In the Kitchen Garden

Back in early April, nearly three months ago, the first barn swallows made their annual appearance at our house.  They headed for the area behind the garage known as ‘the kitchen garden,’ which has been their building area of choice for at least forty years – they and their parents and grandparents and, undoubtedly great-grandparents and great-greats, too.  The life expectancy of a barn swallow is four years so we’re talkin’ ten generations here!  How many greats is that?

Maybe in my grandparent’s day that little area was a functional garden, but for the past twenty years it has been the home of the outdoor heat pump unit.  And weeds.  To say nothing of swallow guano.  We sometimes refer to the area as “The Pit.”  The walls of the house more-or-less surround it and, over the years, they have become increasingly yucky.  Peeling paint, mildew, and sad.

So, when a friend who has recently left the painting biz offered his services, we happily asked him to have at it in his free time.  Between the weather and his schedule, the work was completed day before yesterday.  It looks fabulous but the final result didn’t come easily.

On the South Porch

For two-plus months, Farmer Nyel and the Painting Master used every trick at their disposal to discourage our swallow friends from building nests in the targeted area.  But, talk about persistence!  It was a daily argument with three pairs of indignant, fast-flying, feathered bits of determination.  With all the other nooks and crannies and nest-building possibilities around this old house, you’d think they could settle on another bit of real estate.  But no.  Other amorous pairs built in other areas, but not the Kitchen Garden crowd.  Painting project be damned, they were going to carry out the family tradition no matter what.

The day before the final topcoat was to go on, we were away.  It rained so the painter didn’t come by, after all.  The swallows, though, were apparently working overtime, never mind the wet sheen on the pristine-and-pure primer coat.  By the next morning they had built three complete nests!  And they were seriously dive-bombing anyone who approached.

Nevertheless, when the painting job was finally finished, it looked perfect! “Sorry you had to take the nests down again,” I told our always cheerful painter.  “No problem,” he said. “But the birds were pretty aggressive.  They were buzzing right by my ears!”

On the East Porch

“At least there weren’t any babies yet,” I said.  “They probably were all ready to lay those eggs today.”  Did his eyes do a shifty thing?  “There weren’t any eggs in the nests yet, were there?” I ventured.

“Sydney, let’s just have a policy of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.”  YIKES!

Yesterday, though, the swallows were back.  One nest was complete and another on the way.  I’m staying far away.  I seriously doubt that they’ll forget this summer for a long, long time.  Maybe not for the next ten generations.