nesting

Nest amongst willow and kalyna, lower Riverlot, late October 2011

Last autumn, when the leaves fell, I began to collect nests. Amongst the bare bones of the birches and aspens, and nestled in the elbows of the high-bush cranberry bushes at Riverlot, abandoned homes became visible and I documented them all.

 Fallen nest, upper Riverlot, December 2011

Some had fallen onto the snow in the windstorms, small dried slivers of grass in the hatchings unraveling, revealing how the spaces had been insulated with moss and tufts of fuzz. 

Wind-fallen nest (same as above), upper Riverlot, December 2011

It looks tragic, but not all birds ever return to their old nests; some, who lay two batches of nestlings each summer even build separate creches for each group. Most grown birds (those that do not build inside holes) do not shelter or sleep in them, either. They are just small refuges for the flightless young ones, until their wings are strong enough.

Magpie's nest, upper Riverlot, early October 2011

All the magpies here have been busy for  the last month, scurrying around selecting twigs for their new hutches, which take weeks to construct and often involve multiple stories. But they too will use these homes only once; they may nest again nearby, however, and dismantle their old nests, selecting the best bits for prized parts in their new nooks.

Magpies made a hoop-like nook at upper Riverlot, early October 2011

If a nest remains un-recycled, sometimes other species of birds who don't seem to fancy the construction process will select one that has remained intact, often for a season or two, proving its safety and durability.


(Thinking of these nests, I think of my own life over the past three years, never living anywhere for more than a year, and generally less than. 9 months in Scotland, 3 in Alberta, 10 months in Yakutia, 6 in Alberta, another 4 in Scotland, with so many flights back and forth in between. I am more than migratory...)

Another cranberry nest, upper Riverlot, early October 2011

No one is really sure why birds tend to not return, even those that stay the winters, preferring instead to reconstruct and deconstruct, an endless process of nesting and re-nesting. Even the passerines, the perching birds, are not still for long. Most of their lives are movement, settling and sleeping are just small blinks, flutters of the eye in the path of a long flight.

(Dipper's?) nest in the rockledges at Grotto Canyon, near Canmore, early January 2012

I like to think that perhaps they are just better at cultivating and making peace with impermanence, mindfully hastening the change. Each carefully placed twig and tuft is like the pouring of sand into a mandala that is never meant to last; whether it is the wind or hand or claw that sweeps it away, shakes out their wings, and flies on.