Swaying above the wetland, the little round, cushiony nest is carefully woven between cattail stems. Several other look-alike nests have been built here too but only this one holds eggs! They’re the eggs of the marsh wren. These wrens are uncommon in our valley, but where they do occur they can be fairly conspicuous at times, especially on spring nights, when the male wren likes to sing his vesper song, described by Peterson as “reedy, gurgling, often ending in a guttural rattle.”

During the day, the wrens skulk like little mice amid the dense reeds and interwoven vegetation, peering out now and then to tease birders who “just know they are there” but can’t get a good glimpse of them.

Marsh wrens make low-pitched scold notes when they’re irritated. And they become irritated, apparently, at each other and with blackbirds that share their habitat. Only one male likes to “rule the [wetland] roost.” He builds a lot of nests and attracts a few mates, if possible. But these sweet little wrennies have what could be viewed as a Mr. Hyde side. They sneak in and destroy the eggs and nestlings of other wrens and blackbirds; they’ve even been known to eat them. But – touché – the blackbirds destroy the wrens’ eggs when the opportunity arises! So all these intermingled passerines don’t have a happy nursery among the rushes together, it seems.

Marsh wrens, despite their sometimes peevish habits, are emblems of the reedy wetlands along with croaking frogs, burbling red-winged blackbirds, stealthy rails and others that are co-dependent on this precious habitat.