Tuesday musings.

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First, our soggy Sunday brought us one inch of rain, and now the grass has greened up nicely and even grown a bit… in fact, just a little too quickly.

Then, there was yesterday … and, it was Monday to boot. The aftermath of Sunday’s rain left fog so thick you couldn’t find the cross streets or the main drag without being right on top of them.  WWJ’s traffic reporter and weatherman both commented “it looks like pea soup”, an expression that has always puzzled me because Americans like their split-pea soup green and the Canucks like their French Canadian split-pea soup a rather putrid yellow.  Hmmm,  so tell me, just how does one equate fog and pea soup?  I guess that yellow soup might resemble smoggy fog if you used your imagination.  I did not suit up to walk, being mindful of all the sleep-deprived drivers from the Daylight Saving Time debacle, compounded with the thick fog, thus I decided I did not want to end up as a wet spot on the pavement.

So, I went out to run the car and glanced down the driveway and sidewalk where the cement was littered with long, slimy bodies as it was a virtual wormy wonderland.  Well, worms don’t bother me as they move slower than I do – it’s the multi-legged critters that do me in.

While outside, I did marvel at the eerie look of the bare trees against the misty sky and how you couldn’t even see the top of some of the tall trees. Birds, which looked like darkish blogs on bare branches, called out to one another, and I imagined them saying in bird speak “hey, are you there?” or maybe “c’mon over here so I can see you!”

But marveling at the fog did nothing for racking up some walking miles, so I headed back into the house.

But today had promise, or, so I thought. Though the weather folks first predicted rain or fog again, I peered out the window as soon as it was daylight and it was clear as a bell.  I laced up my shoes and nearly skipped out the door into the warm air.  But my glee quickly turned to disbelief when I saw several long and straggly piece of dead grass  on the sidewalk.  I quickly jumped to the conclusion that it only could mean one thing – the robins have begun building their nests!  But, I shook my head “no”, because for decades I’ve been tormented by Ma and Pa Robin  building nests in preparation for their second brood of babies that arrive in late April or early May.  It is only the middle of March.

So, I kept walking along the sidewalk, that is, until a robin nearly smacked me on the side of the head as he zoomed from the coach light in the front of my house where indeed he had been busy constructing a nest. I quickly gave him the evil eye and he flew over to sit on the split-rail fence, with a defiant stance and wearing a surly scowl.  He’d obviously been around here the past few years, because there he perched, having baited me, and now waited for me to explode at him, which I quickly did.

I then opened the lock and jerked the garage door open, just a little too quickly (whew … glad it didn’t roll off the tracks), then I grabbed the corn broom and tore down the nest, while some serious chattering was going on, i.e. a few curse words under my breath and a few loud peeps by that red-breasted perpetrator.  The nest was a solid piece of work – a lot of dead grass, many pieces of wool, even some long whitish-gray human hair, all cemented together with mud – lots of mud, thanks to Sunday’s rain.  And, just like in years past, mud splatters had landed on the mailbox lid as the mailbox hangs directly below the coach lamp and nest. In a normal Winter, we’d still have frozen ground with no chance of the robins finding any mud to use as mortar for their nest construction.  Probably the snow would still be covering the blah-looking grass.

I worked diligently, swabbing up the splats and bundling up the nest fixings. Finally, feeling like the elderly man who has chased the kids off his lawn, I shooed away the robin who sat like a statue studying my every move.  Next, I tried to fill up the empty bend in the lamp’s elbow that looks so darn inviting, to thwart any more nest-building activities.  Unfortunately, my efforts will be in vain after the 45-50 mile per hour winds roll in tomorrow.

With any luck, the gusty winds will blow the robins down to the Ecorse Creek, as I sure didn’t make it there myself today, because by the time I whisked away the huge nest, cleaned up and tried to block future access, it was too late to head out for a walk.

I am not amused, and I now have to table the walk until later in the week. To most people, the robins may be a welcome sign of Spring, but their annual insistence on setting up their “Home Sweet Home” at my abode sure makes me hopping mad!

About Linda Schaub

This is my first blog and I enjoy writing each and every post immensely. I started a walking regimen in 2011 and decided to create a blog as a means of memorializing the people, places and things I see on my daily walks. I have always enjoyed people watching, and so my blog is peppered with folks I meet, or reflections of characters I have known through the years. Often something piques my interest, or evokes a pleasant memory from my memory bank, so this becomes a “slice o’ life” blog post that day. I respect and appreciate nature and my interaction with Mother Nature’s gifts is also a common theme. Sometimes the most-ordinary items become fodder for points to ponder over and touch upon. My career has been in the legal field and I have been a legal secretary for four decades, primarily working in downtown Detroit, and now working from my home. I graduated from Wayne State University with a degree in print journalism in 1978, though I’ve never worked in that field. I like to think this blog is the writer in me finally emerging!! Walking and writing have met and shaken hands and the creative juices are flowing once again in Walkin’, Writin’, Wit & Whimsy – hope you think so too. - Linda Schaub
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4 Responses to Tuesday musings.

  1. Marge Aubin says:

    Do you think they are the same robins from last year. Almost all the spring bulbs have sprung from the dark. I hope the trees don’t suffer from the warm winter.


    • lindasschaub says:

      Yup, I do think so. The very first robin’s nest that I tore down at the side door was just perfect – it was in a warm and dry place, and it was huge. The whole time I was taking it down (and it was empty – no eggs or babies – I would have relented then) … the male robin was sitting on the fence “scolding me” loudly. He remembered me and all threw the Summer he would go around after I watered the flowers and pick the bark out of the garden, looking for worms, and throw it outside of the rubber tubing. So I’d bend down and pick it up and he’d go right back and do it again. That was only one robin that did that and all that Summer. The next year, as soon as I put out the pots (had real flowers then) and began watering them, the robin would come along and do that … all the time he was giving me the evil eye. It went on for a few years. I Googled to see the longevity for robins – they usually live about six years. Hmmmm. Don’t think they don’t tell their offspring to be mean to me.


  2. ann marie stevens says:

    Miss Linda………………I enjoyed the sweeping of the robin’s nest but please don’t be “hopping mad’…………………since I live and walk near apartments and not houses I’m missing out on any crocuses coming up


    • lindasschaub says:

      I didn’t walk again since I wrote this post Ann Marie, and, today when I was on the same trek, the crocuses were all out and blooming. Must’ve been all that rain. I’ll try not to hopping mad at those robins, but they do it to me every year – this year over a month earlier than usual!


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