To Nest or not to Nest… That is the Question.

Good morning dear reader and you are very welcome to a beautiful spring morning in the Yorkshire Wolds. I hope I find you well and no doubt you are as pleased to see the Spring sunshine as I am.

In the Spring, a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. This quote is from the poem Locksley Hall by Alfred Lord Tennyson. And perhaps a young man’s fancy does. I know one thing: it certainly works for the pigeons who live in and around our garden.

In years gone by our pigeons have made several futile attempts to build their nests in our Ash tree. They were pretty useless at it and the sticks they ferried in and tried to put in place ended up falling through the branches and littering our cosy seating area in the garden.

Ah ha, this year has seen the pigeons trying to use their little bird brains and try a new approach. Why not try building a nest inside one of the fir trees that line one side of the garden?

Spouse and I, sitting in the conservatory that overlooks the garden, sip our early morning cup of tea and watch the proceedings with interest. The female must already be somewhere inside the tree and the male flies to and fro, carrying largeish sticks into the tree. This in itself is quite funny to watch as the pigeon tries to manoevre the stick into the right position to poke it through the gap it has made for the purpose.

Every so often, he flies up to the conservatory roof and has a rest, gazing thoughtfully down at his developing nest site. Well, that’s how it looks but who knows what goes on in a pigeon’s head? Maybe he’s contemplating his next meal or quick bath in the pond.

For several days we watched this poor bird too-ing and fro-ing with his stick collection and then one morning after a few half-hearted unsuccessful attempts to wiggle the sticks through the gap in the fir tree branches, he gave up and flew back up to the conservatory roof.

He stayed there, hunched up and looked exceedingly miserable, even though it was a beautiful Spring morning. This time we really could see the pigeon cogs whirring away in his little brain. It was as plain as plain to see - this is a right old mug’s game and I’m not playing any more. And it’s blooming hard work too. After some time he flew off to his usual Ash tree and hunched there for the rest of the morning.

I’m guessing that’s the end of the nest in the fir tree. I wonder when his lady love will realise he’s not coming back? I have a feeling he might try again in the Ash tree instead and we can look forward to being bombarded with sticks yet again. Oh, joy … and I can’t believe it will magically work for our pigeon friends and they actually manage to nest. There must be easier ways of raising a family, but I fear our pigeon friends have not discovered it yet.