The nest

Every Spring a red breasted Robin makes a nest by one of our front doors.  I love watching the female- male 'hand off' of nesting duties. I'm intrigued by the shape of the nest, and just recently read about how the female's mud decoration attracts her male partner for the season. This year like every other Spring, we came home to a muddied wall and door alerting us that the Robin had found her spot. I felt privileged and honored that we provided a safe space with a warming light underneath in the cooler weather, which we carefully put on or turn off to help her nest stay warm (as if she needed our help).

As we settle in for the night watching TV in the living room we have a front seat view of the action. We can observe the robins and hear their tweets and every night we ask "any eggs yet?".......... then it finally happens... eggs!

We knew there were eggs this time because one little blue egg lay smashed on the deck floor. We banned the use of the side front door and directed all traffic away. The robins became so familiar with our comings and goings that not even the garage door squeaking loudly adjacent would scare them off their nest. 

Yesterday unfortunately, two day-old baby robins had plummeted to their death, and the nest is now abandoned. I reached my hand in tentatively and felt that there was one egg left. But now there is no mother attending. 

Do I remove the nest from the lantern and place it in the yard hoping the egg will miraculously be adopted by a foster mother?

Do I leave it where it is and hope another Robin still has time in the season to use it as her own?

After living in this rural-suburban neighborhood for the last 8 years, I thought I had developed thicker skin to the circle of life and survival of the fittest. However this time, placing the baby birds gently in the thick of our neighboring field tugged at my heart strings.

This nest and reflection comes at the same time I prepare to send my students off for the summer, and simultaneously watch my 'newcomers' gradually increase in their independence. When I first combined my middle school and high school newcomers in a pilot English immersion class class: I had to walk with them; show them how to sign in; show them how to use their agendas for the bathroom; and a plethora of other procedural things that I know the common student takes for granted.  Even greeting teachers in the hallway was a new experience, and as a very protective mother hen, I mean ELL teacher,  I stayed very close to them hold in their hand (so to speak). 

During all of these new activities the gradual release of responsibilities model worked it's way as it should. There was a gradual shift in the amount of modeling I would provide and support, as I need to provide some distance, so they can gain independence. Although I must say just as my oldest son prepares to enter his senior year next year the pangs at my heart while thinking of him leaving our home in a few short years is not too far away from my thoughts.

I want to bring my students back in under my wing and protect them but they have to fail to continue their growth in learning. Unfortunately Mother Robin did not get to see her young and watch them take their first flight and I wonder what other environmental factors could have prevented their ultimate failure. Did we use the garage too much? Did the storm last night cause fear? Did a predator swoop down on the nest?

As I enter the last month as a teacher and begin my path of administration, I will carry the experience of my fledglings with me daily - and entrust they will be well provided for as they learn to fly (and stand on their own two feet). 

Next Spring there will be another nest...... the cycle will continue........ I will always worry "have I done enough?"