Henny Penny Farmette

An egg has fallen from a nest, but it’s cracked and empty of any baby bird

Mornings are my favorite time of the day. My mind is freshest after a good night of sleep, and my observation skills are best in the early hours.

With a cup of hot coffee in hand, I meander around the farmette, spying spider’s webs, still moist with dew; an outbreak of aphids on the peach tree; the first of the Mr. Lincoln dinner-plate-size roses in bloom; a pair of mourning doves poised for flight at my approach; and sunflower seedlings poking up at last in the patch dirt where we planted them two weeks ago, just as the rains were ending.

This morning, I am surprised by the amazing number of almonds that our tree has produced. It won’t be long before the squirrels discover them, too. So I’m faced with a decision of whether to share the bounty with the squirrels or place netting over the tree.

Near the front door, a bird’s egg lies in the grass, cracked on one side. From the white color and brown speckling, I figure it probably belongs to a house wren. Wrens like to built nests in cavities or flowerpots and even mailboxes. Our resident wren constructed a small nest in a hole of an exterior roof beam. This egg was likely one of five or six that the house wren typically lays.