On the way back from the vineyard work one afternoon I saw a pair of bluebirds hopping around one of the bluebird boxes at the end of the North Vineyard. I knew they’d made a home out of it this year — the second time I can remember in the last over 20 years. I had kept seeing them flying back and forth between the box and the woods; sometimes obviously protecting it from other birds trying to sneak into it. I walked back to my house to drop my tools off on the porch while eyeing on the male bluebird perched on the vineyard post just above their sweet home. I had my camera in my hand, and quietly started walking toward him.
Maybe around 70 feet I took the first shot. Well, it was a little too far; his figure was just a small dot in the screen. I went a little closer to take the next shot. Hmmm, still a little far away. The bluebird was, of course, watching me approaching to their box. I went another 10 feet. Maybe a little more. — How close can I get? I kept inching up while shooting him every so often. Then one moment he finally took off. He flew toward the other end of the vineyard, but swirled above the grape vines and landed on the top of another post in the middle of the vineyard. We looked at each other for a moment, then I walked away to go back to my house.