The begonia pot incident
Shortly after dawn, the birds begin their daily band rehearsal.
The crows gather in the north field and begin a base chorus of “caw,” “caw.” Somewhere from the top branch of a tree, a mocking bird chimes in with one or two of her many rhapsodies. A meadow lark’s song drifts over the pasture, or perhaps it is the lone voice of the redwing blackbird. God’s little winged creatures seem to be saying to this old sleepy head, “it’s time to begin this new day that the ruler Of all has given you.”
Of all the contributors to this rousing choral society, the sweetest voice belongs to the brave little Carolina Wren. Occasionally, she lands on the balustrade of the deck outside my bedroom window and twitters her distinctive, lively tune, so pretty it surpasses all other choral participants.
This spring, such a Carolina Wren decided to build a nest in my wife’s begonia pot that hangs from the deck ceiling beside the front door. I discovered the loose nesting material before the wren could form a nest, and even though the begonia was in a secure place under the deck roof where rain could not wash away the nest, that pot was not a good choice because my wife waters her houseplants every day. So, helpful me, I moved the begonia and hung an empty basket in its place. I then removed her nesting material to the empty basket. The mother-to-be wren did not like my interference and decided to move to another location. She did not even leave a forwarding address. I was very disappointed because I was looking forward to her delightful twittering wake-up call every morning – just like a song of another generation about waking up in the morning on mocking bird hill.
As it is, from across the meadow somewhere, I hear an occasional distant twitter from her. Once and again, she has made an early morning visit to the deck, sweetly rousing me with her taunting melody, reminding me that I should have kept my hands to myself and not interfered with nature’s intent.
I choose to live in the country where God’s creatures abound because I delight in life – life in whatever form God has devised, from the least to the greatest – even human life, as strange as it often is. I have raised various creatures, both wild and domestic, both human and animal.
Now, I suppose one might call raising a nest of baby rabbits interference, but sometimes such “interference” seems necessary; however, this recent mother wren episode suggests a lesson. There are times when wisdom demands that we keep our nose out of the business of others, wild or domestic. There is a thin line between being a “butinski” and a genuine helper. Think before “helping,” and help only as needed. Proverbs 25:17.
DeWitt Clinton is the minister to the Church of Christ Church on Connellsville Street in Uniontown.