Members of 'family' are here

There I was poking around on the computer, when my wife stuck her head in and said, “It looks like we’re grandparents.”
Now, since — to the best of my knowledge — none of our daughters happens to be pregnant at the moment, that came as a bit of a shock.
But she wasn’t talking about our daughters.
She was talking about the robins.
A few weeks back, we noticed a nest beginning to take shape in an unlikely place.
Like a lot of folks — particularly in basketball-crazy Indiana — we have a basketball goal in our driveway.
In our case, it’s not a permanent thing attached to a pole or the garage but one of those units that is — supposedly — portable. You fill the base with water or sand, then you scoot it around the driveway where it makes the most sense for your kids.
Ours, like most of these models, has an adjustable hoop, so kids can grow into the sport.
It was a great buy.
But these days, the backboard has some mold and mildew issues, the netting for the goal has shrunk so much that a ball might not get through it, and a power line that was added later makes shooting hoops a little bit ominous.
Apparently, however, it’s an inviting home site.
A pair of robins started building a nest behind the backboard, in the area where the height-adjustment hardware is located.
It didn’t look like much at first. And when some winds whipped through, we thought Mr. and Mrs. Robin would move on to a more congenial location.
But they didn’t.
Instead, the nest kept growing, becoming more substantial with every twig.
About two weeks ago, it began to look substantial enough to host a family.
And it has.
We are, apparently, grandparents of a sort.
At least we’re landlords for a young family.
This new role brings with it pleasures and complications, just like being a real grandparent does.
The pleasures are obvious.
From our kitchen table at breakfast and lunch time, we can watch Mr. and Mrs. Robin feed their offspring.
(Our guess is that there are two or three survivors from the original brood. A storm last week took some casualties.)
The complications come from the site the robins have chosen.
It’s directly between our back door and the garage.
Step out of the kitchen door, and there’s a good chance you’ll send Mrs. Robin fluttering away in alarm.
Open the garage door, and the same is likely to happen.
Our hope is that none of our activities will make much of a difference for the young family.
But, let’s face it, when you’re a grandparent you worry about these things.[[In-content Ad]]