Regular readers of this blog (at least three... I can tell) will no doubt remember the Easter morning drama of the babie birdies upended from their nest. (Short version: my fault; nest in Christmas wreath; birds fine.)
Today, my amateur ornithologist, Grace, noted the teeny and ultra-fluffy robin perched on our front-porch railing. We watched carefully through the front door, and saw the parent bird (a robin, as even I can see) come several times over the course of an hour or so and feed the baby newly caught worms. It was so fun to see the nearly-adult bird, clearly an uncertain flyer but skilled enough to go a few feet, old enough to clearly be a robin but young enough to still have the use of its own personal worm-delivery service. I'm mostly sure this is the same bird family, although I have seen a number of much smaller birds (of some other species) also hanging out on the front porch a lot, and I'd assumed that they were the nestling family. The eggs I so unkindly jostled out of their nest were blue, if that counts for anything.
We really loved seeing this little guy.
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