Greetings, my fellow port swillers and good news!

Regular friends of the decanter will recall ol’ Robbo’s post of t’other day about the pair of bluebirds that seemed to have taken up residence in the birdhouse attached to the porch support that is soon to be done away with and his fretting over what to do about it?

Well, this past weekend, I noticed that said bluebirds did not seem to be hanging around anymore.  Perhaps they reckoned the neighborhood a wee bit too crowded, as I had surmised.  

Instead, I spotted a Carolina wren messing about in the birdhouse and its immediate environs.  (As an aside, I positively adore wrens for their perky, chipper demeanor and liquid song.)

Late on Sunday, as I fired up the Weber in preparation for grilling some burgers, I wandered up to the birdhouse – which plainly had a nest in it – and gently tapped on the side with a long stick.

Nothing happened.

I tapped again, somewhat more vigorously.

Still, nothing happened.

I gave the house a fairly substantial whack with the flat of the weapon. 

It maintained its obstinate passivity.

Finally, I unhooked the house from teh pillar and peered in.

The nest, based on the dry, crackly state of its component twigs, obviously was not fresh, but was of one or more years’ vintage.  Furthermore, there was nothing in it.  Not a hint of recent occupation.

I heaved a sigh of relief over having dodged an ugly conflict and quickly moved the birdhouse to a quiet corner of the fence.  

There is much to be said for problems that take care of themselves.