Nests

Nests. I'm thrilled every time I come across one. But these two are different to what I usually find. I found both of them at the very end of our property, under the pine and macrocarpa trees.

I'm used to the coarse twiggy, mud-lined nests that blackbirds and thrush create. These two tell different stories.

The first is made of grass seed and lichen and nothing else. I'm swooning at the colours, of sand and sea, of bleached grass and hazy skies. Flattened out as it is, it is small—8cm or 3 inches across. In the tree, it would have been a natural cup shape, and probably smaller in diameter.

It belongs to a small bird—not a grey warbler with its pear-shaped nests and side-hole entry. Maybe a silvereye? I have a fantail nest and it is far more sturdily constructed than this. 

The second nest is made of sheep wool, roots and moss. It's twice the size of the other—15cm or 6 inches across. It too is flat, no mud-lining, no sturdy structure on which that luxurious wool was laid. It's a triumph of form over function. I've never seen a nest made almost entirely of wool. This is one discerning bird. 

There are no sheep close by in the valley. But I can hear them calling on the hill behind us, and I see their small white shapes moving as they eat their way across the slope. 

This bird travelled back and forth from our trees to those hills, bringing small pieces of wool, stitching them into this nest. I'm stumped as to whose nest this could be. It doesn't fit the descriptions in any of my guidebooks. This is a bird with creativity; one who likes to freestyle.

These two nests may just be my most prized finds ever.