The first time I heard cowbirds, I looked for water. I stared into the branches of the magnolia outside our home to find the gentle waterfall.

“Mom! There’s water falling,” I called through the front door.

Mom smiled as she led me under the tree and pointed up. “That’s the cowbirds, Wynne.”

I could barely make out the dark birds mixed in the shadows and shapes of magnolia leaves. Squinting and mesmerized, I told Mom. “I love their sound.”

Mom snorted, “Yeah, well, they sound nice, but they’re not very nice birds, Wynny.” Then she led me around back. “Let’s check the birdfeeders so you can get a good look.”

I don’t recall how she explained the “not nice” behavior to me, but she used words much simpler than “obligate brood parasites.” I do remember staring at the black birds with brown heads and wondering how something so “not nice” could make such an enchanting waterfall sound. Mom pulled me close and whispered in my ear beautiful words that I’ve long forgotten, yet they linger in memory like a soft, hypnotic waterfall.

When I moved on my own and cowbirds followed, I’d often shoo them away. “Nest molesters!” I’d scream. Mom was visiting once when I did this, “Oh dear Wynne, there’s no need to be mean to them,” she scolded me in her soft way. “They can’t help it. Their survival depends on the other birds.” I became gentler with the brood parasites and focused on their waterfalls. I trusted Mom.

Some years and many waterfalls later, I told Mom I was ready to learn about my birth mother, Dierdre, the mom I had never met.

Mom was ready. She was kind. And she came with Dad and bulging folders of information. “I’ll answer every question I can and, if I can’t, I’ll help you find the answer.”

I’m glad Mom was with me when I learned about Dierdre. Mom’s arm around my shoulder grounded me, her gentle voice steadied me. Two days and three calls and we knew it was too late for me to meet Dierdre. Some people might say “She wasn’t nice,” but Mom helped me find the good things, art from her good days and photos from her family. Mom reminded me that addiction is disease and a struggle to survive.

I’m glad I already knew about cowbirds and survival when I learned how Dierdre’s cravings and habits consumed her youth and snuffed her light. I’m grateful she could choose a better nest for me.

©Pennie Nichols. All Rights Reserved. 2025.