After years of hoping for wrens to take up housekeeping in a fancy birdhouse our son had given me, just one wren arrived early this spring. I suspect it may have been a lovesick bachelor intent on attracting a mate. No moonlight serenading for this guy, however. He was an early riser — 4 a.m. to be exact. Awakened one morning by his incessant singing just outside the bedroom window, I decided to tally up the repeats of his song. At a continual rate of 10 times a minute, that meant 600 times an hour and 1,500 times in 2-1/2 hours before calling it quits.
“That was some rehearsal!” my music conductor husband said when I complained. “If only all singers were that dedicated to practice.”
I’m happy to report that a female wren was more impressed with her suitor’s singing than I was. The wrens have quietly settled down to raise a family, and I can settle down for a good night’s rest.