There is a family growing up before our eyes on top of our front porch light fixture. They chose an attractive mission-style, hanging lamp on which to build their home.

“Influential American architect Philip Johnson once mused, “All architecture is shelter; all great architecture is the design of space that contains, cuddles, exalts, or stimulates the persons in that space.” So begins the book Architecture by Birds and Insects by friend and artist Peggy MacNamara. Peggy’s breathtaking watercolor paintings portray the intricate assemblage we call a nest. The materials are chosen for their durability and yet it is their beauty and structure we admire.

 

The babies that inhabit this little home on our porch have grown to where I can’t always tell mother from child. The parents are frantically feeding this crew who pop up with a wide open beaks and high-pitched tweets. We expect they will soon be on their way.   The nest appears crowded, as if big teens have moved in with their gym shoes all over the hallway. “What is for dinner, mom?” And “Can I have the car?” I hear it in their voices; they are ready for that day.

 

Our own little fledgling, Campbell Patrick Comer was here visiting for the 4^th of July. His doting parents attended to his every need, as did all members of the family and guests. He shared his spot in the back seat of the car with his tia, Emma. They arrived at the cabin and it was our first time at full capacity. Our nest held. The plans that were lovely on paper came to life as people filled the space and quiet sleep, and private spaces were enjoyed. The family rejoiced together in a beautiful, comfortable space. We are grateful for those planners and builders who guided us in our vision and created a home from a small seed of an idea. We hope it is a legacy for generations to come, to enjoy time on a lake with your family.

 

For every Bird a Nest—

Wherefore in timid quest

Some little Wren goes seeking round—

Wherefore when boughs are free—

Households in every tree—

Pilgrim be found?

Perhaps a home too high—

Ah Aristocracy!

The little Wren desires—

Perhaps of twig so fine—

Of twine e’en superfine,

Her pride aspires—

The Lark is not ashamed

To build upon the ground

Her modest house—

Yet who of all the throng

Dancing around the sun

Does so rejoice?

Emily Dickinson