Week 24- Student Narrative Essays: A Nest Grows in Maltby


Student Essay B:

A Nest Grows in Maltby

The bird had been collecting supplies for about a week now. I have watched it for days now, endlessly flying to and from the nest, sometimes a twig latched in its beak, other times a small leaf.  I had to be careful, for if I got too close to the unfinished nest, an indignant tweet would send me flying back to the porch, not wanting to disrupt the fragile piece of work or its artist.  Over those few days the nest had really begun to look like a nest.  It had started with a few branches to act as the general shape, a simple structure, but had soon begun collecting little scraps of whatever the bird could find to weave throughout the small, twisted branches.  Soon it had evolved into a nest, and the long days of work were done.

I walked back to the nest, slowly and quietly, as not to direct attention to myself.  It had been a couple of days since I had last visited the nest.  After it was finished, I lost interest, thinking there would be no use for it.  But my curiosity had gotten the best of me.  I crept towards the small pine tree it lay cradled in, peeled back the lower branches, and almost gasped at what lay in front of me.  There were four tiny, pristine white eggs which were adorned with brown patches.  Do you mean to say, I thought, that these hold baby birds? I stared at the eggs with amazement, not sure if I should leave or not, when their mother’s complaining song chose for me, driving me back to the house.  Oh well, I whispered to myself, maybe I can look more later.

Just like I had hoped, I had caught a chance to take another look at the eggs while the mother was busy.  While I peered from the sidelines, as I didn’t want to stay too long, I wondered, How long will it take before the babies leave the nest?  I headed back to the house, still stuck on the birds’ development.

A couple of days later, my mom and I were playing frisbee while my dad was working in the greenhouse.  I had told them about the eggs; they had said to leave them alone, as we wouldn’t want anything to happen.  So we kept a fair distance away from the nest.   It was my throw, and I let the frisbee go flying.  It flew swiftly through the air, but to my horror, landed right on the small pine tree.  Seconds later, an enormous amount of surprised tweets came from the nest.  Then, one-by-one, the baby birds leaped out of the nest. We quickly called my dad, and, equipped with garden gloves, he carefully tried to take the birds in his hands individually.  Each captured bird got put into the nest, but once the hands let go, it jumped quickly out of the nest and continued its frightened, chaotic scramble.  Those who didn’t get caught, however, ran about wildly, with no sense of direction whatsoever.  Each leap from the nest resulted in a guilty pang in my heart.

This is a memory that I will never forget.  I never knew if the birds lived or died, and what became of the mama.  But I have learned that even without intending to, we can still do great harm to nature around us.


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