Mike Farwell

Remember when it was an insult to call someone a bird brain? Methinks we may need to change our approach.

Every spring, a robin sets up her nest in my front porch light. It’s as sure a thing as rain on the May 2-4 weekend. How she remembers to come back to the same spot year in and year out is beyond me. But if that’s indicative of a “bird brain,” where do I sign up for one? I couldn’t tell you what I ate for breakfast yesterday.

This year, though, the robin threw me a curve. She didn’t come back. But one of her friends did. I’m sorry that my feeble grey matter can’t tell you what kind of bird is nesting in my light this year but it sure as heck is not a robin. That much I can guarantee. So not only was the robin smart enough to return every year, but this year, knowing she didn’t need the space, she managed to communicate the vacancy to a friend. Talk about your wonders of nature.

All this really means, of course, is that I’ll spend the late spring cleaning bird droppings off my porch and the splatters from the front of my house. But I’m still sort of glad that (with apologies to Thin Lizzy) the birds are back in town.