Yesterday our baby barn swallows stepped gingerly out of the nest, jostled, peered over the ledge, sized up the doorway and carried on long involved conversations with their parents about the feasibility of the whole project.
That lasted most of the morning. Shuffle to the left. Shuffle to the right. Peer into the great void below...
Climb back into the nest (where they really no longer fit). Rest and repeat.
About lunchtime, one of them took his courage in both wings and gave it a try. Off the ledge. Into thin air, wings going a mile a minute.
They could fly. They just couldn't steer. And landing was an issue. One took refuge on the roof of the chicken coop.
But by late afternoon, they'd got it almost down pat.
They'd sail about, with both parents in close attendance, then rip back into the stable, and hop back in the nest for a quick nap.
Learning to fly, after all, is exhausting.
They've done very well -- but they are late. It's the end of August, and the rest of our swallows have gathered and gone already. They normally migrate in big flocks -- flying up to 900 km a day, and they are on their way to South America. That's a migration of around 11,000 km.
The young birds learn their parents' voices, and can recognize each other even in a large flock. That's what all that twittering in the barn has been about -- getting to know each other.
We'll let you know when they head south. Since swallows can fly up to 600 km a day even when they are just about their daily swallow business of catching mosquitoes, migration isn't so much about how far they fly, as about the fact that they fly in a straight line instead of swooping in and out of the stable, looping over the cornfield, writing their names on the clear summer air...
Fascinating stories, Nancy!
ReplyDeleteWe were so excited to see Eva and her 'goslings' (they are as big as adults now) eating our clover yesterday. And a heron on my raft.
Life is such a beautiful thing.