A Sure Sign of Spring

The grass is green and freckled with dandelions. All the flowering trees are in full bloom and today was lovely enough to open windows and let the stale air of winter escape. These things should convince me that spring has finally arrived. But in truth, like the game that isn't over until the Fat Lady sings, spring has not truly arrived until my little wren friends return and warble me a song. House wrens are one of my favorite birds, one I discovered later in my life. I never knew a wren until I moved to Iowa; I was thrilled when a pair of them built a nest on the back patio at the farm. And every Iowa spring since that first one, I've been lucky enough to entice a pair to a nest box by my house. I can't tell the males from the females; I think they both sing. I see them both going in and out of the nest box with tidbits of 'meat' in their beaks. They feed on insects, caterpillars, mosquitos, etc. so I'm doubly blessed to have them around the house. It pains me to say, however, that wrens are not universally loved. My first fall here at Red Bell Farm I took a bluebird box building class through the County Conservation Board. We put together bluebird nest boxes with the strict instructions NOT to put them up anywhere close to a building or within 100 yards of a brushy thicket. If these instructions were not followed, the dreaded house wrens would enter the box, peck the bluebird eggs or kill the babies and run the beautiful bluebirds out of the box with their vicious attacks! So, my little bluebird box went 'way out on a pasture fence and I had to content myself with seeing their flashes of blue from a distance. Being able to hear my wren friends warble was worth the effort, though.