Photo by Patrick Emerson*
The full moon is pregnant with foreboding interpretations, from the legendary werewolves who are supposed to transform under its malevolently shining face to a recent article about November’s upcoming full “supermoon” that faux-reassures, “despite all the rumors… there is no evidence linking supermoons to natural disasters.”
If you look at a full moon and shiver, you aren’t alone—but you are a bit of a mystery. In humanity’s past, the full moon should have been the safest time of the month, since our nocturnal predators tend to attack most on dark nights. The new moon should be spooky, as your hindbrain—unaware that you no longer live on the African savannah (unless you do!)—looks out for predators slinking in the shadows. This is presumably why the fear of darkness is such a common and instinctual one. But the full moon is bright: it should be comforting.
In the spring of 2015, a male House Wren and his mate built their nest inside a nestbox near a honeysuckle. His mate laid her eggs and dutifully incubated them. Then, one morning— cheep! cheep! High-pitched calls and gaping red mouths cried hungry, daddy! and the male wren was off in a paternal tizzy, collecting bugs and delivering them to his new offspring.
It was, maybe, odd that his new offspring weren’t in the nest that he had built. It was, maybe, odd that other, larger birds were also feeding his babies. It might even have been called odd that his mate was still sitting in their nest, atop whole and silent eggs. But— cheep! No time for that! The chicks were hungry!
What this male House Wren was doing, no doubt to the profound irritation of his mate, was feeding the offspring of a pair of Northern Cardinals who had nested in the honeysuckle near his nestbox.