My mom loved wrens. Spotting a wren in the backyard was reason for a joyful "long-distance" phone call. In those days of diapering baby boys I couldn't always properly appreciate Fritzi's birdwatching thrills. Now, ten years after her death, I want to pick up the phone and call Fritzi whenever I see a busy wren, or hear its scolding sound.
How to describe a wren scold? Did you ever have a spinster junior high English teacher on the verge of retirement who had beady black eyes, very high expectations, and a shortage of patience? A woman in old-fashioned black shoes with a bit of a mustache hopping around the underbrush parsing sentences? A tiny bird/woman/teacher who made the first hour of each school day a living hell, but somehow made The Scarlet Letter, The Odyssey, and The Old Man and the Sea books you would reread over the decades.
Carolina wrens are in constant motion. Usually in the underbrush, when they hop on a fallen log in a shaft of sunlight they taunt the photographer. My best Oak Point wren photo isn't great, but it was a personal victory!
|March 7, 2013 Caddo Trail|
|Dec. 24, 2014 Rory Meyers Children's Adventure Garden|
|Hey you, get off of my cloud!|