Swallows

We spend as much time as possible on our front porch. This is where we drink coffee, snuggle the dogs, discuss the day’s events, last night’s movie, and most importantly, work on the Sunday Times’ crossword puzzle. Out of 365 days a year, I would estimate that we spend 95% of those mornings sitting on the cot. This is due to the mild Mediterranean climate.

It is always exciting when old guests return for a visit: family, friends, dogs, and in mid-April, Wilma and Fred—the swallows.

The swallows began building their nest on our front porch in 2022—our first spring in Koukouleika. It was a delight to watch them, listen to their song, and be inspired by their industrious spirit. They worked hard to create the right mixture of dirt, twigs, and moisture, flying back and forth, back and forth. Consulting with each other on the utility wire, admiring their work. I wondered what their communications entailed: that twig is too long, or I told you we need more dirt, or maybe I love the way your wings glisten in the evening light.

That first spring, we watched them patiently attempt to build that first nest. It seemed like they were struggling a bit to get things started. They would build, and then parts of the nest would fall. Maybe they should have chosen an easier spot? It was also painful because if you happened to be sitting on the cot while they were building, you could end up with dirt, twigs, and bird poop in your hair. The bird poop in the hair was something we were all used to, but that is another story. So we moved the cot over, but then there was still poop and dirt on the porch, which I sweep multiple times a day. One morning, as we were lost in our own private nature show watching and listening to the sparrows, the idea finally occurred to us, why not put a wooden platform under the nest—give them a bit of support, and a place to catch the dirt and twigs.

It took about 20 minutes to find the right board and hammer it under the nest. When Fred and Wilma flew back, they seemed amazed at their good fortune. What just happened? How did life all of a sudden get so much easier? From that point on, the nest was built quickly, Wilma was contentedly spending time in the nest, and Fred, no longer frantically building, was now bringing food to Wilma and fortifying the nest. The chicks came, Wilma and Fred kept them well fed. When it was time for the chicks to venture out, they had a ledge to stand on, before they flew to the porch light wire a foot away, then finally, the big leap to the electrical wire.

The next spring, Wilma and Fred returned, or maybe the descendants?

I have to admit that I haven’t asked Artificial Intelligence to explain to me the lifecycle of swallows, and I don’t plan to. Some questions I don’t need to know the answers to. But if you are reading this and know all about swallows, I would love to hear about it from a real person, so send me a note, or even better, give me a call.

This version of Wilma and Fred seemed a bit healthier—less anxious. They only needed a day to make nest repairs. What do they do with all their free time now that they aren’t frantically working? Eat more? Love each other more? Play more? Think about life more? Learn from each other more? Maybe help their neighbors more?

Their descendants have no idea how lucky they are—to have parents who aren’t frantically working to build the nest, barely having time to worry about the next step of keeping their chicks well fed. These parents know, maybe instinctively, that their chicks are going to have a great start, well fed, a ledge to walk out on, a perch close by. If only all sparrows could have a ledge under their nests.

The next spring, our house was a mess due to the catastrophic flood. The swallows were confused, as was I. The porch roof was gone, and along with it the platform and their nest. Instead, they flew into the windowless house and began to build their nest inside. I kept trying to scare them away. How to explain to them that this wasn’t a permanent situation. But Fred and Wilma were persistent—they kept building. My heart was broken, and it kept breaking. The day came when the walls needed plastering, the nest was halfway built. None of the Albanian workers could bring themselves to knock down the nest. I left the house in tears; it had to be done. When I returned, the nest was gone.

Soon, the front porch roof was rebuilt, and Wilma and Fred got back to work. This time, we built them a ledge right away. When it came time to plaster and paint the front porch, we worked around the nest. The Albanian builders assured me that when swallows build their nest on your house, it is a sign of good luck. Hope so . . .

May 2025