I understand full well the meaning of the old proverb, “One swallow does not a summer make.” But, since early Friday morning I also know what one swallow does make: a mess!
Ironically, I had just finished posting a blog about the feisty hummingbirds in our garden when I walked into the library and found Nyel, armed with a dishcloth draped broom, flailing away at a swallow. It wasn’t yet eight a.m. but it was already shaping up to be an avian sort of day.
The backstory was that Nyel had been moving some potted plants from the front porch, through the house, and out to the kitchen garden, and had left the door open “just for a minute.” In our neck of the woods, leaving doors open can be a real problem. There are bats. There are flies. There are chickens. And now there was a frantic bird.
Even though the front door remained invitingly open, the bird was having none of it – if she even knew that such an escape existed. She had flown into the living room (which has an eight-foot ceiling) and on into the library (with its eleven-foot ceiling) and had headed upwards. She was circling high above our heads; the open door was out of her line of sight and she was beyond our reach.
Nyel batted away. I handed him a somewhat larger instrument – a bamboo garden rake – and I took the broom. Once or twice Nyel made an indirect hit but the bird seemed unphased. I was much too short to reach her but served as an annoying distraction.
Every once in awhile, much to our distress, she would rest on the picture rail or on top of a curtain rod and relieve herself. And I don’t mean she just rested for a few seconds. She was all about decorating our walls with reddish (berries for breakfast?) droppings.
Meanwhile, the clock was ticking and Nyel needed to leave for work. Just as I was resigning myself to spending the day with Mrs. Swallow, she got herself between the wall and a lovely silk wall hanging from my grandmother’s time. Trapped! Nyel captured her in the dishtowel, carried her outside and headed for work, still huffing from his exertions.
Later, when I left the house by that ill-fated front door, that nervy little swallow dive-bombed me! And more than once. Still later, Nyel and I lugged in the stepladder and wet dishtowels and washed berry poop off the walls. Fortunately, most of it came off easily. Only a few tell-tail [sic] spots remain…
I had this exact experience a few summers ago (pre-squeaking-screen-door) when Amy and I were alone at the Ilwaco house. The bird came into the kitchen and sat over a window. I posted on FB that I didn’t know what to do. A “bird” friend of mine said to leave the door open and the bird would fly back out eventually. Well, I did that for a while, but besides birds we have mosquitoes and I didn’t fancy having any two-legged critters sauntering in so around 10 PM, as the bird seemed to be comfy and sleeping, I closed the door. First light the next morning I told the bird good morning, that I hoped she’d had a nice sleep, but it was time for her to go and I opened the door. Since it was lighter outside than in the kitchen she figured out where the door was and flew away. When Dave arrived we went to Hobo Junction and got our screen door.