The Chronicle Of Little Slow

Day 282: I am cheating somewhat, in that only the photo of the empty nesting box was taken today, but it was cause for great anxiety over the last week. You see, during the mating season, this box was rented out to a young couple. I am not certain of Dad's status, but Mom's coloring indicated that she was a young bird and a first-time mother. They signed the lease three weeks later than my other tenants, and already that was cause for concern.

In time, I watched the other homes go vacant, the fledglings rising on the wing to follow their parents. The flock hung around (for swallows are a flocking sort), sweeping the air of insects, and I observed both Mom and Dad making feeding forays, often returning to the nesting box with great mouthsful of tasty bugs. About two weeks ago, I saw the first bright eye appear at the hole, awed by the new world outside the dark confines.

The little fellow seemed to be an only child. Listening carefully, I could only detect one distinct voice inside the box. A good kid, he would disappear from the door as soon as I stepped onto the porch, only emerging when Mom or Dad called to him to come to dinner. On the occasions I could see him from the kitchen window, he seemed to be developing nicely.

Perhaps he was developing too nicely. Tree Swallows normally leave the nest in 16-24 days. I'd been hearing chirps and seeing activity for too long. A week ago, I began to wonder if the little guy was stuck inside the box. Mom was fairly broad-shouldered and had had a difficult time getting in and out. She and Dad were both still feeding the youngster, but at the same time, they were patiently trying to coax him to emerge. Often, one or the other of them would hold a tidbit just out of reach, or would give the baby a peck on the beak without delivering a morsel of food. This activity would go on for half an hour at a time before the parents would fly off in search of food for themselves, leaving the nesting box unattended.

For the last three days, not only the parents but other members of the flock have been trying to coax Little Slow out. Mom was doing everything in her power, hovering like a hummingbird just below the hole, obviously trying to draw the little one past the threshold and into a fall. Although he didn't seem to be struggling at the opening, I thought he might have grown too large to fit through the hole. His gape (the yellow mouth characteristic of young birds) was beginning to darken with age, a sure sign that he'd overstayed the rental agreement.

On the verge of intervening, I decided to sit tight for two more days, a forecast of good weather in the offing. Good weather means lots of bugs, lots of swallow activity. The parents were still making feeding runs, so I wasn't concerned about Little Slow starving.

At sunrise this morning, he peeked out in the usual fashion. Mom brought breakfast and resumed trying to lure him into emergence. I stood in the kitchen, watching, hoping to see him tumble free and take wing. It happened, but not while I was observing. I only noticed that no head had appeared at the door for several hours. I went outside and listened beneath the house. There were no chirps within. Hesitantly, I took down the box and opened it. I breathed an enormous sigh of relife. Little Slow had flown.