Caudalie Crest…

I work most weekends at a winery just down the road.

With all the rain we’ve been having this year there have been times when my shift has been very easy…after cleaning and stocking up the wine,

finding more nooks and crannies to swipe my duster across,

walking to the barn to check the bathroom situation,

giving George, the old Pyrenees, a stroke,

and scratching the head of a passing goat

I settle into bird watching.


There are three nests on the winery patio, a few weeks ago they were noisy with the cheeps of chicks crying out for food.


Mum and Dad spent all day swooping in and feeding their hungry young and then last Saturday I noticed some of them were fledging.

I’d see one perched on a motionless ceiling fan dumbstruck, unsure of what to do next, opening its mouth expectantly whenever a parental happened past.

Then they moved to the wrought iron fence.


Mum or Dad would fly in and nudge one off balance to get it flying, which it did to a nearby chair back or hanging plant.

The air traffic of several avian families was enough to keep me amused for the whole afternoon.

I mused while standing enthralled by the overhead kerfuffle of feathers:

What would we do if our babies were ready to fly the nest at 6 or 8 weeks?

Perhaps that would be good…

Except I’m eternally grateful that I’m a human and was able to spend long, rewarding, entertaining and sometimes frantic years in nurture-mode.

With grand-babies I can do it all over again, albeit on an as-needed basis.

Now where’s my glass of post shift wine?

All this activity has worn me out!


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