The lay of the chimney swifts
Reason number twenty-two why I've been remiss about this blog is now gone; the baby swifts have flown away.
One might look at the above sentence and have a classic 'buhwah?' reaction. Well, of course. The thing is, for the better part of the preceeding month baby swifts have been living in my fireplace. Not my chimney; my fireplace. They moved on down.
Two or three weeks ago there was a hellacious sound in the fireplace. Now there have been hellacious sounds coming from the fireplace for awhile. I thought the brand new central heat and air was about to pack it in, those sounds were so hellacious. The sounds actually were the flapping wings of a nesting pair of swifts amplified and carried right into the house by the flue.
It never occurred to me to close the goddamn flue. I know better now.
Maybe I liked the sounds. Sometimes Mama or Papa would burst into song. Then there were the sounds of hatchlings, then called the peepsters by me and I began to worry about disturbing the swifts by doing anything at all to the fireplace. Feeding time apparently was every half hour and after awhile the noise just didn't bother me.
Until the afternoon the nest fell down. The nest collapsed and I had five or six peepsters in my fireplace. I never got a good count because they moved so fast. All I know is when I'd shine the flashlight on them I'd get a big gapings swifty mouth in my direction.
This was a problem. I have three dogs and three cats. I was afraid the little things would starve. I called the wildlife rescue people and they...were not helpful. Chimney swift are protected by approximately fifty million state, federal and international laws. They cannot be removed.
"Just hang a towel in the back of the fireplace," the nice wildlife woman suggested. "They'll climb back up and cling to the walls of the chimney."
"But it's a central flue," I said.
"Oh," she said in a tone that made me think this did not bode well for the peepsters. "Well, we can hope."
I hung the towel while apologizing profusely to the little things. They were for the most part clinging to the rear wall of the fireplace. Then I worried they might climb out into the living room--hey, it could happen--so I swathed the firescreen in a sheet and draped towels over the mantle to hang over the firescreen. I hoped they'd see the light coming down the chimney and go for it.
Instead I accidentally created an aviary. After hours of the parents calling to the babies they gave up and came down into the fireplace to feed their young.
And I went on guard duty.
So, for the past two weeks or so I have been sleeping on the sofa. I had to shut the cats in the bedroom suite because the morning after the nest collapsed I was awakened twenty minutes after I shut my eyes by an insane fluttering sound coming from my bedroom. Callista had somehow gotten through the barricades and past the swathed material to kidnap a peepster and when I jumped out of bed the three cats were looking at the poor thing fluttering on my bedroom carpet, every cat with a 'what do we do now' look in place.
At this point I violated fifty thousand state, federal and international laws by scooping the little thing up, apologizing all the while, putting it in a basket and putting the basket in the fireplace. That fledgling didn't make it; I think the cats may have damaged it while playing with it. The others are fine. They were fed for all this time by their parents coming all the way down into the fireplace--there's a sound I can never describe--to keep them and tend them while they shit on everything in there.
My cats really aren't speaking to me. That's not true, they've more or less forgiven me for taking their fluttering toy and keeping them in the back of the house. The sun puddles hit that room at regular hours, their food, water and box was at hand and they owned my bed, the bed I have rarely slept in for the past few weeks. Oh bed, how I have missed you.
The swifts survived nicely. Yesterday I saw the whole family on the power line across the street. I called "Hi, Sparky" and got a bit of song in return. Apologies to Sparkindarkness, but birds living in a fireplace condo get called Sparky. C'mon, it's a gimme.
And then I saw Mama and Papa flying in a very elaborate sort of way, circles and spirals with Papa right on Mama's tail and thought "OH HELL NO". The fireplace is cleaned, the flue is closed, the poor little one that didn't make it has been buried and the condo is out of business.
The reason I don't have video or pictures is simple: I never think about taking pictures of anything. By the time I did I didn't want to disturb the family in any way. I mean, those parents flying down the chimney to tend their young in my fireplace was pretty miraculous. They're more devoted than a lot of humans.
But it's nice to have the house back as it should be. My allergies were killing me. I will only very rarely admit I miss them.