Little Lesser Black-backed Gull

I was not ready for you to leave. And yet, of course it was time for you to go. We were there the evening when your parents began building a nest atop a chimney on the rooftop of our neighbours. Humans are fairly adaptable, but I’d argue that you Lesser Black-backed Gulls are more so. You have turned chimneys and rooftops into your cliffside nesting site and learned to circle certain parts of the city in the early morning hours to get a rogue chip from Edinburgh’s underbelly.

First, your parents decided upon the location. Everyday thereafter sticks and other nest building materials were carried and formed into what we suspected was a pretty good nest. We couldn’t see the whole of it from our flat window, just the edge. We would laugh when your parents, upon returning to the nest would do a little tippy-tap dance before sitting. What started as an empty nest we assumed was filled with eggs. Again, we couldn’t quite see. We had to leave for a bit of travel and hoped everything would be OK with your family, as if our bearing witness had anything to do with the matter. When we returned there you sat upon the chimney. A fluffy little thing. For a while you had a sibling. But then they were gone. We didn’t want to ask what happened. You grew stronger every day on that little chimney. You’d walk right out to the edge, making our hearts skip a beat for fear you would fall. Even your parents seemed to want you to stay still for a bit. One morning after a storm you were gone. We thought the worst. ‘That’s what happens in nature, I guess.’ And while I tried to go about my days, I could not help but feel a sadness for the work your parents did and for the little life you led.

A week went by, and we kept seeing your parents and the rest of the colony perched on the chimneys, laughing out with their cries. I assumed it was a mourning of sorts. Funny how we create storylines based on observation. It was during dinner one night where my partner pointed in earnest at the roof. And there you were! Sliding along the shingles where we discovered you had ended up- down in the rooftop area above the neighbours’ bay windows. Your body was too small for us to see. But there you remained for the next few weeks. Your parents would come feed you, the rest of the colony would stand and watch. And one week, we could see your head poke above the rooftop ledge, as you hopped up and down to be fed. The next week we saw you stick your head out between the roof ledge and the gutter. We saw you walking along the gutter. Back and forth you hesitantly walked, one grey leg slipping every now and again as you turned to change direction. I would let out an audible gasp each time, unable to look away.

After yet another storm, we spotted you down one house. Perhaps you were tired of the other rooftop, perhaps you wanted to test your ability to balance on the edge by walking from one roof to the other. You were stronger and you started to flap your wings. At first it was like you just noticed you had them. Then you took to trying to get some air underneath them. We knew then you’d be leaving soon. That’s what our book said: ‘40 days to fledge.’ Finally, it happened! I had just sat down to lunch and across my window I saw you alighting from the roof down to the ground. You flapped about for a very stressful (for us) hour, exploring this new perspective, dodging pedestrians, cars, dogs. All the while your colony flew above watching, but giving you space to take risks. You took one big flight to get back onto the rooftop nest, but you missed. You weren’t quite strong enough to get that high up. But you found another landing, out of our eyesight. We could still hear your calls and your colony still flew about so we knew you were ok. One night in bed I heard your call, and you flew right by my bedroom window. Alighting once more from a rooftop. You became a strong flier and for the remainder of the summer I would occasionally spot you or hear your distinctive juvenile call before you flew off for the season.

This was a small part of my life- just eight weeks out of my whole life. For you it was your entire childhood. Any yet, the impression you made upon me is far greater than what I made (if any) upon you. Timelines are funny like that, able to change based on perspective. Now your family is back for a new nesting season. Sitting on various chimneys, throwing their head back in cackly calls. Are you there too? Am I ready to bear witness to this event again? I am beginning to like this way of telling time. Never mind what the clocks say, the mewing of the gulls outside tell me it’s Lesser Black-backed Gull Season.