Rocks and bluebirds, goats too

When my husband built our house he uncovered several large rocks up and down the area we made our driveway.  He dug some out and we have them stacked here and there throughout our front garden.  I use them for bones in the garden and for staging areas for my, *ahem*, art.  A piece of my grandpa’s old plow lies on one stack hidden by a large, perennial hibiscus bush.  Another stack at the end of the walkway frames the corner of a rambling, pink fairy rose and is now most recently home to a metal goat.  Goats like to climb on rocks, so it only made sense.  Another grouping is on the outside corner of the garden, at the edge of the driveway, marking the end of our stone strewn, faux dry creek bed we built to guide rainwater to proper drainage.  I thought this area needed some decoration too, so a year or so ago I set a birdhouse on it.

 

The birdhouse was a gift from a former neighbor who was grateful for my husband’s generosity after Hurricane Katrina.  It looks like an old, shotgun log cabin with a tin roof and two separate spaces for birds to nest.  The birdhouse was forgotten in the shop for several years, and when I stumbled across it one day it was like finding something brand new.  After much thought I decided it would make a good addition to the driveway, and I balanced it on the top of the rock pile.  It looks like something out of a Snuffy Smith comic strip, a house balanced on the tip-top of a craggy hill.

The birdhouse was a small token of giving back to someone who was a blessing in a bad time.  Now the birdhouse is giving back a little of its own.  I was suspicious when I noticed a female bluebird flying out of it one day.  Upon closer inspection I could see nesting materials inside the right hole, but I couldn’t see any eggs.  Then I noticed a male had joined the female, sentinels going from fence to tree, from tree to fence. A couple of days ago I couldn’t resist and grabbed a flashlight and shined it quickly in the nest, and to my surprise I saw an open beak.

I just don’t understand why they would choose such an unsteady home for their brood.  A swift wind, or a rogue goat, could send the house tumbling down from Hootin’ Holler and into the rocky gulch below.  

This evening the sentries were on active duty, keeping careful watch over our every move in the garden.  The mama perched on the fence on the opposite side of the driveway and turned her russet front towards the house and chirped a low and steady lullaby to her babies nestled inside.  The daddy bluebird kept his cobalt back to us, facing the opposite direction in search of a hidden foe.  Then they would switch.  It’s so interesting to watch them, and so hard to keep enough of a distance to assure the pair I mean no harm.   I mean to take pictures, but no harm to these bluebirds that are bringing a little happiness and a lot of color to my garden.

The pile of rocks served another purpose earlier this spring.  My baby goats spent as much time escaping the fence and playing in the driveway as they did inside the fence playing in the pasture.  To them the rocks were like a merry-go-round.  Up and down and all around they went, their sure-footedness saving them from falling and the birdhouse from crashing from its precipitous perch.   See, I told you goats like to climb on rocks.