Persistence is Profitable
June 7, 1997
Carolina wrens often favor manmade objects as a site for nest building. Our pair has been trying to nest in our motorhome. When I first found them building a nest on the I-beam by the diesel engine in the back of the motorhome, I was torn between leaving them alone and removing the nest before they laid any eggs. If they laid eggs and then we drove off, the young without parents would certainly die. My choice was to remove any nests as fast as the wrens could build them and before they could lay any eggs - hoping that this brutal act would discourage them from building another nest in the motorhome and encourage them to build a nest out in a cozy woodpile or something. But, this pair was persistent. After I removed the nest near the engine, the wrens built another a couple of feet away by the radiator. It was very well hidden and required a pole with a hook on the end to remove it. Having watched them fly in and out, we knew what they were up to. The third nest was built behind the headlights. After removing this third nest, we took a small trip for about 3 days, thinking that our absence would surely discourage this pair of birds.
When building the first nest, the wrens were very obvious - we watched them find pieces of moss, grass, and leaves to carry under the motorhome. Flying in and out, they would often land on a redbud limb about 10 feet from my window. From this vantage point, they could check out the environs for predators before entering the nest area. They were great fun to watch and their song “wheedle, wheedle, wheedle . . .” and “tea-kettle, tea-kettle, tea-kettle”entertained us throughout the days. After the trip, I did not see them for a couple of days and thought they had realized the error of their ways and had built a nest elsewhere. Then, one landed on the redbud perch. Suspicious that they might be up to their old tricks, I searched and found a fourth nest behind the frame near the headlights. But, this time it already contained 5 mottled eggs. The birds had obviously developed a new, sneaky strategy for nest building. This nest was located not 8 feet from our noisy TV. The adults were apparently not disturbed by weather reports, CNN, and nature stories, during which - according to Pat - I keep the volume turned up far too high.
Now we faced a real dilemma - to destroy the nest and the eggs was probably a crime against the state - if not, it would surely a crime against nature. Having no experience with moving bird nests back into nature, my first decision was to do nothing. Maybe if we wait till the young hatch, we could then gently move the nest into a hollow log nearby, the parents would hear their hungry youngsters, and adjust their lifestyles accordingly.
From our human perspectives, allowing the wrens to rear their young to maturity was unacceptable. Our motorhome carries only enough water to last - at most - two weeks. We also must dump sewage frequently; therefore we could not allow mere birds to interfere with our hygienic regimen, could we? When our water pump started sucking air instead of water, it was time for action. Carefully lifting the nest and the eggs from its location by the headlights I placed them in a hollow log. Then, the hollow log was placed on top of a post so that it would be more difficult for the various bird predators to find the nest. We drove off in the motorhome, hoping that the adults would find the new nest location. After a few days, we returned to find the grim evidence of wren murder scattered in the hollow log and on the ground. Not only were the eggs gone, the nest was torn apart as the predator searched for more eggs. Although I suspect our old friend the raccoon, it could have been a snake or even squirrels. Although I felt a twinge of guilt about possibly being an accomplice in their murder, I rationalize that predators must also eat. For the raccoon, eating the wren eggs was no more a crime than for us to eat fried eggs. (I bet the raccoon enjoyed the wren eggs much more than I can stomach a greasy, fried egg.) The adult wrens were nowhere in sight. After a few days of not seeing or hearing our old wren friends, we assumed that they had finally decided that maybe we were not very good friends and/or those motorhomes were an unsafe place to rear a family.
To my delight - about a week later - I heard “wheedling and teakettle” out in the yaupon thicket. After a while, the birds ventured closer to the motorhome where they busily searched for worms in the sparkleberry tree. By now they must have another nest containing eggs in the nearby woods and are busy eating and storing up reserves so that they would be strong enough to raise their family. Then, one of the birds - I think it was the larger male - landed on the old familiar perch on the redbud limb outside my window and peered in with a sheepish look on his face. (Yeah, I know that birds do no have sheepish facial expressions - but this one did anyway.)
We broke camp the next morning to begin our annual pilgrimage to California. I had left one of the storage compartment doors ajar the day before. Upon closing the door, there, in the back of the compartment - on the soft carpet next to a sack of sunflower seeds - was a small pile of moss, leaves, and grass - the beginning of another nest. Maybe these birds had heard through the thin walls of the motorhome, our talk of going to California and simply wanted a free ride. If we can take our nest on wheels, why couldn’t they simply ride along? What bird in his right mind would not want to go to California? We said our goodbyes to the trees, birds, and briers of Woodvine, turned off the electricity and telephone and closed the gate - fully expecting that whenever we return, these two birds will be waiting for us with moss in their beaks.
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