I once did something that would make a lot of people cringe. Some would call it unhygienic; others might consider it a scandal. I went ahead and did it though: I let the Barn Swallows build a nest in the porch.
     When I first got there I was told to tear down the several mud nests we found — somebody quoted an old saying, something about “Barn Swallows outside, bedbugs within.” I’d never heard this saying before and didn’t quite believe it.
     But then again, I was new to the country. The nests were empty, so I took them down. I felt a little guilty, seeing how well they were constructed, but I did take them down.
     Then next spring the Barn Swallows started building again, and, well, they’d had a whole summer to win me over and they’d done a really good job.
     We met immediately after I’d done my dirty work on the porch that first summer, when I ripped down in a few minutes what took them days or even weeks to construct. They were not shy about expressing outrage For several days I was dive-bombed every time I stepped outside.
     It’s not that I didn’t want them around. I knew Barn Swallows would help control mosquitoes, and I’d heard that their sassy personalities made them entertaining companions.
     I could soon testify that Barn Swallows are indeed bossy little know-it-alls that often perch on a wire giving lectures. Or else they seem to demonstrate just how much fun it is to fly. They are glossy little birds, with feathers once considered so cunning on a hat that the birds were threatened with extinction. It was the plight of Barn Swallows in 1886 that led to the formation of the Audubon Society.
     Their coveted feathers are dark steely blue above, cinnamon below, with a dark throat. Those long forked tails are used to great advantage in the air.
     Surpassed only be the gulls in aerial skill, Barn Swallows are considered among the best fliers in Bird World. They swoop and glide around and among the trees and buildings and each other with infinite precision and effortless grace. Their flight seems less utilitarian than a pure physical expression of joy. Often I see a big flock of swallows, wheeling around each other in the highest vault of the evening sky, gilded by the setting sun.
     Sometimes they play Barn Swallow Pile-On, a game with the object of piling as many Barn Swallows as possible into the smallest possible space. They choose a certain branch, or wire, or window ledge, and begin a calculated agglomeration. Each bird hovers uncertainly before committing to a delicate landing next to the others. One by one they alight to sit in intimate proximity.
     Their dense chattering numbers build until at last the whole group is settled, and they sit a moment altogether, a veritable crush of trembling Barn Swallows.
     Barn Swallow Pile-on seems in much the same spirit that moves people to crowd into a phone booth — there’s no reason for it, really, but it’s fun and it makes a big impression. The birds can’t sit still very long, so the pile dissolves into fluttering wings until the game begins again.
     So, having had the pleasurable company of Barn Swallows, I grew rather fond. When I saw them starting on a new nest in the porch that second spring, I checked around to see what I’d be in for if I let them stay.