What will you be aware of when you come down the walk by the sidewalk gardens?  Yes, that you have entered Cedar Hollow!  Welcome!  Welcome, indeed!

Interestingly, a lady at the K-W Woodworking Shop which routed the letters for us thought that the slab of driftwood was cedar!   How long it floated in the sea before I picked it out of a pile of driftwood on Bonaire’s eastern shore, I have no idea, but I can tell you it’s been 30 years since it arrived in Canada . . . treasured . . . but waiting until now to give you this joyful announcement:  Cedar Hollow 

Across from the sign, beans are climbing up a trellis in a determined fashion.  Who would think that such pretty blossoms will soon stre-t-ch out into edibles?  We won’t have to stand on our head to pick them either!

Some time ago, I showed you a photo of the springtime leaves of the fall crocus – long, healthy green leaves similar in shape to that of the tulip.  All of the energy from the robust leaves has now been transferred to the bulbs sleeping below.  You won’t believe how beautiful the lilac-coloured double flowers will be on their snow-white stems come October (but I’ll show you ).  And if you should ask them where their leaves are, they’ll just say, Been there.  Done that.

A few times today we saw both of the wrens busy around the Swiss Chalet at the same time.  One might have gone into their house, while the other sang from somewhere.  Why, here she is on the fence, of all places!

Bounce, the hummingbird, divided his time between the bee balm flowers  . . .

. . . and the feeder. 

“Aw,”  he hums, as he leans back in his chair, looking totally satisfied, “The beverage of the day is always served fresh at the McDs’.”

Living at Cedar Hollow makes certain demands.  The cedar hedges have responded to generous summer rains with new growth.  Lloyd and I trimmed most of the front hedging, but there is lots more aromatic cedar scheduled for a haircut next week.

The K-W Woodworking Shop phoned to say that they had routed the lettering into the slab of driftwood.  It was ready for pickup!

                                                       Cedar Hollow

What a beautiful job Steve did!  Hopefully, we will have the finish applied by next week, and you will see where its pulpit is located.

While taking a break on the lawn swing, I was delighted to see Lady Wren alight on the trellis near Swiss Chalet.  Her choir gown was bathed in morning sunshine as she sang several songs before tending to her young brood.

Did you know that Cedar Hollow is one of the robins’ favourite spas?  First Mr. Redbreast tried out the upper bird bath.

Well, he thought it was rather confining.

He had bigger things in mind.  He hopped through the flowerbed . . . and you could just see his wheels turning . . .

. . . and then he was on the foundation of the lighthouse.  He seemed to say, “It’s hot out here, Mrs. McD.  I hope you don’t mind, but I’m rather fond of the big spa at Cedar Hollow.”

Before he doffed his stately dinner jacket, he posed by the edge of the pond for me.

Then, before I knew it, he was standing on a big lily pad.  He bent over, and had a drink.  I was surprised that it held his weight.  The next moment, he was splashing about at the edge of the pond, having a high old time in his favourite spa, flicking water in every direction!  He flew up into the walnut tree.  Perched on the big branch from which the Swiss Chalet hung, he began to dry off, stretching out his wings and preening his soggy feathers.  That ritual had to be tended to before he could  put his dinner jacket back on.  He certainly wasn’t going to pose without it, and besides, his feathers were a sight for sore eyes!  No respectable robin would appear in any blog looking like that!  No way!

It was time to pull the rhubarb again and put it into the freezer.  When the snow swirls about the eaves this winter, it will be mighty nice to put some rhubarb into a custard pie, or stew it . . so yummy with a slice of buttered, homemade bread! 

Opening the shed to put the pile of rhubarb leaves into the green bin, who should I see but Jumpy the Frog ‘glued’ to the inside edge of the door.  Yikes!  I managed not to scream, but left the doors ajar and skidaddled into the house for the camera.  Jumpy obliged, waiting patiently for his photo op.  By the time I checked on the computer to see if the shots turned out, he had taken off for dear knows where.  But it was good to have the little scamp back at Cedar Hollow!  I guess he has forgiven me for the times I opened the shed doors too quickly and he landed kerplop on the hard patio!  Not exactly his favourite way of saying Good morning! 

See folks?  There’s nothing to it, declared Lady Wren, as she stepped gingerly onto the gangplank leading into the Swiss Chalet.  She is certainly taking good care of her babies, let me assure you.

If I thought Bounce the Hummer was slighting my patches of bee balm, I had misjudged him.  First off this morning, though, he had a quick draft of hosta lily nectar.  Just look at all of the jugs preparing sweet things for him in the coming days.

Then Bounce was off to one of the bee balm patches.  He seemed as happy as a kid in a candy store!  Each petal is part of the juice fountain, and holds its lid up high, offering self-serve, fresh strawberry punch from exquisite goblets!  Talk about afternoon tea in the garden, folks . . . it doesn’t get any better than this!

Morning sunlight has climbed over the forest’s tree tops! 

Summer weather of all sorts and all in one day!  How lovely to have cottony clouds scuttling across the freshly washed blue sky, and to be rid of the  humidity! 

After the vigorous downpour this afternoon, the walnut tree’s branches waved to and fro, gently rocking Swiss Chalet’s inhabitants.  Busy breezes revealed some of the walnut tree’s secrets previously hidden among her boughs, all in leathery wraps.  Did you know that English Black Walnuts such as these are much more delicious than California walnuts?   

The songs of the wrens are as varied as the weather lately, and I’m sure Lord and Lady Wren understand exactly what they are saying to each other.  Frequently, it is now bits of song, and often subdued in tone.  After all, you musn’t disturb the babies once Lady Wren has gotten their tummies full and they are off to sleep. 

    Now, it’s time for me to forage for myself, Lady Wren sighed as she stepped onto her front porch, seemingly listening a moment to make sure all was quiet.  She certainly doesn’t seem to be losing weight, though, with all of this activity, does she?

Whatever happened to Bounce the Hummer?  Why, he can actually sit a spell and sip at the feeder!  Maybe he’s out of the crazy teenage stage, and is now an adult hummer.

Strange how Bounce is not paying much attention to the scarlet bee balm, touted in gardening books as one of his favourite soda bars.  It must be that he can draw a king-sized sip from the feeder, and can’t be bothered hovering from petal to petal.  Doesn’t he know that I planted the bee balm just for him?  And in fact, I planted two patches; one up the knoll, and one just a few yards from the feeder.  Give me a break!

I wonder where he goes to when he zips around the corner?  Maybe he fancies the speckled lilies.  I know they’d be delighted to have him pay a visit.

Checking whether the baby wrens were doing any chattering yet . . . or more like it . . . yelling for more food, I climbed the knoll and listened beneath Swiss Chalet.  All was quiet.  I know what baby chickadees sound like in a nest, but have never heard baby wrens, have you? 

It’s plain to see how much Lord and Lady Wren love their babies.  They’ve added more fortifications to the barricade at their front door!

This plaque hangs on the fence between two wall pots of white-throated purple petunias near our picnic table. 

The big trend these days is for outdoor living.  Folks are expanding their decks, buying bigger and fancier BBQ’s, getting outdoor sofas, firepits, screened in rooms, you name it.  Provided they can leave their electronic tablets and Smart phones indoors, they will discover something awesome!  That birds sing the most heavenly songs, that bees drone while they work, and that breezes whisper.

Maybe they’ll take time to inhale the exquisite perfume of the lilies that have been working underground all year to now put in their appearance, brightening the garden.

I can tell you one thing.  Lord Wren will look you straight in the eye and tell you you’re doing the right thing by spending more time in God’s good outdoors . . . time to observe butterflies zig-zagging, gold finches and chickadees dip-diving . . . wrens zip-zipping!  Time to attune your ears to cheerful melodies from songsters who have come from distant southern climes to sing-g-g-g just for you!  And they don’t act like tourists.  Why, some will pitch right in and help with the gardening, eating destructive insects . . . chomping ones, sucking ones, disgusting ones!

You might have thought we were quite old fashioned folks, but you may have underestimated us.  Early this morning, our very own drone did a secret photo shoot of the pond and the entire subdivision at Cedar Hollow.  There was no sound emanating from the drone whatsoever, so our neighbours would have been none the wiser. 

Today’s Record showed a photo of a drone made in Waterloo by Aeryon Labs Inc., a young company begun by three University of Waterloo graduates.  They sell drones to the military in many countries of the Middle East, and to markets on every continent except Antarctica.  They’re doing a booming business!

The drone we employed was considerably smaller than those produced by Aeryon:

  (Water beetle)

 Noon hour was spent at a lecture in the Homer Watson Art Gallery in our neighbourhood where I once took watercolour lessons.  We sat in the gallery shown on the right with its skylight windows all around it, letting the natural light in.

Jean Haalboom lives in Old Doon, and enlightened us on the flax and grain mills, twine, cordage and fabric companies, cooperage and brick makers that once flourished here. 

When Jean began her efforts in the 1980s to preserve special old sites in Doon, our next-door neighbour, Milena, was the seamstress who created  this period outfit for her to wear during presentations to local councils, setting the mood.

Above is one of Homer Watson’s paintings. 

A large road is named after the artist, Homer Watson, which we refer to every time we give directions to our home.  He is buried in a cemetery within walking distance.  His landscape paintings are in galleries all across Canada.

Back at cedar Hollow, the changeable weather provided sunshine during the supper hour, and we were able to eat outside.  Our son had cut and trimmed the lawns, and enjoyed hearing and seeing the wrens of Swiss Chalet and Bounce the hummingbird.  At one point, it sounded to me as though Lord Wren was singing a lullaby to his babes, keeping the volume of his song quite low.

And a very Good Morning to you!  These two are first cousins to the ones who greeted me a few mornings ago.

 Do you see the powerful 4-pronged thingamajig in their centres?  Its fancy name is stigma, and it stirs the pot, so to speak, determinedly pushing the petals OPEN as you watch!  It thrives on the gasps and “I can’t believe this” that it hears coming from observers and admirers.  And who can’t use a little bit of admiration now and then?

Ever played Third Base on a ball team?  Third Base probably consisted of a bald patch in the grass or a sand bag marking its location.  Well, this post serves as third base for Lord and Lady Wren.  They often land here briefly (emphasis on briefly) before flying to “home base” in the Swiss Chalet. 

Lady Wren looks a bit ruffled, don’t you think?  But who wouldn’t after squeezing through the barricades at the front door of Swiss Chalet.

We saw Bounce the Hummingbird several times today.  To watch him, you would think he had ants in his pants!  He just CAN’T sit still.  As I tried to describe his antics before, it’s . . .

     Sip

          Fly up in the air six inches

               Back to the feeder for another sip

                    Up in the air again . . .

But Bounce doesn’t have ants in his pants.  Mr. McD made sure of that.  He applied thick grease to the bottom section of the pole that holds the feeder, and nary an ant can climb up to pester the hummingbirds!  No way!

Let me know if you have any pills to slow bouncy hummingbirds down.  Maybe the scarlet bee balm that is just beginning to bloom will calm him.

Gone!  Cleared out!  No tree frog in the shed this morning.  Do hope he hasn’t packed his bags and left Cedar Hollow for good. I’ve been looking forward to hearing his unusual musical calls once he’s out of the awkward teenage stage. With all of the rain today, perhaps Jumpy will be cold.  Maybe he will do another B&E, sneak back into the shed tonight, and climb up into his familiar little bed between the doors. 

Mr. McD and I headed over to the K-W Woodworking and Craft Centre in Waterloo with our treasured flat slab of driftwood.  I lugged it home from Bonaire some 30 years ago.  How long had it been cast ashore before I claimed it?  Ocean currents from as far away as Africa toss up all kinds of wood onto the tiny island’s east coast.  Who knows what vessel or lodging it might once have been part of? 

 What a well lit and well equipped shop we stepped into with senior men working on projects, some transforming rough burls into handsome bowls.  The gentleman who will turn the slab into a sign for the garden, routing the words “Cedar Hollow” into its surface, sported a full, old-fashioned beard, and loves working with wood.   I wonder if he will be able to tell what kind of a tree the wood came from?  Perhaps he has never seen this type of wood before.

 In between pop-up showers today, we took our breaks on the lawn swing. 

Let me ask you:  When you had little ones (or your parents) how long was it between feeding times?  Three hours? four?  Remember how bleary-eyed we became?  But baby comes first, and fed he must be.

It seemed that Lord and Lady Wren entered the nursery at Swiss Chalet roughly every ten minutes.  Now, that’s some schedule!

The varied menu for baby wrens consists of fresh, organic delicasies from the garden and woods:

• Insects
• Spiders
• Beetles
• Caterpillars  (Who’s smacking their lips?)
• Earwigs
• Daddy longlegs
• Flies
• Leafhoppers and springtails 

And last, but not least, snail shells for the calcium they contain, which provide grit for digestion.  They don’t have teeth, you know.  That’s why you’ve never heard of birds going to the dentist! 

Opening the shed doors carefully the second day after the tree frog had committed a Break and Enter, I was aghast!  He had donned a brand new jacket!  Well, you’ll have to forgive me for thinking that he was wearing pyjamas the first time I met him.  After all, this is where Jumpy the Tree Frog sleeps at Cedar Hollow . . . between the shed doors.  But no longer was he just a plain, pale  green tree frog.  He was now attired in a fashionable dinner jacket featuring the latest charcoal-coloured pattern.  Fetching the camera, I guess I got too close for comfort, and he JUMPED!!  Where was he???  Ah, at the bottom of the garbage can, sprawled out on a soft plastic bag!   Checking on him a few times, I worried needlessly, as his suction-pad toes had enabled him to get up and out.  Where he went to, I have no idea.

This morning, gingerly but slowly opening the doors to the shed again, I spied him.  He evidently has had enough of the black camera coming his way, and immediately jumped out of sight!  Carefully I scanned the ceiling and doors, having that eerie feeling that I would freak out if he plopped down  on my head!

If you back up a few blogs, you will see the handsome jacket his ancestor wore.  It’s tradition!

Occasionally, mourning doves come to the front yard, hoping to find some discarded sunflower seeds. 

You will remember . . . . on its second mission from the ark . . . that it was a dove – some four millenniums ago – that returned to Noah in the evening with an olive leaf in its beak. 

The mourning dove wasn’t a carrier pigeon, but she delivered a green email . . . telling Noah that the waters which covered the whole earth had now receded.  That wasn’t junk email, no, indeed.  It was EXCITING good news!!!  Very soon afterward,  Noah and his family and ALL OF THE ANIMALS whose lives were preserved in the ark were able to walk outside in the cleansed earth!

Some people find the mourning dove’s song sad.  I don’t.  Growing up on the farm, I often wakened to the soft cooing of mourning doves high up in the spruce trees that lined the laneway.

Two days after Lloyd cleaned out Cedar Shake on Black Pole Lane, Lord Wren indignantly stuffed twigs into its front door again.  No, Sir, other birds were not welcome in his territory, and he jolly well let them know!

 By the pond,  Mr. McD spied something on top of the boy’s fishing pole. From the droop of his  gauze wings, it looks like he just needed a rest on this muggy afternoon, don’t you think?

With more frequent visits from Lord and Lady Wren, I’d say the activity is definitely picking up around Swiss Chalet.  I’m straining my eyes, trying to see if they are carrying anything in their beaks.  The appetites of young wrens definitely make their parents a gardener’s best friend!  More on their menu next time.

Going out to fill the hummingbird feeder, two evening primroses said Good Morning!  They had opened at dusk the previous evening, unfolding from a bud to a full flower within a minute or so.  Because I was up with the birds, their frocks were still as lovely as when they unfurled in the moonlight.  In a few short hours, however, they will shrivel into unsightly blobs.  The speed of their deterioration is as surprising as the speed at which they open! 

The tree frog was lurking between the shed doors again this morning, but I opened them very carefully . . . stealthily would be more like it . . .  so as not to disturb him. 

Shortly afterward, a stately butterfly came by to see what was so special about this shed and its doors.  I doubt very much if she would ever consider spending the night between its doors!  I forgot to ask her which  newspaper she was doing an editorial for, but she looked like a very precise journalist, if you ask me, and believed in first-hand observations, the hands-on type, you know.

What a day for hanging out the sheets!  No humidity.  Blue sky.  Zephyr breezes.  Even the worst old grump in Waterloo County wouldn’t be able to come up with a complaint about the weather if you paid him a fortune!  The miracle of it all is that in spite of all the pollution in our modern age, sheets on the line smell so sweet when you bring them inside.  Our Maker has some amazing secrets!  

A couple near Princeton graciously let us come out this afternoon so Mr. McD could take photos of their American Black and Tan Coonhound. Mr. McD is working on a sculpture of a barefoot back-woods hunter who is slumped against a tree stump, sleeping, rifle on a rock nearby, and his faithful hunting dog at his side. 

What a patient model Molly was (I think that was her name).  Pictures from all angles were taken.  These hounds have amazing noses, and during competitions, they must follow very precise rules.  A bunch of coonhounds are released at the same time, and must run without yapping.  As soon as one of them picks up the scent of a coon, he gives one bark.  When he gets to the tree where the racoon is located, then another set of commands takes over, and he howls incessantly, standing on his hind legs with his front paws on the tree trunk as high as possible. 

There is no shooting in this sport – just keen competition to see which dog has superior scent- identifying ability.  The coonhound can move his long silky ears in such a way that they funnel scent toward his nose.  The owner showed us the pedigrees, and many award certificates in varying categories won in Canada and the States by his coonhounds.

Best of all, these short-haired, just-the-right size dogs, though not so well known, make wonderful house pets!  When Molly looked at me, her golden eyes beamed love and acceptance.  Know how good that feels?

Lady Wren assured us that everything was OK at Cedar Hollow while we were away this afternoon.  She reported that a black spotted dragonfly spent a bit of time sunning himself on the gate, and that a blue darning needle zipped by, checking out the pond.  The Grand River is beyond the woods a good piece.  Is it possible that the darning needle has a good nose, too, and that’s how it found our pond?  There’s one thing sure . . . it doesn’t have long ears that help pick up scent!

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?