Room for Wrent
On August 6, 2016 by Speranza
I bought a bright red petunia in a hanging basket earlier this summer and noticed recently that a tiny nest had appeared in between the blooms – it looked just like an upturned half coconut.
Shortly before making this exciting (to me) discovery, I had already heard a feisty, stripey little bird singing his heart out every morning (and throughout the day) in three distinct places; the highest peak of the garage, the fence, and just beside this plant. I consider myself a bird enthusiast only so I had to look at him very closely and do a bit of googling to identify him as a Marsh or more likely, House Wren.
This is a bird with some serious short-man-syndrome and the volume of his warnings (listen to the “scold notes!”) if either of us gets remotely close to the nest is extremely intimidating. He emits these sounds whilst expertly climbing rapidly up and down the chain holding the plant, looking like a miniature pirate and probably with similar language.
But he’s charming too and I’ve been moved to see him popping in and out of the nest every few minutes either feeding his mate or the new fledglings with goodly sized, writhing caterpillars.
Which as a gardener I don’t hate seeing.
At one point, there was a massive locust of some kind in his beak, and he sort of moved it to one side like a cigarette so he could keep on singing at the same time. What a guy!
(And, very Frank Sinatra suave, I must say).
Naturally, an exciting event like this has provided great interest for The Newly Retired Amongst Us (I’m looking at you, General) and we spent quite a while trying to think of a suitable name, instead of calling him “that bird” all the time which seemed gauche and disrespectful. He also seemed like a Frenchman to me, a sort of raffish Maurice Chevalier kind of bird.
(These are the kind of things which are important to get right).
The General , who may or may not have a bit more time on his hands during the day, soundly rejected the Chevalier idea and continued to brood (no pun intended) over it.
When I came home for lunch he was bursting to tell me.
GENERAL: “I’ve got it. It’s the perfect name!”
ME: (Pleased, but you know, ready to sit down and have a sandwich) “Okay, okay tell me. What is it?”
GENERAL: “Ralph!”
ME: (Deflated) “Ralph?”
GENERAL: (Dramatically delivered smug pause) “Ralph La Wren.”
Obviously, this was AMAZINGLY clever and we both said it multiple times throughout the day to one another and laughed all over again.
Meanwhile, the song outside goes on …
I was as disappointed as you at my first hearing of “Ralph”, but then I was delighted with the finale. Note to self: never underestimate the General!