Preparing batches of Ontario strawberries for freezer jam, I stemmed them while sitting on the lawn swing.  One can’t stay indoors when there’s so much going on around Cedar Hollow.  I might miss something!

After Lady Wren popped into the Swiss Chalet, she treated herself to a brief stroll on the Walnut Boardwalk, stretching her legs.  You’ve heard the adage, Whistle while you work.  Well, Lady Wren’s is Sing while you walk!  She did a splendid rendition of “Oh What A Beautiful Morning!” 

 Going to the lower garden shed for something, I got spooked out of my wits!  Unlatching the doors, something wet brushed against my fingers and landed kerplop on the patio!  Yikes!  The tree frog!  This little tyke, for some unknown reason, likes to hide in between the two doors!  He’s a flat frog, all right, but is he that flat?  He played this trick on us last year, and the year before that . . . . and now I get the willies whenever I have to put  something in the  shed!

Below is a picture taken maybe eight years ago of his great, great, great, great, great grandfather, hanging onto a stalk of aloe vera near the pond.  Tree frogs make the most beautiful calls, much different than the ordinary frog.  When this little one gets old enough to “sing,” I’ll try to record him for you.

After supper, Lloyd cleaned out the chickadees’ nursery in Cedar Shake.  What a shock!  All we saw were twigs.  No soft blanket anywhere!  I guess bits of fine grass are good enough for baby chickadees, but I didn’t see much of that either.  Now, don’t you go knitting up blankees for chickadees, ‘cause they won’t use them!  You’ll be just wasting your time.  Sorry about that.

Just before a gentle shower began in late morning, Lady Wren emerged from Swiss Chalet, following a brief stop-in.  Don’t you wish she could tell us how many eggs she is tending now? 

Later in the day, I saw Lady Wren gathering sticks.  She certainly is determined to fortify the door of her nursery.  We’ve all heard of a baby snatcher this year who walked right into a maternity ward disguised as a nurse, so you can’t really blame Lady Wren for taking precautions.

Throughout the day, we heard Lord Wren coming and going.  His jacket may be a little darker than Lady Wren’s, but the easiest way to identify him is by the bass notes he warbles at the end of his song. 

We may be seeing more domestic scenes like this one during the next little spell.                                                     Peek-a-boo!  I see you!

Bounce the Hummer slaked his thirst at Cedar Hollow several times.  I hate to say it, but he wears me out!  He takes a sip, bounces six inches into the air, down for another sip . . . up and down like a ping pong ball!  Maybe he is hyperactive, poor chap.  Goodness knows I don’t put any red food colouring in his nectar. 

The black walnut tree has been expanding its lush canopy.  Mr. McD hauled out the loppers and removed the ends of a few branches that were beginning to obstruct our view of the Swiss Chalet and the activities of Lord and Lady Wren.  Now get this straight.  We’re not into any espionage business.  We just like to follow them on Twitter!  ♫♪♪

The line of vision from our lookout on the lawn swing is now clear.  Isn’t it fascinating how the wrens put a protective barrier at their front door?  Wonder what security company they’re signed up with?

The subdivision at Cedar Hollow received refreshing showers in the late afternoon.  It seems the hens and chickens succulents are pretty serious about guarding the edge of the pond.  I don’t know who gave them their marching orders, but during the last few days, they have gone all out erecting sturdy guard towers.   Can you spot them poking up in the centre front?

Here is a close-up:

Below is a picture of a hummingbird that just flew out of sight! 

Well, it’s not my fault.  I have no idea why the hummingbird didn’t exercise a modicum of courtesy and let me know which direction he was heading in.  I didn’t have a ghost of a chance to click him as he sipped for a split second at the newly opened hosta flower in the back flowerbed . . . and it wasn’t even red! 

I didn’t come up with this clever “out of sight” saying.  As kids at school, we had a good laugh when we saw someone put such a caption at the bottom of a page in a friend’s autograph book:   Above is a picture of a plane that just flew out of sight!

 I doubt if the hummingbird was impressed by the acrobatics performed at last weekend’s air show, smoke plumes and all.  Those man-made contraptions can’t touch his abilities.  After imbibing at the feeder, he often executes a supersonic Mach-3 straight up!  He’s at the top of the walnut tree before you can blink an eye—and there’s no sonic boom either!

Two things happened when I stepped out the door to refill the hummingbird feeder this morning:

     I heard Lady Wren’s Good Morning song

                   and

    I saw the beginnings of a hornet’s nursery lying on the sidewalk.  Where did it come from?    Usually you can spot where it had originally been attached.  We have seen black-coloured hornets taking a sip around the pond now and then, and they haven’t bothered us at all.  They cunningly construct the delicate tissue-paper walls from saliva and wood pulp, but  I don’t think our wood deck will disappear any time soon. 

Like yesterday, I could hear Lady Wren singing from every corner of the neighbourhood.  As her song drew nearer to Cedar Hollow, I got the camera on the ready.

Sure enough, after her arrival in the black walnut tree, she popped inside Swiss Chalet.  The obstruction of twigs she has placed by her front door didn’t slow down her entry in the least.  Nothing slows her down! 

Apparently she builds the bowl of her nest toward the back of the box.  It’s thought that wrens use spider egg sacs to help control mites in the nest.  The spiders hatch and eat the mites!

 Now, is this a picture of Lady Wren just after she laid her daily egg . . .  or had she laid the egg at the crack of dawn and then proclaimed it from the neighbourhood treetops?  Don’t you wish you knew?

 I’m so glad Lady Wren chose the Swiss Chalet with its cool, leafy canopy overhead to protect her and the egg-babes from the current heat wave.

From the north, then the south, now the east, next the west . . . from every corner of the neighbourhood you could hear Lady Wren bubbling out her songs.  Was she reminding everyone that this was the beginning of the long-anticipated July 1^st weekend, Canada Day, or . . . was she announcing that she had just laid an egg in Swiss Chalet?

Lady Wren noted that Mr. and Mrs. McD took their breakfast coffee out to the swing.  She heard them reading out loud to each other by turns about what happened 100 years ago this very day: 

 June 28, 1914

Archduke of Austria was shot

WORLD WAR I BEGAN

 And to think, mused Lady Wren, the soldier-doctor from Guelph mentioned my second cousins in his famous poem, In Flanders Fields, right in the first verse: 

 In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

The larks certainly were brave, said Lady Wren.  They knew that if a wounded soldier heard their song . . . even just a note or two . . . it might give him enough courage to do whatever he had to do next . . . the next duty for his country.

Now, let me see.  I’d better check the nursery again.  It’s dreadful when you can’t read your own writing.  Did I put down 5 layettes or 8?

Speaking of hearing, the water lily confided that the frequent remark people make when they meet or greet her is always about how peaceful and serene she makes them feel. 

Well, that means I do more than provide green docks for frogs and landing pads for dragonflies.  As I float, I can emanate peace in the language of whoever looks at me.  That makes me multi-lingual, doesn’t it? 

Now wouldn’t you think folks would ask me which house Lady Wren has chosen?  After all, it’s happening right under my very nose.

 When ladies start measuring the size of the nursery, and figuring out just how many blankets and layettes they need to prepare, I’d say the guessing game is over. 

Yes, Sir, the winner is the Swiss Chalet!!   And doesn’t Lady Wren look contented?

 If one of the babies is colicky, she won’t even have to rock it.  The breezes will take care of that so gently.  Ah, yes, I’d say Lady Wren picked the best house in the subdivision!

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In the many write-ups about wrens on Google, I came across something quite remarkable.   In 1921, in the Field Book of Wild Birds and Their Music,  F. Schuyler Mathews wrote out the score for the song of the wren.  I think it was the male’s score , . . because Lady Wren does not end her songs on the low notes as shown in this music.  Oh my no.  Lady Wren  projects joy!  And like all expectant mothers, she seems to have that  glow about her!  You know what I mean, don’t you?

The early morning sun filtered through the pine woods and into the quiet subdivision at Cedar Hollow.

Lloyd and I took our breakfast coffee out to the lawn swing to see what was going on.  Presently, Lady Wren inspected the Swiss Chalet.

In no time at all, she flitted over to Cedar Shake on Black Pole Lane.  H-m-m-m.  We could almost hear her going, Eenie Meenie Miney Moe . . . as she tried to make up her mind which home to choose.  What all was going through her little noggin?

So the selection has boiled down to two houses, has it? 

The tiny brown bird paid no attention at all to the stylish Château de la Gourde gleaming in the sun.  After all, she thought of herself as a plain little bird, even though she was betrothed to one of the finest tenors in  the whole wide world.  To tell you the truth, Lady Wren did not want to be classed with those uppity-up folks who act as though they are a notch above others just because they live in a fancy house.  No way!

My husband had an eye appointment mid-morning, so I can’t vouch for what went on at Cedar Hollow a bit later.

On the way home, we purchased a black shepherd’s crook at the local hardware store, and pushed its pronged feet into the middle of the sidewalk garden.  A phone call or two turned up the possibility of assistance from one of the wood carvers who gather at a seniors’ club.  Our request next week will be: 

Route the words “Cedar Hollow”
into the surface of a flat piece of driftwood
hauled home from Bonaire 30 years ago. 

It’s about time this place had proper signage like every other respectable subdivision, don’t you agree?

Good old Google shed some light on this strange business of playing musical houses.  Apparently, as part of the courtship ritual, the male wren begins building several nests in a nearby area, laying just their foundations.  Then he spends his time high up in the trees, singing to attract a mate.  And does he ever sing!  600 songs per hour! 

Situated in a quiet subdivision in Cedar Hollow are the three housing choices Lord Wren offered his ladylove, which you have seen before.  Left to right:

    Swiss Chalet

    Château de la Gourde

    Cedar Shake on Black Pole Lane

Now which nest do you think Lady Wren will finally choose?  Cedar Shake on Black Pole Lane would be the safest.  Nothing can climb up that fat old PVC pipe, can it?  Swiss Chalet would be the coolest, that’s for sure, shaded by the walnut boughs.  But  Château de la Gourde has got class.   

 Well, it’s up to Lady Wren, and that’s that.  Once she has made her choice, she will finish building the nest.  Now, don’t be surprised.   I have it on good authority that she got her carpentry papers from Conestoga College with right good marks!  When the house is finished, Lady Wren will settle down and knit the softest blankets you can imagine from feathers, hair, spider cocoons, wool, strips of bark, rootlets, moss . . . and even trash.

 “Is there anything down there that I could use?” 

 A few moments later, Lady Wren flew by with something long and white in her beak. 

 Now, whatever is that white gob on the outside of Cedar Shake? I wondered.  Going closer to it, lo and behold, it was a soft spider cocoon!  Lady Wren  just epoxied it onto the outside of her house for a few moments until she was ready to stitch it into her blanket. 

I kind of think that means that Cedar Shake is Lady Wren’s choice, don’t you?  I’ve been fooled before, as you know, so stay tuned for further developments!

It was too humid to be out in the garden much yesterday, but when I went to fill the hummingbird feeder, I heard no conversations whatever coming from Cedar Shake on Black Pole Lane.  I saw no fast-food deliveries by Mr. or Mrs. Chickadee.  Yes, the chickadee youngsters have flown the coup, and we missed the fun of watching their maiden flights.      

This morning on our break, who should we see on Cedar Shake’s rooftop but Lady Wren!

“I always did like the look of this place!  In fact, I had my eye on it before Mr. and Mrs. Chickadee did.  Well, they gave the landlord their notice Sunday night, so now it’s mine, mine at last.   I know it doesn’t have a front porch like the Swiss Chalet, but you can’t have everything, no, you can’t.  Well, there’s no time to waste.  I’ve got to whir up my wings and get some furniture hauled in before someone else makes a down payment on it.  Possession is nine-tenths of the law, they say.”

We watched Lady Wren in disbelief.  Lloyd had seen her when she first looked the place over a few weeks ago.  Then, the first thing we knew,  she had begun carrying building materials into Château de la Gourde.  But the very day after John hung the Swiss Chalet in the black walnut tree, she gave it a brief inspection, and claimed the Chalet for her residence!  Lady Wren spent several days hauling in the makings of a bassinette and rocking chair.  She especially seemed to enjoy its front porch, even though its dimensions were quite narrow.  Before retiring for the night, she often sang a goodnight hymn there.  

Well, there’s just no telling what ladies fancy when it comes to housing! There’s not a lazy bone in Lady Wren, and she seems determined now to set up housekeeping  in the house of her dreams.

Had we any idea that Lady Wren would move over to Cedar Shake on Black Pole Lane, Lloyd would have given the house a thorough cleaning.  Ah well, there’s no stopping her now.

We watched as she manoeuvred long twigs through the front door, dropped some, picked them up again, and poked them inside.

I heard her chirp something that didn’t surprise me in the least.  I could tell by the perky angle of her tail that this was her philosophy:

 “Where there’s a will, there’s a way!” 

Had she overheard me telling John that my mother used to say that?  One day my mother told me that her mother and her grandmother both held it as their motto.  Great advice!  When you see a little wren going at it hammer and tong building a nest, remember that these words of wisdom were no doubt passed down to her, too.

Lady Wren paused briefly at her front door. 

“Ah, yes, I do like this place! There’s such a view from here! I can see what’s going in the yards on either side, I can see right out to the street, the McD’s side door, and if that mangy old cat so much as sets a paw around here, I’ll be the first to know!  I believe there’s something to that realtor’s spiel after all:  Location, location, location! 

Warm showers of rain fell now and then during the afternoon.  Robin Jr. spent some time in the front yard spa cooling off. 

“My, but that felt good!” he declared.

Some of you have seen the winter hat on the left before, pompom and all:

Let’s pull it off . . . and see what it was protecting:

Amazingly, there was no die-back on the end of the rose canes, most of which were about 18” tall.  The canes were completely green, thanks to the snow’s insulation.  Here are some of the David Austin roses that were sleeping under that woolly hat.  Take a sniff of the spicy perfume offered from their  delicate chalices!

Sir Wilfrid Laurier Climbing Rose by our side door was put to sleep last fall with the same type of ‘comforter’ as the tea roses – a foot thick of dry maple leaves dragged home by the bagful from some of the neighbours’ curbs.  Not being surrounded with a sheltering hedge, the climber didn’t receive a wool hat.  This winter’s lower than usual temperatures killed all of its 4’ canes!  They were deader than a mackerel!  Never mind.  Sir Wilfrid Laurier got busy and pushed up new shoots from the ground.  Three cheers for its progress so far!

Its blooms look more like tea roses than climbers, don’t you think?

Below is one of its full-blown flowers.  It thinks it will make a rose hip for future propagation, and doesn’t know that pruning shears will relieve it of the effort.  After all, appearance is everything when it comes to roses, don’t you agree? 

Cedar Hollow had been all too quiet for two whole days, two long, rather sad days. 

And then the joyous melody of the wren rang out from the leafy treetops.  Lady Wren popped inside the Swiss Chalet.  When she emerged and sat on her perch, the coral bells by the pond rang and clanged out a most hearty “Welcome home!!”

           I don’t have any idea what all this fuss is about, Lady Wren seemed to say.  After I laid my eggs, I left for a rest at Granny’s on the other side of town.  This is my first family, you know, and I had so many questions to ask her.  She smiled when I told her how beautiful the creamy-white eggs looked, all speckled with tiny reddish-brown squiggles.

          “Be sure and turn them over every day, my dear,” Granny said, as she gathered me under her soft wing and hugged me good bye.

Mrs. Chickadee flew down by the lighthouse.  It was plain to see that she had something to say to us as we sipped iced-tea on the lawn swing.

          Just keep the camera handy, folks.  My babies will be flying the nest any time now, and I don’t want you to miss it!

Presently, in the doorway of Cedar Shake on Black Pole Lane, Chick No. 1 appeared, and then disappeared.  He was as big as his mother, and looked just like her.  Or did he take after his father?  I can’t be sure.  Soon he was back.

          Oh my, he cheeped.  So this is the big wide world Mom and Dad have been telling us about. And that’s the wood fence they said is the closest landing pad.  But it’s SO-O-O far down.  No, I’m not ready for a test flight, not yet.  I’ll let Junior No. 2 or 3 or 4 try it first.  And besides, I couldn’t concentrate on which wing to flap first with all these noisy grackles about the place.

 With that, he disappeared once more, and a black curtain was drawn across the doorway.

Chick No. 1 was right.  Cedar Hollow was literally invaded this afternoon!  A family of haughty grackles barged in!Several of them strutted about the lawn with their mouths gaping wide open.  What a sight for sore eyes!  They made me hot just to look at them!  Two or three at a time crowded into the small bird bath for a drink and then a splash-about!    

One brave grackle did his ablutions in the pond, standing on a rock close to the surface.  Why, they practically took over the place!

 Well, I’d better brush out the bird bath and fill it up again with clean water!   Anyway, Lady Wren is back, and all is right with the world! 

Walking past the row of beans in the sidewalk garden when I left to pick up some painting canvases the other day, I noted one pale green loop raising its head.  By the time I got back, the loop displayed an open bean and  two robust  young leaves.  Now that’s moving, folks!

It’s too quiet.  Has Lady Wren got laryngitis?  Or is she sitting on some eggs and enjoying a well deserved rest?  Lloyd thought he heard her singing at 4:30 this morning. Oh my.  What’s going on around here?

I think Father Robin overheard my concerns about our quiet garden, and decided to do something about it.  He flew up to the topmost tip of a tall but skinny spruce tree two doors down (the kind of spruce you see further north), and filled the air with score after score of thrilling music.

Enjoy Scott Green’s recording of an American Robin.  Never mind the rude old dog that chips in now and then.          

www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEVSBhDrl5w

Often at dusk, Father Robin sings evening vespers, blessing the entire neighbourhood with his repertoire, ending with . . . And to you, a good night.

It was the flowerbed on the right side of the small steps going up from the pond that got some attention this morning.  The first day lily of the season bloomed forth in solid gold tones!

During some heavy downpours of rain late yesterday afternoon, the roses gathered their gowns about them, and they seemed no worse for wear this morning.

I wish you could inhale the exquisite perfume in the heart of the white roses.

The red rose has no scent to thrill you, and I know that sometimes she struggles with an inferiority complex because of that.  But I overheard her whisper to her sibling buds:

          Never mind. No one has written a poem about a white rose,
but everyone knows what Scotland’s poet Robbie Burns
said:

My love’s  like a red, red rose! 

“I’m next,” a little voice cheeped from somewhere within Cedar Shake on Black Pole Lane.  Frazzled Father Chickadee caught his breath on the fence for a moment before delivering his treat.  He looked as worn out as his wife!

“Go get your breakfast at the sunflower feeder, Papa,” I said coaxingly.  “The youngsters will just have to wait a moment, that’s all.” 

He paid no heed.  No sooner had he delivered his pizza, when he flew straight over to the Maple’s Staples just beyond the north corner of the yard to round up more grub.   

 I was out early this morning, cultivating the left upward-sloping flowerbed by the pond.  For some odd reason, each year the corkscrew hazel has contrary upstarts popping up on her left side.  They do not want to grow kinky like their mother, but get hold of that straightening stuff, and stick straight up! What a rebellious lot!  I gave them a talking to before I snipped them off.

Beside Cedar Shake on Black Pole Lane, the mock orange bush has begun to bloom.  Its blossoms have the same delightful scent as the flowers of its namesake – the orange tree – which eventually provided the marmalade we enjoyed at breakfast! 

The climbing hydrangea has put on its best frock yet!  Maybe more sunlight came its way after the neighbours on the south side of our property cut down a huge hawthorn tree.

On a house tour at Puslinch Lake a few summers ago, Lloyd and I saw a gigantic hydrangea blooming, which completely covered a cottage.  It was unforgettably beautiful! 

The hydrangea’s flower saucers have a sense of humour, and must be teaching a few of their tiny members to overcome stage fright:

           Just step right out!

          Put your little foot out, right out,

                    and let them see you!

A clump of foxgloves takes the spotlight in a round bed of pinky-mauvy astilbe, encircled by carrots and swiss chard.  Veggies always taste better when planted in circles.  You knew that, didn’t you?

Now, who is snooping around here?  Why, it’s Zip the Chip! 

           Whatever is this?  Am I hearing things or what? 

No, he isn’t.  He is checking out a Go’pher It II which we dug into the flowerbed.  It is simply a long metal tube containing four “C” batteries which emit a beep every few seconds.  The theory is that it makes ground rodents paranoid!  They roll up their tents and leave.  The beep can’t be heard above ground, but it makes rodents think another critter may be burrowing in the ground toward them, and they’re not about to wait around to find out who!

What’s the motive behind Lady Wren’s exterior decorating?

Never mind, I think she has a clutch of eggs inside, and that’s something to sing about!!  It’s a wonder the City By Law officers haven’t had complaints about the “loud” music at our house.  That’s how one neighbour described it, but we think it’s glorious!  We’ve never had a summer like it!   Go to blog of June 3 to hear the video of a wren’s symphony!

We’re guessing that the cardinals have fledged their offspring from the cedar hedge, and are enjoying life in the slow lane right now.

Mr. and Mrs. Chickadee are certainly not slackening off yet.  Every few minutes, one or either of them arrives at Cedar Shake on Black Pole Lane with a high-protein sports bar for their young.  Here’s a lemon special!

You think Mrs. Chickadee looks a little ruffled or worse for wear?  You would be, too, if you spent the entire day shopping! Their favourite supermarket is the Black Walnut Groceteria.  They must be going through the fast check-out.  In no time at all their grocery items are rung through, and they are winging their way home.  We see them frequenting Lilac Quick Stop, as well as The Maple’s Staples. 

Sleek Father Robin is ever alert as he forages for tube steaks in our lawn.  He knows our lawn is totally free of pesticides.  Yes, Sir, the tube steaks at McDonalds are 100% organic, no antibiotics, no growth hormones!

One of his youngsters puffed its feathers out as far as it could, trying to keep warm one windy, cold evening.  Why ever did I fly the coop? he seems to whimper.  I was never cold there, snuggled next to my brothers and sisters!