Every spring, for as long as I’ve lived in this house, a family of starlings has nested in our chimney. What I assume now to be generations return to build a nest in the metal pipe leading to our fireplace insert. It starts with the scrabble of their claws and the kerfuffle of their wings on takeoff. Then come the screams and squawks when the babies hatch, until the summer, when the chimney is silent once more.
Last March, I heard a different sound coming from the fireplace. I sat in the living room drinking my coffee when flap, flap, flap. It didn’t come from the chimney.
My husband and I cautiously peered through the glass fireplace doors, no bird.
Flap, flap, flap.
We put our ears to the wall.
Flap, flap, flap.
We didn’t want to leave it in there to die, so my husband cut a hole in the wall to try to liberate it. Nest debris layered the floor inside the hole, and a little bird skull. Generations of starlings, but we didn’t see a live bird.
“Perhaps it’s too dark?” I suggested.
We put a camping lantern in the hole and waited.
No bird.
“Maybe it will smell some food?” he suggested.
We scattered a few sunflower seeds and placed a capful of water on the inner ledge.
No bird.
Two hours into this endeavor, I peeked through the hole and saw a bird's head wedged between the insulation and the fireplace, blinking at me. The light and snacks were working! When my husband looked, he didn’t see anything. He reached in and pushed back the insulation. We watched from across the room, and a starling perched on the door of the hole. It hopped back in.
In the next breath, it launched itself into the room in full flight.
In spite of all our efforts to get the bird out of the wall, I did not think through what we were going to do if the bird succeeded. Was I going to catch it with my bare hands? With a towel and toss it very gently outside? I don’t know.
The bird didn’t know either, but it went for the first patch of sun it saw — the skylight.
THUNK! It banged against the window. Before I could think through my bird capture plan, a second bird launched itself into the room at the other skylight.
I covered myself with a sheet and crept toward the patio door. I flung it open, and they escaped.
Insert all the laughter, the ordeal done, a crazy story for a Saturday morning. Glad that’s over.
Except, flap, flap, flap.
I was about to cover the hole with some paper while we went out to run some errands, just in case. Thirty minutes after employing the lantern AND opening the door, they flew out, but not without taking a tour of the rest of the house first.
We covered the hole and left. Flap, flap, flap, we heard on our return, like they were asking to check out of their stay. Except they didn’t check out that afternoon. After waiting unsuccessfully for the birds to come out, it appeared they decided to spend the night. All was quiet. We secured the hole, and our boys came home from a sleepover at their aunt and uncle's.
“I think we heard the bird in the wall,” the boys said when they woke me the next morning.
Lantern. Door. Bird.
After church, flap flap flap.
Lantern, door, birds.
In the afternoon, I just hung out in the family room with the hole and the door opened. They flew through at least 7 times altogether. On Monday, the final time the birds escaped, they hovered below the skylight instead of launching themselves at it before they remembered, “Right, we use the door.
The chimney man came on Tuesday. He showed me the pictures of the pipe. The inner pipe was capped, which is why they didn’t end up in the fireplace. The outer one was filled with years of nest debris, but somehow they were able to slip through into the wall.
He cleaned the chimney and the fireplace and put on a different cap, and I didn’t hear the starlings again that season.
But it’s spring, and they are back. They can’t get in the house, but somehow they still roost in the gap between the cap and the pipe. Now, I sit on the couch drinking my coffee, and I hear the scrabble of claws. I look up at the skylight and see a starling staring back at me, as if it’s trying to find a way to get back in. Tap, tap, tap.
This is not the first time I’ve written about birds. I’ve learned some Lessons from Robins and wrote a whole short story inspired by this family of starlings even before they made their way into my house. In light of these events last spring, one of my writer friends sent me some information on the symbolism of starlings: hope, new beginnings, community, and communication.
After my husband lost his job last summer, I was on a walk. When I turned a corner, there was a whole colony of starlings in the yard in front of me that spread across the street. I kept finding random feathers during that time and was using them as a reminder that God takes care of the birds; He will take care of us, too. As I took the steps towards this bird party, I teared up at the magnitude of this reminder. They barely stirred when I walked into their midst, just flapped a few more feet away until I was on the other side. Perhaps word got around about my bed and breakfast, and they didn’t want to ruin their chances of a stay.
For me, the starlings also symbolize persistence. Every year, these birds continue to build a nest in the same spot, to keep doing what they know to do, even if it involves detours along the way.
What an enjoyable and beautiful story! Thank you for sharing! 💙