We have blackbirds nesting in our garden. This morning when I went out to let my girls out of their hen house a blackbird caught my eye, he was sitting perched on the edge of one of our raised beds his beak stuffed full of dried grass. I spooked him as I walked up the path sending him careening into the laburnum bush that sits at the top of our garden. I could hear him chattering away to his mate as I re-entered the house, where the kettle had finished boiling. My first cup of tea, fabulous.
Whilest my tea steeped I stood watching out of the window and saw my little blackbird again collecting more grass for his nest. Back and forth he went industriously collecting any suitable materials that he could find.
We've been nesting here a bit, clearing out the study, painting the walls a soft green, putting up a blackout blind. We've stripped and painted an old wardrobe and had a new storage bed delivered. Not that we've put it together yet, as now there is a possibility that number 4 may need to sleep in a cot. We have my old cot in the attic. It's the cot that I, my sister, my brother then child 1,2 and 3 have all slept in. An item of furniture that I hope will become an heirloom to be passed onto my children for my grandchildren in the future. Whether they are biologically mine or not.