Photo from the Richard Smith collection http://lummiphotos.blogspot.com/
There’s a swallow’s nest on a ledge above our deck at Lummi Island. For a dozen years or so (including the four that we’ve been here), a pair of barn swallows have arrived in late spring, encamped, freshened the mud-daubed shelter, then birthed, fed and trained two broods of four to five babies. The Sibley Guide gives us a few interesting facts about the swallow. They are monogamous and our swallows (we like to think the same pair returns year after year) are an amazing team of parents. They could write a book. They work together getting the nest ready and feeding the little ones. They are always on the same page. If dad flies in and feeds #1 and #2 somehow mom, when she arrives knows to pass the bug to #3, then #4. There are lots of questions that Sibley doesn’t answer. We know, for example, that swallows migrate but we don’t know where our group flies off to in the fall. Right now we can tell that they are getting ready to leave. The second brood is out of the nest and in flight, wheeling and juking like tiny fighter jets, pulling eight G turns. They fly so fast and turn so quickly that we can’t count the number of birds in the air at one time. The fly at the house like a Kamikaze, make a sharp turn and flutter into the nest. Incredible pilots. The first brood, kicked out weeks ago sleeps somewhere else but shows up from time to time for what must be physical training. Getting ready for the winged migration. They all take off, making tight turns in and around the yard then disappear all day, returning to the nest at night. On a bike ride today we noticed eleven barn swallows resting on the telephone lines up the road a piece. Eleven is just about the right number for the parents and two broods. There was one timid bird who didn’t want to fly. He hung onto the nest for two days after his siblings had flown off on maneuvers. Mom and dad would coax him onto the adjoining down spouts and tease him with bugs. We never saw him fly. There should have been twelve birds on that wire. Perhaps the chicken swallow didn’t make it. What do barn swallows do to a weak sister? I don’t know and neither does Sibley. But the gang is getting ready to head south. One morning we’ll get up and they’ll be gone. My guess is that some winter day in let’s say Guatemala, one of our barn swallows will be talking to an acquaintance and, sort of like I do say, “Yeah, we’ve got a little place up on Lummi Island. We’ll be heading up there again this summer. What!? Oh... It’s near Bellingham.”
Comments