How a tufted titmouse, five backyard photos and a Boy Scout prepared me

Nature has been working all spring to get me prepared for this weekend. 

In one sense, my being the hopeful sort kicked things off in late March when I opened the roof on a hinge of the birdhouse I bought last spring from a Boy Scout who built it. 

So, in that sense, I guess the story started last spring when the young Boy Scout said to me, “Hang this birdhouse about chest high. Don’t go too high. If you follow my instructions, you’ll have birds building a nest in it by next spring.”

He may have even added, “I guarantee it.”

He was the confident sort. So, I hung the birdhouse chest-high and waited.

When I opened the birdhouse’s hinged roof in late March, all I could think was, “That little Boy Scout was right.”

I counted seven tiny eggs in a rather rough-and-tumble nest. The level of excitement my husband, daughter and I have felt over these eggs defies logic. 

Even so, we were judicious in our forays into their territory after the first time I opened the lid to find mama bird sitting on her nest, none too happy at my interference in her life. I quickly took the photo and vowed not to bother her again, fearing I would scare her away from her nest. 

We waited patiently and watched for signs.

On two occasions as the weeks passed, I tiptoed over to the birdhouse, barely lifted the roof, slid the camera lens of my phone in and clicked the button to see what was inside. 

The next photo I got was of four very hungry birdies, mouths wide open, hoping I was bringing something for them. 

The next time I took a photo of them, I couldn’t believe how much they had grown. Their feathers were different. I could tell that they were tufted titmouses. Frankly, it was jarring how grown up the little birds looked. 

That’s when I knew what was coming. 

As the eggs were laid, the mother bird sat, the eggs hatched, the birdies grew, we were following a similar path in our family. Our younger daughter, Piper, was completing her final semester of her undergrad degree at LSU. She was in the throes of completing an honors thesis. She was applying for jobs. She was reporting at the Capitol for her Statehouse class. 

Then, she was interviewing for jobs. Then she was accepted into Teach for America and assigned to go to Denver to teach high school mathematics upon her graduation from LSU. 

Then things got real for this mama. 

Surely, those birds couldn’t have grown that much that quickly.

Last Sunday, Piper and I were in the backyard and she said, “Let’s look at the birdies, Mom.”

I thought, “It’s been a while since we did so. Surely, we won’t disturb them too much.”

She and I walked over to the birdhouse. I slid my phone in to take a photo. We huddled around it to see what we got.

And the nest was empty. 

By the time you read this, Piper will have graduated from LSU.

She’s found a place to live in the Mile High City. She’s packing her car to head west. She is on the brink of everything. The feeling is palpable.

Her dad and I will make the trip out with her. When we drive away one of us will yell, “Check the oil,” just like in that song. 

Surely, we couldn’t be happier for or prouder of her. 

Still. 

We know what’s coming.

When we get back home, the briefly used nest in the backyard will not be alone in its emptiness.