I walked slowly from the car toward the house. It had been a long day. It felt like it should be at least Wednesday, but it was only Tuesday. As I passed the arborvitae on the corner of the house, I heard the sound of baby birds chirping for mama and food.
A memory flashed in my mind. We purchased our first home in the fall of 1977 just before the birth of our first baby. It was a little yellow house with black shutters, a fenced yard, and a garden plot.
My husband was (and is) a man with very predictable patterns and routines. Every day when he returned from work, he would check for mail. In the spring of 1978, we noticed something unusual with the mail. Among the letters would be bits of grass, small twigs, and pieces of string or paper. Every day he cleaned it out only to find another collection the next day. Finally, I convinced him to leave the grass in the mailbox so we could see what might happen.
We left a note for the mailman to put our mail inside the screen door instead of the box. Soon the collection of grass was taking shape and in a few days, the nest was complete. Everyday we gently took a peek. Imagine the wonder we felt when we saw four little eggs inside our mailbox! We knew we should leave it alone. Then one day, we heard tiny peeps coming from the mailbox. Because of the placement of the mailbox, I was too short to see in. I remember eagerly waiting my husband’s return from work so that he could tell me how the babies were doing. It was a moment when I saw his tender side and felt happy.
When the babies left the nest and the mother no longer came to visit, we cleaned out the mailbox and missed our little guest.