WRENdition of Love

Wrendition of Love

A story of the family and the love affair of the wrens.

The couple sat on the patio drinking coffee every morning. It was their little ritual, to enjoy the calm before the busyness of the day distracted them and stole all of their attention.

The birds chirped, the wind chimes sang in harmony, and the fountain lulled them in the background while they talked about everything and absolutely nothing at all. It was a peaceful time that they had come to treasure. Funny how the “nothing” conversations somehow become the moments that matter the most.

One Monday morning, the couple noticed a nest tucked inside a huge planter beneath the patio canopy near the exterior wall of the house. It was hidden so perfectly you’d never notice it except for the sound of the frantic little chirps and seeing the constant traffic of one determined daddy bird hauling bugs back and forth like he was double-timing it to impress his woman.

And honestly? When they told me their story, I realized wrens may not be all that different from people.

Men will wine and dine you when they’re courting. They’ll bring you treats, puff up their chest, and fight off enemies when they’re trying to prove they’re worthy. Especially when you’re carrying their babies.

Ironically, the daddy bird who we came to call Poppa was doing the heavy lifting gathering all the big sticks and heavy fodder to build the nest. The mama bird was gathering the grass, moss and feathers, the light airy things that would more obviously attract the attention of the smaller more fragile female of that pair. The mama bird had safely built her tiny little home near the fountain, nestled safely in the planter. We peeked inside and there she sat perfectly still guarding one tiny egg. By the end of the week there were five.

Every morning became part daily coffee talk, - part nature documentary.

Poppa flew back and forth all day feeding the mama while she incubated those eggs. They became completely fascinated watching the rhythm of their little family unfold and they became the guardians of the wren nest. They even pointed the outdoor camera toward the nest so they could check in on their new patio tenants throughout the day. There was something strangely tender the way Poppa cared for her, protected her, and faithfully returned to that nest to check on her. (perhaps that part was my imagination but I'm only telling it how I see it)

Blue jays, apparently, are public enemy number one in the wren community, and anytime one came near the patio those tiny birds would raise Cain. Chirping. Screeching. Carrying on like a sleepy southern town hall meeting gone cock eyed.

Poppa would puff up and sing louder, warning every creature within earshot that this was his woman, his territory, and his babies.

And Lord help anyone who forgot it.

I’m pretty certain he would fend them off ferociously.

For two weeks we watched Poppa serenade his mate while she patiently waited for her babies to hatch. Then one by one, the eggs started cracking open. The last baby struggled the most, halfway trapped in the shell while the mama bird nudged and shook him until he was free. He tumbled awkwardly as he fell into the nest with the others.

The momma eats the broken eggshells after the babies hatch. I am still not sure how that symbolism sits with me. I know it’s nature and she’s only after the protein, but it still feels uncomfortably close to eating the embryo itself and it honestly grosses me out.

Now listen…

Those babies were ugly.

Not “bless their hearts” ugly. I mean fresh-out-the-oven baby bird ugly. They had bald heads with giant mouths and their bodies were disproportionate.

And yet the couple was obsessed.

They checked the camera footage at night like proud grandparents waiting on updates from the hospital delivery room.

But then something changed.

And then one day, the Poppa bird disappeared.

No explanation. No chirping. No frantic bug deliveries. Nothing.

We searched the trees and watched the cameras, but there was no sign of him.

And wouldn’t you know it, before long, another male bird started hanging around the nest.

Strutting. Singing. Drawing attention to himself. Letting his presence be known. Trying to feed the mama bird. Trying to make himself seem useful.

That Hooligan; was a feathered homewrecking hussy.

Sir.

This woman has five children at home.

The audacity.

Now the Hooligan is circling the territory acting like he’s about to move into a house another man built. He is trying to slide in the back door unnoticed and into the family like some folks do the minute they smell weakness.

And if that ain’t the most realistic relationship lesson nature has ever taught me, I don’t know what is.

Funny thing is that the mama bird doesn’t seem nearly as impressed with him as he is with himself. I think she is holding out for her Poppa but their story isn't finished. And maybe your story is still being written too!

This story was written about two people who came from broken places, somehow finding each other and fitting together in all the ways life had left them fractured and torn apart. They were the shattered pieces of a mirror that somehow became a disco ball once they were pieced back together. Individually those broken pieces were viewed as useless but glued together becomes the center of attention and the source of light and joy.

Theirs was a love story rooted in Kintsugi art.

Kintsugi is a Japanese art form where broken pottery is repaired using lacquer mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. Instead of hiding the cracks, the artist highlights the brokenness,  and the cracks become a featured part of the story rather than an imperfection to be hidden.

Much like a disco ball the repair itself becomes part of the art. This makes it more beautiful and stronger after being broken and repaired than it was before.

And I think maybe people are a little like that too.

Sometimes the breaking changes you, but sometimes the rebuilding makes you better, wiser, stronger, and far more beautiful than you ever were before. Their story inspired me and encouraged me and just plain got me.

The Mama and Poppa birds had become their little love story. A tiny, feathered reminder of what it looks like when two creatures build a life together. Theirs is a true story of love overcoming impossible odds, and somehow, through it all their love remained. They were taken by this WRENdition of the love of a family of wrens and we don't know how the story ends because its not over yet!!

Magnolias I hope you enjoyed it because I thought this one was too sweet not to share! Grab a glass of sweet tea (is there any other kind?) and follow along for more conversations on the front porch.

Bless your Heart,

Magnolia Grace