adventures in birdsitting

it's not that i'm a bad blogger, it's just that things start happening and suddenly it's too hard to face reality in the form of the written word. the birds just got bigger and bigger BY THE SECOND and then they were full grown and standing at the edge of their little home, peering out into the big bad world - as tiny reminders of the future i face with my own little birds. and so then what? i'm supposed to ignore the too-obvious metaphor that is this blog and non-chalantly keep you updated on the rapid growth and eventual departure of our hatchlings? you want me to talk about empty nest syndrome in a literal sense? sorry. i have a degree in theatre, which means i'm programmed to find meaning and subtext in a cup of coffee.

here's the final chapter. yes, indeed, the final chapter. as the previous deluge of photo posts prove, the birds went from squab to pigeon. they practiced flapping flapping and slowly let go of the safety of the back of the slip. they learned that there's a big world out there, and they found themselves interested in it and i was proud of them for that.

i have a secret. one night, when everyone else was asleep, i peeked in on them and i'm not sure what propelled me, but i had the impulse to make contact. and, for some reason, they let me. maybe they were sleepy. or maybe they understood that i was okay. or maybe they were indulging me. it only happened that one time, but they let me pet their sweet, still yellow tufted heads. i scrubbed my hands clean afterwards, but such encounters, feathers or tiny cheeks and hands, linger for hopefully ever on the fingertips. parental imprinting, i get it.

and this feeling was on my mind when the family said goodbye to our avian counterparts and sealed up the a/c slip for good (or at least for the life of Gorilla Tape, which is pretty heavy duty). Because it turns out that with birds and nests come other things, like tiny bugs that invade households. i spotted one on the ledge near the slip one day and that's all it took to trigger a day's worth of phantom itches and general paranoia. i will admit that choosing between my human family and my bird family was a not so difficult choice. in my brainworld utopia, we exist happily together, without the bugs. in a tiny New York apartment, it's not nearly so simple, or sterile.

this pigeon thing, it's turned out to be a sweet chapter in our family history. as we continue to wonder about our final family portrait, i have no doubt that the little birds will forever influence us, remind us that our little nest is never too full, our lives too busy, our minds or hearts too closed up to make room for more life.

little sis

a little demure, no? bam in the eyes. tyra would be proud.

night 26

and poof! the yellow tufts are gone.

so i assigned genders and familial roles to the birds, based on nothing but a gut feeling. The one on the left is the protective big brother - he started puffing puffing puffing up whenever i peeked in, sometimes pulling a dad move and sitting on his lovely little sister. the more diminutive of the two, she stayed tucked into the corner of the slip. also, she kept her wing feathers crisp and spectacularly white.

as a point of comparison, the brother bird is sitting on the nest - or where a semblance of nest lay among the ever piling up bird crap. he fills up the nest in the same way his parents did way back in the egg days.

work it out little birdies

day 24

i'm not sure if you can tell from the photos, but the birds are growing at an alarming rate. as my mother-in-law noted, they started growing into their schnozes. and the truth is, those were some serious schnozes.

day 23

mom and dad can be sneaky sneaky. they start to feed them closer and closer to the edge of the a/c slip, forcing them out of their shit encrusted corner and closer to the big blue skies of Manhattan.

day 22

practicing the pigeon puff.

day 21

the little yellow tufts give them away. they stay close to the corner of the slip, cuddle up together and squeak squeak squeak.

having a hard time letting go

it's rough, being a parent. and when your children go from infant to adult in thirty days, i would imagine it's a bit of whirlwind. so i don't blame the fellow and his bird instincts to keep those big kids warm on a blustery day. i mean, a week ago this kind of thing totally worked.

day sixteen, big big bigger

Someone should tell Papa Bird those kids are getting a little big for this kind of coddling. I'm pretty sure I heard one of them squeak, "Jeez Dad, I can't breath. Seriously, can you NOT sit on me right now?! Ugh. Stop pushing. Can I use the car later?"

day fourteen, puberty

You know when you're walking through the park and there's a flight of pigeons pecking at, well, anything remotely edible, and there's that one pigeon that looks like it's been through some SERIOUS SHIT - missing the feathers on its head and neck, one wonky wing always half cocked, standing outside the group clucking away to itself? That's what two week old pigeons look like.

day ten, taking squab off the menu

My name is Maia, and I'm an Eco Parent.

An Eco Parent, for those of you who have not yet had the pleasure, is one who has chosen to focus the majority of one's parenting self-righteousness on their ability to Save the Planet via their children. Eco Parents shop consignment, because new is selfish and creates more waste. Eco Parents buy organic and local and BPA free because toxins are bad for the environment, not to mention sperm count. Eco Parents are, at times, overly vocal about their avoidance of plastic toys, quoting Swedish studies about phthalates and New Zealand reports on crib death. Eco Parents, the true, the staunch, the dedicated, use cloth diapers.

For 22 months, we have wrapped those prize winning asses in soft, bleach free cloth. This means that, over the course of those 22 months, we saved approximately 8000 diapers from an eternal life in a trash heap. It's a lot of diapers. And yes, the water to clean them and transporting them to us and all of that make an impact, it's not a perfect system, but in the long term (and with fingers crossed that alternative fuel sources - and no, McCain, I don't mean drilling in Alaska - finally get their day) we're going to leave slightly smaller of a mark. Cloth diapers were pretty easy, really. But you have to pack out the dirty ones, meaning the diaper bag gets heavier - and stinkier! - over the course of the day. And you can't throw them out, so in the heat things get pungent. This was all doable when we lived in Los Angeles, because everything could just go in the trunk and, voila!, problem solved. Here in the Big Apple, you either put the dirties in your purse or your apartment, which, purse trends and Manhattan apartments being what they are, are relatively the same size.

We gave up cloth diapers about two weeks ago. On Earth Day. There was a concession - disposable diapers in, meat out. Or mostly. Two days a week we are vegetarian and our meat consumption is on a local product only basis. After my wife concocted this genius and uncharacteristically hippy scheme, I made some sort of wise crack about how I was going to miss eating squab, and what terrible timing, all things considered.

"What do you mean you're not eating squab? What's squab?" asked my mother-in-law.

"Squab is baby pigeon." I am, of course, not only an expert on pigeons but also a die hard watcher of Top Chef.

"Oh my god, no it's not. I thought squab was something else. Like quail."

"Nope."

"Are you sure?"

I consult Wikipedia because for a second I am not sure, but still very sure, but need to prove a point.

Squab, in culinary terms, is the meat of a young, domestic pigeon. Squab for the table is about one month old, when the birds have reached adult size but cannot yet fly. It turns out that this age is good, not only because the meat is more tender but because it's much easier to hunt birds that can't elude you. Talk about fish in a barrel.

Crispy Squab with Homemade Plum Sauce

* 2 squabs, 12 to 16 ounces each, cleaned and rinsed
* 3 cups chicken stock
* 1 cup roughly chopped green onions
* 3 tablespoons minced fresh garlic
* 5 tablespoons soy sauce
* 2 tablespoons minced fresh ginger
* 2 tablespoons rice wine or dry sherry
* 2 tablespoons dark brown sugar
* 1 tablespoon honey
* Homemade Plum Sauce

- Blanch the squabs for 2 minutes in boiling water. Set aside.

- In a medium saucepan, combine the chicken stock, green onions, garlic, light and dark soy sauce, ginger, rice wine, brown sugar, honey, and salt and bring to a boil. Add the squabs and simmer uncovered for 20 minutes.

- In a medium pot heat enough peanut oil to come halfway up the sides to 350 degrees F. Carefully add the squabs and fry until the skins are crisp and golden brown, about 3 minutes. Remove and drain on paper towels.

- Mound rice in the center of 2 plates and drizzle with a small amount of the poaching liquid, if desired. Place the squabs in the center of the rice and spoon the Plum Sauce over the top of the birds. Garnish with chopped green onions. Serve hot.


If only we had stayed with those cloth diapers for two more weeks and if only I hadn't grown so attached to the little guys because, wow, it doesn't get more local than this.

make a little bird house in your soul

My brunette son does not shy away from enthusiasm. A thrilling event never ceases to amaze him, no matter how banal or repetitive it may seem to the rest of us. So you can only imagine the shrieking, running, open mouthed, hands flailing, can you fucking believe it?! response when he heard the faint squeaking of growing squab. "Birdies!! Birdies!! Birdies!! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"

And THEN imagine the tenor of response when we peered into the slip and got a gorgeous view of the tiny birds, and tiny birds only. All his limbs went stiff, his mouth in a perfect O and I thought he was going to spin on his left heel and then slowly drop to the ground and shimmy to a stop, like a quarter coming to rest on the pavement. Instead he put his little hand around my neck and we just watched those tiny fluffs until he remembered about his new trucks and got too excited to stay in my arms.

day five

They sure do grow fast. The bodies, at least. The wings seem impossibly small. But there's time - and I'm not interested in rushing it.

day two

That's the first born, looking straight at the computer. The head is sort of cocked to camera right - that pink smudge in the middle is the schnoz. The bird is sporting a hair-do circa 1989.