Dating : Mama Bluebird

I tapped the wood with my knuckles. There was no answer, so I lifted the door. I shielded my eyes from the sun with one hand and held the box open with the other. Through the shade, a pair of eyes dared me to approach. A blueish-brown bird sat upon a cup of twigs and though terrified, she would not budge. As it was true for my mother, it was true for this eastern bluebird — the love for her kin overcame her fear of death.

Terrors of an unsound world slithered to my mother’s young. Dispossession, a scoundrel of an ex-husband, and a tough new community uncurled their tongues and smelled out their feast. The odds were not with us, but mother was always ready to fight.

Bluebirds will dive and roar at predators that could consume them in one bite. Even if a snake persisted to slink closer and enter the cavity of the nest, a mother will not abandon her young. The need to ensure their safety and survival was too strong for her to leave them behind. She knows each second risking her life for her brood is a second of them growing.

My mother was stubborn. When we were no older than hatchlings, our habitat could no longer sustain us. We migrated. My mother swallowed her pride and formed a nest — alone, like a true bluebird — in the cavity of my grandmother’s trailer. A room for the four of us. In the country. In a forest. In isolation and surrounded by a habitat whose population strictly believed in tradition, stereotypes, and racism. These ways coiled in the grass and pounced when the young grew a shred of a feather.

Down fluffs appear on chicks as soon as they hatch. Wing feathers emerge on day two. The eyes won’t open until day eight. While the young grow, the parents work hard to feed them every twenty minutes. A single mother may feed more often but still fail to keep them alive.

My siblings and I settled in our new space. We started to mimic the calls of those who surrounded us. After a long day at school, we would come home and say something hurtful, rude, or ignorant. When we did, my mother reminded us that we were not like them. We do not say and do such things. We are supposed to live and love beyond this habitat. There was a battle for our minds, hearts, and potential that my mother faced every day — however, there was no support from my father.

He stalked us to our new habitat and nested perfectly with the locals. As our feathers and wings developed, the more the scoundrel wanted to keep us to himself. We were HIS fledglings and WE needed to follow what HE said. Mother was unmoved. She could see this twisted love influencing the young, but she did something he couldn’t do. She showed us knowledge, diversity, and life’s vibrancy.

Ready and eager to fly for the first time, a fledgling can soar one hundred feet. As a cavity-nester, it prefers to land on branches and flap and hop to higher limbs on a tree. Like a responsible young adult, it will call its parents to declare its safety. But once a bluebird leaves the nest, it does not return.

Eastern bluebirds outgrow and take off from the nest at seventeen to twenty-one days old. My siblings and I needed as much time in years. My sister departed first — she is now married with a house and a cat. Then, my brother — he now lives downtown and fixes tech. Lastly, I moved on. I was a late flyer.

Any bluebird would have abandoned me for not leaving with my siblings, but my mother supported me, nonetheless. Throughout our lives, if we are lucky enough, their love is unyielding. I recognized this same power of affection in the bluebird’s eyes as she refused to leave her nest. I apologized and closed the door. I knew better than to mess with a mother.