Home.

A housewren has made her home in the K-Mart wreath on my front door. The nest is diminutive, perhaps the size of an eggcup. The three eggs that she laid, each the size of a jelly bean, have hatched, producing three wee babies. One fell from the nest this morning. I pulled on my workgloves and tucked her back in as best I could and said a little prayer for her. I hope that it isn't true that mother birds won't return to fledglings who've been handled by humans. My neighbor says that it's an old wives' tale and that he's returned thrush babies to their nests bare-handed.

I felt privileged when the family moved in. I locked the front door for good, hauling toddler, groceries, luggage, and anything else that must be lugged to and from the car around the back of the house to the side door. It seems that it must be good luck to have a bird live on your front door.

I've washed my hands of grueling yardwork until summer passes. I've done quite a bit to improve the landscape, though. I expanded the two front flower beds, planting roses, lilies, dahlias, violets, and lamb's ear, among other things. I have a gardenia shrub on either side of the front door. I also dug a new flowerbed along the side of the house and planted a snowdrift crabapple, a chaste tree, a rosebush, and a few other flowers. Dad came over and took down the unsightly fir tree that darkened the front yard. In the fall I'm going to plant several smaller ornamental trees to create shade and lend some privacy.

I like that home can be transformational. It doesn't have to be stagnant.