May 7, 2015
Robins Nests
Sheltered from the wind and rain, and out of reach of predators, female American robin, Turdus migratorius, incubates her brood atop a custom-built pie plate platform.
When we humans build our homes, we want them to be solid, safe and secure. They are our primary means of shelter from the elements—everything from ice and snow to wind to the mighty sun’s heat.
So, really, none of us should be surprised when we find wildlife seeking out that same sense of safety and security in and around our Home Sweet Homes: The fox that adopts the space under the backyard shed. The mama opossum and her dozen wee ones that sleep the day away under the deck. The squirrels that spring from a convenient branch and land on the roof, where they can then slip through the hole they’ve gnawed to gain access to the attic.
For every one of us who’s thrilled to have wildlife so nearby, I know there’s probably a hundred other people who are vexed, miffed and/or utterly unhappy about their new neighbors. Luckily, each one of these scenarios has solutions that can be found with only few clicks among the pages in that magical space we call the Internet. (Let me know if you’d like more info on how to keep these critters at bay.)
But today, rather than focus on wildlife deterrent techniques, what I thought I’d do is share the story of one animal’s determination to live under the protection of a man-made structure, some humans’ resolve to rebuff those efforts and, ultimately, how they now peacefully coexist.
When we, the staff of Hickory Knolls, moved into the Discovery Center four years ago, we quickly learned we weren’t the only ones curious to explore the opportunities our new digs afforded us. As we planned programming and designed displays, tree frogs and toads came over to feast on the insects drawn to our low-impact outdoor lighting. Paper wasps built nests under our eaves.
And then there were the robins.
We soon lost track of how many different American robins tried building nests on our window frames. On the plus side, for the robins, these spaces provided a measure of protection from wind and rain. On the minus side, though, the frames aren’t terribly deep, and many nests fell as a result of wind shifts and gusts—and, in one instance, the persistent efforts of a hungry hawk.
Soon after our solar energy array went up, a subdivision of robin nests appeared on the gridwork that supports the panels. Back then, and every summer since, several robins have set up housekeeping there on the south side of our building. Sure, there’s a fair amount of mess that we have to contend with, such as wayward nest material. But because the panels are above our basement entrance, we don’t fuss too much over what we forfeit in aesthetics. We also get to enjoy watching the process of baby robins growing up.
One, two, three… “Awwwwww.” .
However, there is one area of the building where we have spent considerable time and effort trying to discourage robins from building: the security light by
the front door.
Even though that light has rarely been activated, it still presents a safety hazard when bedecked with dried grasses—the robins’ favored nest-building components. The fire department doesn’t like to see nests built up there, nor do we. Grass, mud, egg shells, bird poop; sooner or later it all seems to make its way into our front vestibule, our floor mats, and various points throughout our lobby.
Of course this spot, tucked safely at the rear corner of our entrance canopy, is the No. 1 spot in which the robins attempt to build. They bring in grass and mud, we take it down, over and over again. (Note: Robins may be a common species, but they are still protected under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act. Conservation police will deliver stiff penalties to anyone discovered disturbing an active nest—that is, one with eggs or young. If you’re faced with a similar situation but find that your bird has already laid eggs, you’ll need to wait until the brood is raised and the nest is abandoned before removing it.)
And so it’s been, for four years now, that we’ve pitted our allegedly superior human intellect against the notably smaller mental power—the “bird brain”—of the robin.
A couple of years, the robins eventually gave up and moved on. But in other years, they’ve worked quickly, and deposited their eggs before we had a chance to act.
This year though, we were ready. The first day that nesting material appeared on the light, we took it down. Day two, and the start of nest two…same story. A few days later, another nest appeared. This time, we feared, we might have been too late, as the nest form was complete and the mud looked like it was starting to dry. But because there were no eggs, down it came.
Feeling a little bad, we took the carefully crafted structure over to a planter and placed it in the crotch of a red-twig dogwood. We figured there was little chance that the robin would adopt this new site but, at the very least, the splendid nest could give visitors something to marvel at.
When I left work that night, I kid you not, I could almost feel the glare of an angry bird perched in the small oak tree by our parking lot. Just then, a car drove by. On its back bumper was the popular sticker that urges people of all faiths to “Coexist.”
Hmm… Could there be a way to work out a truce with our tenacious Turdus migratorius?
I spent the next morning rummaging through our fine collection of building scraps and program supplies, trying to figure out a way to create a nesting platform that would be servicable to the robin, yet also meet our needs for safety and sanitation.
After a couple of trials, and errors, I hit upon a solution that was easy as pie. A pie plate, that is, secured with some heavy-gauge wire.
After a day or two of sizing up the situation, no doubt making sure the plate wasn’t some sort of trap, the robin once again began building. Grass, mud; more grass, more mud. In just over a day the creation was complete. And the best part (for us, anyway)? No mess on the sidewalk, the carpet or inside the building. Happily, the pie plate not only keeps the nest material from coming into contact with the light bulb, but also neatly contains it.
Mama Robin wasted no time in depositing her eggs and now, even as I write this, is incubating her brood. Sure, she has to contend with a front door that opens and closes frequently throughout the day. And she must endure the excited voices of kids and adults that notice her perched inside her pie plate platform.
But in return she gets what she needs—shelter that provides protection from weather and predators alike. Not to mention the satisfaction of thinking she outsmarted an entire staff of naturalists.
Pam Erickson Otto is the manager of nature programs and interpretive services at the Hickory Knolls Discovery Center, a facility of the St. Charles Park District. She can be reached at 630-513-4346 or potto@stcparks.org.