[with Pilot Snake by Mary Oliver]
On June 21, I wrote in Tangled my distress at killing, by trying to protect nesting bluebirds, a four-foot long black rat snake. It became entangled in the collar of plastic mesh I’d attached at the base of the birdhouse pole to keep snakes from climbing up the pole to the nesting box. I never saw it there until it began to stink.
The snake’s presence explained the bluebirds’ agitated behavior over the past several days. Once I discovered the dead snake at the base of the post, though, I didn’t see the parent birds visiting the nest any more at all. Had they abandoned the chicks they’d been feeding so obsessively for two weeks? What would I find inside that house? I couldn’t bring myself to look. I hadn’t wanted to kill that snake; I didn’t want the death of birds on my heart as well.
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This morning I take down the bird house. I unscrew it and open it for cleaning: an empty nest. A few smears of bird lime but no desiccated baby bird carcasses. They have fledged and flown.
And now in the humidity and sweat of this heat dome morning, I’m moving the cleaned birdhouse to a new location and a new pole. This torpedo-shaped baffle should prevent snakes from climbing to the house, and I’ve added a spiky frill to deter the most persistent climbers. To deter, not to harm. Eat all the mice and voles you desire, O Snake. All my weedy property is yours to roam. Just let me enjoy Bluebird Song this summer.
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V E R S E ❦ I M A G E 