We have entered into the part of the year where plants are prolific. Overnight they seem to sprout limbs that grab you as you pass or hide windows from the sun. My husband is a diligent trimmer. For several weeks he battles the new growth to keep it in check. Then when it becomes unbearably hot the plants take a rest until we begin this process again in the fall.
He is not happy with a certain set of shrubs that are along the bedroom wall. When they are in bloom, he tolerates them. After the blooms are gone he eyes them with disdain. Fortunately, they are not on a side that he can see often. However, he wishes he’d never planted them. He has made the decision that this fall they will probably be removed. In the meantime he begins to cut them back hoping that will make them look better.
“We’ve got a problem,” he hollers into the house. I head outside to see what the problem is and immediately I notice the nest.
“Well you can’t cut any more until the babies leave,” I say looking at him. I peer into the nest, but don’t recognize the eggs.
“I was cutting away and all of a sudden I looked up and saw the nest,” he explains.
We have never had a nest in these shrubs before, so this was quite a surprise. We leave this side of the house so the mama can return to her nest. I feel bad that she has lost so much coverage. Later we look from inside the house. You can see the mother sitting on the nest. I determine this is a cardinal. Whenever I walk past the window, I take a quick peek to see if she is still there. Usually she is. I find it interesting that she faces the brick wall of the house. I would want to look the other way, then I would be able to spot any possible danger.
She doesn’t know what a close call she had to becoming homeless.