welcome, baby robins

This is the second summer I've been surprised by the baby robins. It's because they are almost the same size as their mommies and daddies by the time we realize what exactly we are seeing in the back orchard or the front yard. They're speckled brown on their breasts and backs, though, and they have a certain tentative quality about them. Often you see them just standing there, looking around vacantly, waiting to be fed. They don't seem to be entirely sure what this is all about. It's endearing.

Meanwhile the parent -- mother or father, I don't know which -- is nearby, lovingly digging up worms and hopping over and direct-delivering them into the mouth of the baby who doesn't look much like a baby. The "little" one follows its parent around, and makes the most remarkable sounds, like a tiny radio on the fritz, with all kinds of random screeches and static and buzzing. When there are two or three babies in the yard all hopping desperately after their mothers or fathers and going on like that you can hardly hear yourself think.
This one was making a huge racket yesterday afternoon, almost on the front porch. Its mother or father was half-way across the yard, so maybe it was feeling lost and anxious. Or maybe it was just yelling "I want my dinner!" Or "Wow, I've never seen so much grass!" I had to take the picture through the screen door and it isn't very clear. But I think you can see its speckles if you look hard, and you can see that, really, it doesn't have a clue.