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!