The Perils of Bayou Life...or... My Hero!

  Come springtime, folks love to watch the birds as they build their nests. They love to hear them singing and see them flitting happily from tree to tree.  The flowers are blooming, the bees are buzzing and all is right with the world. At least that is the way things appear.  Not many see (or want to see) the ugly side that takes place inside all of this "happiness".  That joyful feeling might not be so joyful if folks only knew what takes place when they are not looking.  I look.  I see.  Sometimes I see things that are hard to view.  Sometimes...a lot of times...I see things that I wish I had not seen.

  Not too long ago, the Brown Thrashers made their nest down near the edge of the marsh.  It was time to lay those eggs so the nest was built in the same Scarlet Wisteria bush that was called home last season.  Only this year, the bush was bare.  No leaves had sprouted.  The ice storms of this past winter had stripped the bush of all foliage.  Mama Thrasher sat exposed to any and all predators as she covered her eggs.  As she tended the unhatched eggs, a couple of crows spied her.  Eggs would be a tasty treat for the scavenging crows so down they swooped.  Being much larger than the thrasher, it was an unfair battle.  Mama Thrasher held her ground and actually managed to protect the eggs until Daddy Thrasher came hurrying to her rescue.  Between him, some blue jays (who are not above raiding a nest or two) and some cardinals, the nest was protected.  Before I even reached the nest, the crows abandoned the thought of eggs for breakfast and flew off to bother some other poor hapless critter.  All of this was fine and dandy.  The nest was saved!  The eggs were safe!  Only Mama Thrasher was dealt a brutal blow.  One of the crows had grabbed her on the back of the head so hard that it ripped the feathers from her head.  The grasp had torn the skin and left a nasty wound.  Poor Mama.  What could she do but sit on her nest and try to live long enough to hatch her eggs.  And she did.

  Today, Mama Thrasher was out and about.  Her little ones were calling for food and she and Daddy were hunting bugs.  Her head miraculously had healed minus a few feathers. She seemed none the worse for wear after the savage attack.  She had endured despite being bloodied and torn.  I do believe that Mama Thrasher is now my hero.  Whereas most would have given in to the situation, she fought and won.  Now, life will go on here on the Bayou. The "joyful" spring is truly joyful when one can view the promise of new life.  

  *A bit of bird trivia!  People readily identify any bird that sings a mimicking song as a mockingbird but few will realize that a lot of times that "mockingbird" is actually a Brown Thrasher!  Brown Thrashers have just as large of repertoire as the renown Northern Mockingbird. Mockingbirds usually repeat sounds three or more times whereas Brown Thrashers repeat only twice.  The next time you hear that lovely singing, listen carefully.  That bird you hear singing such a lovely song might just be a Brown Thrasher!