Fledging is imminent. It could be tomorrow, or it could be another week. Research says they fledge between 18-21 days after hatching. I don’t know exactly what day they hatched, but do know the parents were flying in and out sixteen days ago. The past few days the food deliveries have been increasing, and the chicks’ cries when the parents leave are now loud and clear.

I couldn’t be more grateful to see them fly in carrying one grasshopper after another to the nest. Sometimes they fly straight in from the top of a nearby juniper, or from the tip of the patio umbrella; more often, they land on their antler perch and look around before hopping up to the nest cavity.

In the past two days their deliveries have become so frequent they occasionally overlap, meeting in the doorway as one flies in with food and the other flies out with a fecal sac. Cornell Lab of Ornithology defines this as “a clean, tough mucous membrane containing the excrement of nestling birds.” You can see mama with it below.

They move so fast I can’t see their weightless ease without the camera. Above, he floats from the nest to the perch; then gathers himself for a few breaths, and takes off. Their wing-to-body length is almost falcon like, and the long wings give them the ability to hover and dive when hunting. I can’t get enough of watching them, and will be spending every possible minute on birdwatch until the babies emerge.

I think how my mother would have loved this unexpected delight. As a bird-lover and also a painter whose favorite color was blue, she was entranced with mountain bluebirds. When she visited and saw them dancing along the fenceposts, she wanted to name my driveway Bluebird Lane. Back then, I rarely saw one in the yarden. So in an interconnected accepting sort of way, I guess I’m kind of grateful for the grasshopper plagues that have brought the bluebirds to my front door.