October 2014. John was blowing leaves off the front lawn. It was a cool, crisp, sunny fall day. I walked out to ask him something and noticed a movement in the grass, not a leaf, though it easily could have been one, but luckily it caught my eye. Tiny, fluffy, barely able to stand up, let alone walk or fly, it was a baby goldfinch. I picked it up (so much for not interfering with wildlife.) My maternal instincts kicked right in. The little guy's head was basically bald. There were a few stray bits of down, but he looked pathetic. I searched for a nest he might have fallen out of, but saw none. He had probably been blown about by the leaf blower. I took him to a small crabapple tree nearby and he gingerly grabbed a branch and perched, precariously weaving from side to side. I stepped back and let him be. He frantically flapped his stubby wings and promptly fell to the ground. I tried again. Same outcome. And again. He fell. What to do? It was going to be near freezing that night and dusk was fast approaching. He would freeze in the damp, frosty grass. I got a box. I filled it with vegetation, some perching sticks, thistle seeds, ants I killed, a lid with water and set him on a perch inside. I left the box near the tree, open, hoping a parent bird would somehow rescue him. I moved the box to the garage that night, and expected in the morning I would find a dead bird.
First thing in the morning, I went to the garage, bracing myself. I took a breath and looked inside. He was alert, perched on his little twig. As the sun warmed the sky, I returned him to the tree and set him on a branch. I went inside and watched through the window. He didn't fall. I ate breakfast and returned. Little Guy (as John and I came to call him) still clutched his branch, and on a nearby branch was another goldfinch fledgling, most likely a sibling, looking far more robust, with a full head of feathers, but obviously keeping his or her brother or sister company. My heart soared. During the course of the morning, two adult birds appeared on the same tree and fed the fledglings. Later that day they were all gone. I checked the yard, slowly walking through the grass and decided he had learned to fly.
During the morning I had checked the internet to find out more about baby birds that fall out of their nests. The scenario was familiar. When birds are fledging, they often end up on the ground and people mistakenly think they are hurt, abandoned, and otherwise helpless. In fact, this is a totally natural thing for fledglings to go through, and part of the process of learning to fly. I do think Little Guy was caught up in the leaves being blown and therefore under duress. But all's well that ends well. He got it together.
This morning, while sitting in m studio, two goldfinches, male and female, appeared at the thistle feeder hanging on the crabapple tree outside my window. (Yes, the same tree Little Guy had perched in.) I watched them hang on the feeder and eat, and then the male flitted to the branch closest to my window and looked at me. He sat there for quite a while. Now I know this is anthropomorphizing, but I swear, it's Little Guy. His head was patchy, (perhaps from molting as it is the time of year the males are getting their brilliant yellow feathers,) but there just seemed to be a connection. He is back, obviously with a mate, and this year they will hopefully raise one or two broods of goldfinches.