When we returned from our short to trip to Las Vegas last week, we discovered a sweet pair of mourning doves were attempting to build a nest atop a ceiling fan which sits above a covered section of our back patio. I love the gentle cooing of these birds, as soft as their gray-buff coloring; that sound alone can make a hot summer day feel 10 degrees cooler. However, their chosen spot for a home was a poor one, and not just because I didn’t want bird mess all over my patio for months. I also knew that on a windy day, those fan blades would be set spinning, and I didn’t relish the thought of eggs or baby birds being flung from their nest to certain destruction on the concrete below. So, being cruel to be kind, I switched on the fan, scattering the small pile of as-yet unformed twigs, and kept it on during the daylight hours for a few days until the feathered couple found a more suitable spot.

It reminded me of a pair of sparrows that built a nest on a narrow roof ledge above our master bathroom window a few years ago. I’d returned from a week-long trip to be awakened on my first morning back just as the sky was lightening to the sound of a persistent rapping or tapping. I followed the sound to the bathroom, but it seemed to stop once I entered, only to resume once I climbed back into bed (of course!). After a few rounds of this frustration, I finally figured out it was a bird who was repeatedly flinging himself against the window but who flew off when he saw me enter the room. I soon learned that he kept up this annoying habit for long stretches of time throughout the day — and usually began around 5:30 a.m., as soon as there was enough light for him to detect his reflection in the glass.

At first, I had sympathy for the little fellow, doing his manly duty protecting his nest and babies from what he perceived as another bird intruding on his territory. But being one who selfishly enjoys her sleep (and not being accustomed to rising that early every day), I quickly developed a keen dislike for his bird-brained attacks on his own image. “Dopey bird,” I thought as I tried shooing him off and placing objects against the offending window to try to break up the reflection (it was too high up to reach from outside, where my efforts might have been more effective). “Look at all the energy you’re wasting on something that isn’t real. You should be using it to go get food for your babies; instead of protecting them, you’re probably harming them. And you’re fighting yourself, for God’s sake!”

Hmmmm. After a while, my one-sided conversation with Mr. Sparrow started to sink in — obviously, not with the bird, but with me. Past experience had shown me that sometimes I could be my own worst enemy, blaming outside forces in my life for some trouble or unhappiness that, if I were honest with myself, really had its source in me. Or my focus on some perceived threat or bother kept me from seeing what was most important and truly deserved my attention first.

This Patty-vs.-bird and bird-vs.-bird battle went on for about a week or so. One night a strong wind blew up from the southeast, an unusual direction which buffeted the normally sheltered backside of our house. The next morning I found scattered bits of nest and the poor, lifeless bodies of half-fledged little birdies on the patio far below that narrow roof ledge. Mother Nature finally found her own way of communicating to that daddy sparrow that the spot he’d chosen for his brood was a poor one. He and his wife moved on, perhaps wiser for the hard lesson. I know that my encounter with them left me with a clearer perspective of myself.

Happy Easter and Happy Spring, everyone.

— Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader