The addition to our family of two great grandchildren came about when our granddaughter Jami married Eric. Alyssa, 9, and Danielle, 7, came to our family celebration in April. With their newfound second cousins they occupied their time in play and after awhile Danielle veered from the group. She became intent on catching a robin.

She wanted a nest for when her chase proved fruitful and engaged her Uncle Ken in weaving pine needles for this very necessary item. Being inexperienced in this venture Ken didn't achieve his goal and Danielle, also for lack of experience didn't accomplish her mission.

Late in May when normality returned to our abode a pair of robins worked diligently with mud and dry grass to anchor their nest in the crook of a honeysuckle bush located near our back door. I wrote a note to the girls to tell them about the robin's activity, as it's possible that they are ones that Danielle had tried so hard to catch.

Other than flights in and out of the bush nothing changed until one day I heard baby birdcalls. Not wanting to alarm the parents I bided my time before I investigated and saw three little heads resting on the nests rim. In the evening I watched the parents wage a tug-of-war with night crawlers. Robin pull, worm pull, robin pull, worm refused to relent. One robin pulled so hard its tail lay flat on the lawn, and won the battle with food for the babies.

All wildlife that take up residence in our garden are named and Mr. & Mrs. Ae. Robin's triplets are Bea, Cie and Dee. I waited patiently for the triplet's appearance on the pathway and note the date they made their first wobbly flight with the intention of sending Alyssa and Danielle a report of their progress.

My expectations of these events were dashed when the activity in and out of the nest ceased. I investigated and came face to face with an empty nest. "The little blighters sis the moonlight flit," I reported to my husband, "they left without a goodbye or giving us a forwarding address."

"It's not unusual for the pair to come back to their nest to hatch another brood," were his words of consolation.

A week has lapsed since I they vacated the seclusion of their home and this morning I encountered the young ones on the garden fence. I told my husband about baby robins with spotted breasts, rather like the thrush, and who have yet learned to seek worms, though they are equal in size to their parents. They sat, demanding to be fed by the adults who foraged for food to pop into their ever-open mouths.

The nest will stay on the chance Mr. & Mrs. Ae. Robin will return, and if by fall it's still in the crook of the bush, I'll remove it to send to the girls. The intricacy of the nest will interest our new great granddaughters, and will give their Uncle Ken an opportunity to study the craft of nest weaving.