Bluebird morning

Another reason I decided to start a blog is that there are members of my family who just cannot bear to get another email from me reporting the goings-on of the bluebird family in my front yard. I work at a small garden center in Mystic, and it is a lovely old orchard...open and grassy with rambling stone walls and pumpkin patches and native blueberry strands...perfect bluebird territory. I have the delight of getting to watch the bluebirds streak across the sky and chortle in the trees at work, and became fascinated by them last year.
Of course, my inner coveter kicked in.
So I asked for a bluebird box for Christmas and my sister came through.
Now, to be clear, I don't live in Mystic, and my property is far from "perfect" habitat. I am in Half Acre Hell, as my husband calls it...oaks, privacy hedges and lots of lawn, dotted with the occaisional obligatory weeping cherry and scads of azaleas. Bad landscaping decisions surround me. My employer, a very kind and well-intentioned woman about my age told me flat out "you won't get bluebirds". Now, my inner competitor kicked in. After all, she has 12 acres to fill with bluebird boxes and had nearly 4 families nesting last year. Bluebird populations are on the rise. I have seen the blue streak in my yard...granted, not often, but I know they are here. I am going to focus and visualize and concentrate on giving them all they need to have a successful brood.
So, guess what?
After months of watching, the male one day appeared on top of the box. It is in my front yard, near the curb, in the openest and sunniest part of the property...how they like it. All of April and May I watched the male fend off tree swallows and house wrens and chirp and sing away on the wire above the yard. I removed the wren's dummy nest (more on that later) and even ran running out into the yard, arms flailing more than once to scare off other interested parties. I rarely saw the female and thought perhaps the male was mateless.
But then it began...a few pieces of grass at the bottom, and the next day, a nearly complete nest. In 4 days, a perfect cup of soft grass and moss lay in the bottom of the box. I woke one morning to the delight of watching the bluebirds mate, again and again, on the wire. Holy Cow! I was going to be an aunt!
Yesterday, I returned from work and checked the box. Bluebirds do not sit on the nest during the heat of the day, but return at sundown to feed and roost. There, the bottom of the little cup of grass was one perfect egg. I was beside myself with joy. The girls, ages 3 and 5, have gotten used to watching me do "the happy dance" around the house when I have these mini-milestones with the birds. I can only hope I am creating an example of gratitude for little things. I want my girls to grow up noticing the perfectness of nature, the tiniest gestures of the Earth and to look deeper into the obvious.
Sometimes, the smallest things give us the greatest joy. Try to be grateful for something small today. For me, it's that little blue egg.