WE WERE SITTING on the big back deck, looking at the mountains, the early June day having reached that magic time of diminishing heat and lingering softness. There was so much to see. The rhododendron was bursting forth in vivid color, and the wild azaleas seemed to have multiplied overnight, their tight buds loosening but still teasing with promise. That’s when we first noticed the birds. They were swooping, swaying, this way then that, riding the air above the blooming meadow before us like it was pure play. A game, or perhaps a performance put on merely for our enjoyment. They were so happy. So playful! Left to right, and down, and down and across and swoop then back! That’s when one of the two flew right in front of me and I watched as the sweet thing dove headfirst into the birdhouse we’d long ago attached to the oak closest to the house.

They must be nesting, I said to Tim with a sweet sigh, but I don’t recognize the bird. Do you?

I snapped a bad photo, then texted, hoping for answers.

Looks to be a swallow. Tree Swallow, most likely.

No, I didn’t think so, the head was black, not blue. In fact these birds were straight-up black and white.

We watched for a while, and then the light hit just so and sure enough, color exploded. Oh yes, this was most definitely a swallow.

Ever since that time, the mama has been tending to eggs in the box and the papa has been tending to the mama. They are precious and dedicated, and I check on them a thousand times a day as their nest is just on my path from house to studio, studio to house. I speak to them every time I pass by. I tell them what a good job they’re doing, how I admire their dedication, that the hours might be long but the work is important.

I think she hears me, that mama. She looks at me, tilts her head left and right. Occasionally she pops out, takes a spin around the meadow, and just as she does out of nowhere comes her mate who without the slightest slowdown slides into the bird box and gets turned around and BOOM right out of the opening shoots his little beak. And there he sits, warming those eggs, waiting until she returns.

They are a joy, this pair! An unexpected joy as we ourselves nest at the top of this old mountain, in the prime of this beautiful spring.

XXOO

It feels this summer is a great time to write a series of short essays about things and moments that make me happy. I hope they make you happy, too.

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