Belgian weather and other natural disasters
Apparently it was my birthday yesterday. I always forget, like clockwork and evvery single year. Not even sure how old I’m supposed to be now, somewhere between slightly stale sponge cake and still decent patisserie. Let’s not dig too deep for my feelings shall we..
The day before, the sun made a rare guest appearance. Naturally, in Belgium, this means the weather gods immediately start planning a week of monsoon chaos. One good day? That’s enough joy so just throw in some 70 km/h wind gusts just to remind you who’s boss. I swear, Belgians must have evolved into weather-adaptive creatures. Otherwise, I can’t explain the sheer amount of seasonal clothing taking up 90% of my closet space (not complaining at all)
So there I was, flying around the garden before the floodgates opened, just planted a few things. Waged my ongoing war against ivy (which I can’t get rid of and might possibly be immortal). And later that night, I curled up with a series before bed, because I find TV painfully boring but also oddly effective at knocking me out. We’re watching The Last of Us now, and somehow my brain decided that ivy was basically nature’s version of cordyceps. I know. My imagination has a mind of its own
Two beaks and a whole lot of hope
Anyway, in one of the ivy-infested trees, I spotted a nest. And I thought it was empty. Spoiler: it wasn’t. Two baby birds were curled up, shivering between their lifeless nestmates. We called a wildlife rescue and they didn’t sugarcoat it, blackbirds this young rarely survive without their parents.
So what did I do for my birthday?
I became a bird mum.
We fed two tiny beaks every 30 minutes. Warmed them in our hands for hours. Gave them a makeshift home in a towel-lined box. And slowly, those cold little bodies started to come back to life.
Now? They’re growing. Eating like tiny feathery vacuum cleaners. They chirp. They wobble. They climb our arms. They even try to fly, awkwardly and with more enthusiasm than grace. My daughter turned this into her personal project, and honestly? She’s nailing it. With love, patience, and the kind of focus only kids can have when animals are involved.
Lessons from two little fighters
There’s something humbling about watching creatures so small fight to stay alive. You find yourself trying to show them how to fly—flapping your arms like a ridiculous chicken, and realize you have absolutely no clue what you’re doing. But you do it anyway. Because that’s what we do when we care.
Those are unexpected birthdays, with ivy, chaos, and early morning feedings. Celebrating small victories and soft feathers and the magic of teamwork between a mum and her daughter
with love from a mother who can’t teach birds to fly but flaps her arms anyway, just in case it helps