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Nobody Home
This little scene is from our ridgetop campsite at Fallen Timbers. The bluebird house is an old timer that the kids made at one of the a number of, a number of nature workshops we took them to when we had some control over their little lives. I imagine someone like Hal of Ranch Ramblins cut a few dozen from a template, sanded the edges, pre-drilled all of the holes, then assumed a grandfatherly air as a roomful of little darlings started hammering on the pieces of wood, transforming them magically into birdhouses and instilling in themselves a lifelong sense of stewardship. I like to believe that’s how it worked anyway.
The bluebird house hung for a number of years on a fencepost in our back yard in suburbia, and though it never hosted any bluebirds, the sparrows made frequent use of it. When we acquired the 40 acres of Fallen Timbers, this house was one of the first things we carried with us. Adam, a teenager by then (and now in medical school), hung it on a likely tree near the fire ring. On every visit, we opened the front door to see if anyone was interested.
I think all of the natural cavities and other nesting options made this development unnecessary because we never found a nest within. Sometimes there would be a bunch of grass, and once we found it partly filled with acorns. But our visits to Fallen Timbers became less frequent and we started hanging birdhouses at Roundrock instead. I had thought that the placement of the house right in the middle of our parking, cooking, and camping area might have deterred guests, but even when we stopped visiting so frequently, the house didn’t show any sign of tenants.
Nor do they get any mail. We put the mailbox on that tree stump about the same time. Within are a bowl for dog food/water and a roll of essential paper in a sturdy plastic bag. We’ve also left a notepad and pencil, thinking that someone would leave us a message sometime. That’s never happened. I suppose anyone who would leave a note would be an interloper and so not be eager to leave a sign of their presence. No one has left a note for the birds either.
The stump has rotted away. Only the part protected by the mailbox is still there, and I won’t be surprised when we find the box on the ground beside a spongy stump.
Missouri calendar:
- Look for “frost flowers” with first hard frost.