There was a commotion in the ivy. It was subtle and required that I listen over the sound of the children’s voices- joyous due to two days of brilliant sunshine at the start of a new term, but it was there, soft yet penetrating.
Two red-breasted robins were chirping and flying, darting about in the air in a manner that suggested anxiety. It reminded me of the way in which bats fly at dusk, swooping repetitiously in search of insects, and at first I thought I had unexpectedly disturbed their nest while I was weeding the potatoes. But no, the robins’ circuitous flight disregarded me and instead focused and returned to the tree beside the garden, a spot which was close to me, but not close enough to warrant the alarm I heard and saw in their flight.
Nonetheless, I left the potato bed and observed from afar.
With some perspective on the scene I saw something in the green leaves of the potatoes. Fleeting. Perhaps a frog since the movement had a hop to it. I went over to investigate and found a brown ball of a bird fluttering and jumping in the large leaves. With a combined jump-flutter the brown bird managed to get up into the ivy where it perched in indecision. The larger birds darted and chirped, flying close enough and around me that I decided to take a moment in order to process this new development.
Back beside the toy washing basin, hands full of suds, I was of two opinions. The first, and the more unlikely of the two, was that the brown bird, as small and benign as it appeared, could be a threat to the robin’s nest- an egg snatcher or an egg eater. I admitted it was unlikely, but the darting of the robins made me think of panic and panic made me think of attack. The other option I weighed began with a question to Ziggy.
“Ziggy, do you have any idea what a baby robin looks like? Well, what I mean is, do they look entirely different from their parents?” He couldn’t answer me with complete certainty but he did offer, “I do know that robins can be very territorial should they feel threatened.”
So I watched.
The little brown bird sat on a gnarled branch of ivy just behind the sand pit, heaving noticeably. In a blink, a red-breasted robin was beside it. It had something pinched in its beak. A worm perhaps? It was too quick to tell, but with a flit of its wings, the red-breasted robin ducked its head into the wide-open mouth of the little brown bird. I had it! They had to be a parent and child! As the baby robin chirped in appreciation, and upon closer and now unhurried inspection, I saw tufts of white down underneath the brown feathers. And there was not one ball of brown robin but three, all of them hopping and fluttering and crashing through the potato plants with excited abandon. The baby robins were learning to fly!
As the children and I watched the baby robins become more and more adept at flying, I thought of how quickly this year had gone by, of how dramatically our children learn, and of how very soon we will be celebrating the flight of our own kindergarten children.
It is my hope that all of our children soar into summer’s new adventures full of excitement, confident that their Kindy-strong bodies will take them places they haven’t yet imagined.