Skid Row

My sister and brother-in-law leave my nieces at my house for the evening and I walk with them around my property.

I say, 'I made that birdhouse and some birds fight over it every day.'


I sense their eyes lighting up before they enthusiastically bubble, 'Could we make some more bird houses?'

'Sure, later.' I smile.

We walk through the rest of my yard, seeing my meager gardens, the brook, some Jack in the Pulpit flowers and I take them inside.





Sliding pencils and drawing paper on the table, I say, 'You guys draw pictures of what you want your birdhouses to be like and I'm going to work on the barbecue grill.'

Before our picnic, I get as far as cutting out the wood from some rough-cut pine.



The New Ipswich Memorial Day parades are going on now, but I don't feel like going. So I cut some more flowering crab apple branches to place near my apple trees and I finish the bird houses.



I install the ramshackle row houses on the posts for my split rail fence before I return inside to sit on my recliner.

Something catches my eye.

Oh boy.

A little bird flies to the center of a fence rail. It sidles across, furtively. The bird darts to the fence post and then flies up to the base of the birdhouse!

Oh my.



Then it flies to sit on the perch and peeks inside!

Another bird flies along and lands near the first.

The first bird goes inside the house!

I watch and the birds are simply the neighboring nesters who apparently were seeing if they should upgrade their position on skid row.

Eventually, the bird peeks into each birdhouse.