When the red, red, robin comes bob, bob, bobbin’ along …
With our mild winter and some exceptionally warm days early this spring, I’ve seen quite a few robins. So when I leave my house for a walk the day after our recent April Fooly snowstorm, I’m not surprised to see two flutter in front of me on the grassy path. Then, as I turn onto the road, there lies one of them having failed to avoid a car — felled without a sound. It’s lying still and awkward-looking. I pick it up carefully and place it back on the path while I take my walk.
Though sunny, the wind picks up and 35 degrees feels like 15. I rearrange my clothing for maximum warmth and, hands in pockets, trudge down the road, up a hill and back. As I approach, robin redbreast is sitting up and looking OK but she doesn’t move or fly away. I touch her gently and say “I’ll leave you here for awhile to see if you’ll be all right on your own.” When I was young, my sisters and I found a baby robin who’d fallen from a tree that was covered by caterpillars, which had engulfed the nest. I don’t recall what we might have done to help that bird or if it survived, and I begin thinking of getting a box, keeping it in the garage out of cold and harm, and trying to give it water and food. More recently, my car was struck by a deer, leaving the animal flailing in the road behind me. I got out to investigate as it clambered up and disappeared into the woods.
Then a few more robins come flitting around the injured one. Are they upset for their friend? Trying to help? Or simply finding bare ground to eat from? A half-hour later I return and tip-toe to the sitting bird. She hops, hops, then flies to the driveway. Happily her wings aren’t injured; she was stunned. I take the mail in and look out from a window — she is gone from the gravel. Several redbreasts are on the hillside acting very robin-like … a dozen running steps — stop, head down — a dozen more steps … it seems my rockin’ robin has rejoined the flock!
These encounters with injured, dying or dead wildlife are significant in our lives. They put us face to face with the mortality of other living things, and our own. If we are open to seeing this connection, it should lead to a greater appreciation of life and of our planet. How then can we not share this and join together with others? If enough of us humans act with our best hearts and minds, our great-great-grandchildren may yet see their first robin of spring.
David Fersh is a Charlemont resident.