Early one spring morning I was awakened by loud bird
sounds; I knew it was birds, but with the screaming I couldn't make out what
kind of bird was making such a racket.
I lifted the blinds and looked out the window, trying to focus in the
direction of the ruckus. It was around
6:00 a.m. and the sky glowed from the beginning of the sunrise. Across the yard, up in the maple tree was a
robin’s nest and a robin was sitting on her eggs. Earlier in the week I saw both robins
building the nest, and a few days ago, when I passed by the tree, I saw one of
them sitting on the nest and the other nearby, standing sentinel. Now as I watched, I saw her rise up and
scream in the direction of a crow; the crow was menacingly close to her
nest. When I looked closer, I could see
there was a murder of crows in the tree behind her. Since there was only one robin at the nest
site, I supposed the male was off gathering food. One of the crows advanced on her to try to
get to the nest to have the eggs for breakfast.
A group of crows is called a murder because that is what they will do,
flocked together and attacking, pecking away until their victim dies; they have
been known to murder a dying cow. Crows
are predators and scavengers and that means they will eat anything from road
kill to insects, fast food, nestlings or eggs; there are at least two full bird
feeders in the yard, but these crows were after the eggs in the nest and mamma
robin was not backing down. I could see
another crow moving in on the robin to her right as she was frantically
protecting her unborn brood. I knew I
wasn’t going to get any sleep unless there was an end put to the crows attack,
(plus I hate crows and love robins and what they stand for) so I pulled on my
robe and flip flops and headed down stairs.
When I got to the tree, I picked up some loose tree debris and tossed it
at the crows driving them back a few branches.
As I did, I saw the male robin arrive; with outraged cries, posturing and
puffing up, wings waving, his mouth opened, (I think he was hissing) he
advanced on the crows, driving them off.
I started back to the house and my landlady put her head out of the door
and told me she had chased the crows away from the robins’ nest just
yesterday. She said they had made such a
racket that she had to come out to see what the matter was. All I could think of was the hawk that had
swooped in earlier in the month and stolen a cardinal’s life. Why couldn’t he have taken out the nasty
cawing crows? I was amazed at the
tenacity of the robin protecting her unborn against the crow. More humans should take on the spirit of the
robin when it comes to their young instead of the abuse they pour out on their
own children. A few mornings later, I
heard the same ruckus, only this time it was more than one robin
screeching. I opened the blinds and
looked out my upstairs window to see both robins screeching towards the house,
first towards the back of the house where my landlady’s door is, then to the
front of the house where my door is. I
pulled on my robe and flip flops once again and went out, noting how quiet all
of the other birds were, the same as last time.
I could see some of them in the blind but they were away from the
feeders and still in the bushes, waiting for the worst. I went up the maple tree and again picked up loose
debris and threw it at the crows. Two of
the crows left their position to roost in another tree but the rest of the
crows wouldn't move. They were that
brazen. I went to the side of the house
figuring that I would get my message across loud and clear, pulled out the hose
and started to spray the crows farthest from the nest. The crows left the trees near the maple and
flew across the yard, directly across from the nest. The robins started to screech and holler in
the direction of the crows new position.
It was still quite cold for a spring morning in upstate New York and my
feet were freezing, but I wasn't going to let the crows have their murder. I dragged the hose across the yard and turned
the nozzle on full stream, then carefully took aim to only target the
crows. Not to worry, the other birds,
the blue jays, house wrens, sparrows, had all moved out of my range. I started to spray the crows while the
birds watched. Now the crows took me
seriously. They headed for the sky,
straight up, then to the south and out of sight. I haven’t heard anything since. The
robins watched, but didn't seem concerned for themselves, and went about their
business. They got it; they had asked
for help, help had arrived and they accepted their help.
Aside from the tireless attention, defense and
nurturing the robins give to their young, the thing that amazes me is that in
two short lessons, these birds with small little brains learned that the humans
who they usually treat with caution, could defeat their enemy when they cried
out for help. Help came and they accepted
it and went about their business knowing that what they had asked for was going
to be done. They turned to the one they
had learned had the power to change their circumstances and just trusted it
would be done, with quiet confident expectation. The birds in the blind, the sparrows and the
wrens, the usual customers at the feeder, at first feared a murder would take
place by the crows, then just sat by and watched as the robins and their young
were saved, and went about their day’s routine, fully confident of the
outcome. So I ask myself, why do I worry when I present my
prayers to God, when I hear “ I've got
this”, when I am told He will answer and I am waiting for the answer, why do I
worry? Why, when I have the forgiveness
of God do I keep going over the past and hashing it up and serving it up again
and again? Why won’t I learn to trust
with the simplicity of a robin crying out for help for their young? I call,
You answer. I believe.
2 Timothy: 1:12 For I know in whom
I believe in and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted
to Him until that day.
