A few years ago, tired of the unending job of trimming large Ligustrum trees in a back corner of our yard, I decided to take out those trees and create a tropical landscape, that would look more appropriate behind our large pool.
I had already taken out a number of large Crepe Myrtles that were a year round nuisance, requiring severe pruning several times a year, clogging the pool skimmer with blooms, staining the pool apron, dropping leaves and seed pods, putting out shoots and trying to take over the neighborhood.
The Ligustrum trees were a similar maintenance problem. Knowing that birds frequently built their nest in these trees, I looked for nests before beginning the removal process, finding nothing but old, abandoned nests. So with my electric chain saw and pruning tools, I began removing limbs, working my way towards taking down the main trunks.
This process took some time, as I removed limbs, trimmed them to manageable size and dragged the trimmings to the front curb for pickup by our trash service. I was feeling quite satisfied, when I got to the point of removing the top of the last tree. My feeling of progress and accomplishment, as the tree top crashed to the ground, was quickly dampened, when I heard the frantic cries of baby birds and spotted their nest from which they had just been ejected. The babies were very young and did not yet have feathers. Feeling guilty and responsible for their plight, I gathered them and placed them back into the nest, while wondering how I was going to make amends.
There was a main trunk of one tree still standing with a stub of a branch, to which I managed to secure the nest. Realizing that the babies were totally exposed to the sun and elements with no tree foliage for protection, I retrieved an old umbrella and fastened it, with zip ties and twine, to the tree stub to provide some shade and protection of the nest.
I’m sure my neighbors, who could only see the top of the umbrella above the fence line, wondered what craziness I was up to, cutting off the top of a tree and replacing it with a dilapidated umbrella. Had the umbrella been visible from the street, I’m sure my aggressive HOA would have demanded that I take the umbrella down.
I waited and observed from a distance to see if the parents would return to the nest. The parents soon returned, but were very cautious, spending much time watching from a perch on the privacy fence near the tree stub, fluttering near the nest, but not landing. After an extended period of caution, the parents finally accepted the new location of the nest and resumed caring for the baby chicks.
As the chicks grew, I began to take a few photos, documenting their progress. The photos are not great, but serve to illustrate this event.
The chicks developed, growing feathers, becoming more vociferous in their demands for food and beginning to venture just outside the confines of the nest.
One day, I found one of the young birds on the ground. I could not leave it there for fear of neighbors’ cats, that frequented our yard, finding and making a meal of the young bird. I picked up the foundling, which complained loudly, as I tried to place it back into the nest, while being attacked by the parents, with all the baby birds screaming for help. While I managed to get the one bird back into the nest, another one was frightened out of the nest and onto the ground.
Realizing that any attempt to put the second baby bluejay back into the nest would probably result in another one jumping out, I decided that I had to put those that left the nest into something other than the nest, from which they could not easily escape and hope that the parents would still take care of them.
I had several plastic bins supplied by a recycling service, so I decided one of those would by suitable. I could not leave the bin on the ground, where the baby birds would be easily accessible to the neighbors’ cats, so I secured the bin to the tree trunk. This arrangement worked – for awhile.
Eventually, all of the chicks ended up in the recycle bin.
We lived in an area subject to heavy rains and tropical storms. Late one night one of those strong thunderstorms blew in and I knew the baby birds were getting pounded by the rain. The next morning I went out to check on the birds. Much to my dismay, they had all perished in the storm. There was standing water in the recycle bin, which did not have drainage holes in the bottom. There was not much water, but apparently enough that the exposure was fatal for the young birds that could not escape from the death trap that I had unwittingly made.
This was a great disappointment. Those babies were so close to being ready to take flight on their own and my stupid mistakes had resulted in their deaths.
Such a simple experience, but it remains with me, in a Bluejay purgatory.
I am reminded of the words of the poet, Robert Burns:
“The best laid schemes of mice and men go often awry, and leave us nothing but grief and pain, for promised joy!”
Ken