The rescue

We are having a new roof put on our house and the roofers have, understandably, taken over my driveway and yard. Sheets of metal cover the grass (weeds since we had such an awful summer last year and nothing survived) and nails are just lurking to get my tires, I'm sure, despite the efforts of the large rolling magnets which pick them up.

I'm used to hammers and shouts, ring tones, loud rock music, and the whine of a saw. So I was surprised this morning to hear soft talk and near whispers coming from beneath my second story study window.

"Where'd it come from?" followed by "Think it'll live?" and "Can we put it back?"

That'll make any homeowner curious so I peered out the window to find a cadre of roofers hovering over a baby sparrow, newly fallen from the nest. Now the sparrows have a generational holding underneath our west awnings. There's ALWAYS been a nest there.

Next thing I know a ladder is being maneuvered to the brick and one brave roofer says, "Let me have the little feller." One-handing it up the metal ladder, he leans in to the awning and carefully inserts the baby back into the nest through the (newly painted) wooden slats.

[As an aside, the painters had tried unsuccessfully--twice!--to get rid of this nest.]

The roofer climbs down and the ladder goes about its true work. It's not long before there's a sparrow hue and cry outside the awning. Did they accept their downed chick back? Haven't found one on the ground again, so perhaps this rescue has a happy ending.