need me to keep them warm, especially on these chilly days that lack the warm sunshine that I had gotten used to in Central America. But we want our babies to fledge closer to home, so it’s important that we make the trip up here each year so they can see where we’re from. Then hopefully they will return to the area when they’re grown up, just like we did.
I sit from my high nest, nestled in gently on top of my eggs, and I keep watch. My yellow eyes are constantly darting around, making sure that no one is trying to come to close, whether it be another bird or those two-legged creatures that walk by on the giant black snake-like object below. I’ve also enjoyed watching these two giant white birds on the wetland below. They swim to and fro, to and fro, like their of great importance, but from my view they look so small.
Then there is this weird buzzing. Every once in a while the black round item that sits above the nest will whir and whizz. It doesn’t often happen when I’m just sitting, but sometimes when my man brings back food or a stick or when I’m turning the eggs I get this odd feeling someone is watching me. We’re too high up though. No one can see us, right?
When I get hungry, my man will go to West Lake and bring me back a fish. Sometimes he has nibbled on it before he brings it to me, I guess he just can’t wait, and sometimes I actually do get an entire meal to myself. I suppose I should get used to sharing with three little ones on the way anyway.
My man is truly selfless when it comes to watching our eggs though. He brings in my fish — or half-fish — and while I fly away to eat it, he beds down on top of the brown and white dotted lovelies to keep them safe and warm while I’m gone. It’s never long though, because I just can’t bear to be away from them.
The days have been a little long as I readjust to sitting in the nest, and doing nothing else but acting as a giant incubator, and we’ve already had to endure rain, hail and cold, but that’s OK. I’ll do anything for my babies.
And we’re still working on another, so we will see what happens this week. Maybe four is our lucky number this year.