There is, in my own thinking anyway, a distinction to be drawn between a chore and a project. A chore is done with some regularity: straighten the bed, feed the dogs and cats, and, although it be weekly, even taking out the trash is still set to some schedule.
A project is a stand-alone thing, and my latest was to build a Bluebird house. Now, on my best carpentering day, I’m only fair, but this box ended up not too shabby.
Because of our rehabilitation of wildlife, my Sabrina and I see many species of birds, some local, some migratory and other rather exotic types, exotic at least for the Roanoke Valley. Nevertheless, I highly favor Bluebirds.
Seen close up and face to face, they look like a grumpy Winston Churchill with a blue blazer and a russet waistcoat. They cast an extra beauty to the day, especially after a snowfall where their particular shade of blue seems to hold a transfixing companionship with the blanketing of white.
Bluebirds have two to four broods [clutches] of eggs per season, the first born help rear those hatched later on in the season. The male chooses a nesting site, then goes looking for a mate.
I am persuaded that the female is rather materialistic, since it is only if she approves the nest and its environs, will she consent to a seasonal marriage – or so I am advised. If he is successful in attracting a mate, she not only builds the nest interior alone, she incubates the eggs; you guessed it, alone. As a pair, they make warm-hearted, but savage parents. Sabrina and I watched as a mother and father fearlessly flew out of their nest and attacked a hawk intent on marauding their nest.
As I affixed the nine foot iron pipe up-right to my creation, I took a certain pride in knowing this box would stand for families of Bluebirds for years to come.
One day soon, after Sabrina has chosen the location, there will come another project [projects seem to crop up at intervals.] This labor of love will involve me and a narrow auger. I will twist that bit into the ground to a depth of eighteen inches or so, [that job not as easy on my back as it once was], seat the pole, check that the upright is true to the ground [90 degrees], tamp it down solidly and wait for its first inhabitants, and their babies.
I give no thought to its interior decoration of the nest box; that would be a waste of time. I leave the décor to them. They’re going to do it anyway, the female Bluebird – as with all females of any species – know exactly what they want and exactly how they want it.
– Lucky Garvin
