Home is where the house wrens are

Spring has sprung here in central New Jersey, and I’ve been on high alert for seasonal visitors who are due to arrive soon, some just passing through and others who will stay awhile.

I was on the back patio the other day when I spotted what I was almost certain was a house wren checking out our small birdhouse where wrens have nested previously. But the little fellow flew off the instant I stood for a closer look.

It seems he came back.

The bird house — from which several weeks ago I’d removed the few leftover sticks from last year’s Wrenthwacket* tenants — now has sticks poking out from its sides. A new nest is underway, and this afternoon I spotted a wren popping out of the entry hole.

For the next 20 minutes or so, I stayed on the patio, listening to him chattering away in the trees. It’s a joyous noise, in and of itself but also for affirming the continuum of year-to-year renewal.

Welcome, little wren, and may the girl bird of your dreams find her way to your bachelor pad swinging from our larch tree.

MORNING UPDATE, May 5: When I went out to refill the birdbath just after dawn, the wren was singing lustily from the trees. A short while later, I saw two wrens pop out of the house. I’m not going to pry into what transpired overnight, but it seems Mr. has found his Mrs. I have named them DIdo and Aeneas, and I anticipate an epic year ahead.

*Wrenthwacket is a winking reference to Drumthwacket, the New Jersey governor’s mansion a few miles up the old King’s Highway (U.S. 206) from our home.