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Nature unfolds right in your own backyard and tells some soap opera-like stories if you take the time to look and listen. I have the time if no other qualifications as a naturalist.

This is one of those stories, about five small birds whose early summer world centered on a begonia plant in a hanging basket on my covered patio. Before it was over, love, birth, a fickle heart, and death all came into play.

The blossoming begonia first attracted two shy adults, a brownish male with a red head and his plainer, speckled-brown mate. Despite their skittishness they decided to set up housekeeping not 10 feet from where I spend a lot of time sitting in the shade.

My Beginner’s Guide to Birds (underline “beginner’s”) had only one page that approached their description. They looked and acted much like the book’s House Finch, and it was noted that this bird often nested in hanging planters. So let’s go with the Finch Family.

From the outset, Mrs. Finch appeared to be in control. She flitted in and out of the begonia with dried grass and similar nest-building material while the Mr. Finch parked his brighter head of feathers on the fence and watched. Perhaps he was standing guard. He’d warble a few notes every once in a while but never make a move toward homebuilding.

The nesting cycle progressed and Mrs. Finch spent more time inside the begonia. I tried not to be disturbing although the plant did need water over a prolonged dry and hot period. I’d carefully pour a plastic soda bottle of water on the plant when the momma seemed to be away from her eggs.

There would be days when I never saw Daddy Finch. Meanwhile, his brooding mate stayed close by or on the nest. In a couple of weeks there were two babies beeping to be fed and the mother had to step up her come-and-go pace. I couldn’t tell if she provided mouths-full of small seeds or regurgitated, but the youngsters thrived and began to feather out and flutter about the nest.

About then, the redheaded male showed up to do some more watching. Brazenly, he brought a girlfriend with him. She was slightly sleeker-looking than Mother Finch but then she obviously hadn’t been birthing and feeding two offspring.

For whatever reason, Mr. Finch and his date became frequent visitors. Sometimes the three adults would sing together briefly, perched like friends on the close-by fence before Mrs. Finch had to get back to work.

But the begonia plant was off-limits to him and his girlfriend. Anytime they approached the nest, Mrs. Finch would run them off, as if saying to her wayward mate, “OK, you’ve found someone new, but keep that hussy away from my babies!”

The youngsters grew rapidly, put on feathers and soon appeared to be about as large as the mother who still was feeding them. Her visits to the nest became less frequent. Perhaps she was sending them a signal that it was time to grow up.

One morning both fledglings were gone. A day later, I found one dead at the opposite end of the yard, its head severely wounded. I suspected a grackle or a squirrel.

Later, I saw Mrs. Finch on the fence with a fluffier companion that I’m pretty sure was the other sibling. I’d guess that a 50 percent survival rate probably is average or better.

Mr. Finch returned a couple of times, too, without the girlfriend. And Mrs. Finch continues to revisit the begonia from time to time – almost as if trying to decide, as the bird book says she might, if she has it in her to go through the birth cycle a second time this season.

Maybe it depends on Mr. Finch’s attitude about helping around the house more and giving up that love triangle.

Vince Reedy, now retired, is a former managing editor and associate editor of the Advocate. Leave him a message at 361-580-6301 or by e-mail at vreedy@sbcglobal.net, or comment on this column at www.VictoriaAdvocate.com.