This year’s resident robin is a newcomer. I know they all look alike in the books, but this gal is a little bigger than her great-aunts who have set up residence here in the past. I named one Rosie a few years ago, and I’m pretty sure she returned for at least one other stay in our maternity word.

But this year’s robin is a big broad. She seems taller than average, and therefore longer. Curious about those factoids, I checked her out on Robins-R-Us.com. I learned the average North American robin is nine to ten inches long and weighs about 2.7 ounces.

Ounces? I thought they would at least weigh a pound apiece, maybe a bit more, but ounces? This bird is a foot long, so I named her Xena, warrior princess.

Lest you think that being an avian amazon is enough to succeed in birdland, I should add that this Xena is the winged equivalent of a dumb blonde. No joke. She built her nest on the covered porch — atop a ceiling fan blade.

Xena’s predecessors always built in the nook above the porch curtains or on the top shelf of our resident baker’s rack. I watch their industrious construction each year, and look forward to those little pairs of open beaks begging to be filled. I’m not so sure we’re going to get the same sideshow this year.

The porch ceiling fan was one of our best ideas a few years back. Its soft breezes are welcome during July’s family cocktail hour. And working in the garden on a warm day has been reduced to: work 20 minutes, sit under the fan for 10 minutes. Repeat as needed.

Maybe we unintentionally lured Xena to the wrong spot. The white five-bladed fan was tucked up close to the porch’s white ceiling. Previous nesters probably never noticed it, but last summer, we painted the ceiling dark green. Now the white fan pops out against the green, and I bet that birdbrain Xena, said to herself, “That tight wedge shape looks like a perfect home for my little brood.” I should have told her, “Not so fast, Wormbreath.”

The first day I spotted the nest, directly above my kitchen sink window, it was already half-built. All I was thinking was that we wouldn’t be able to use the fan for about a month or six weeks, depending on when Xena’s kids launched. I have some friends who would climb up there immediately, remove the nest and trash it. “Too messy,” they’d say.

Not me. I’m a softy. Yearly, I watch each robin’s hard work in amazement, and I could never rip Xena’s home out from under her. I needn’t have worried. The mother of instinct, fickle Momma Nature, took care of the nest’s destruction.

We had a very windy day last week — gusts up to 40 mph. As I was loading the dishwasher, I noticed tree branches waving wildly. Then the wind caught the fan, it moved, and began a slow rotation. “NO, NO!” I yelled from the inside, running to the porch as the fan accelerated to a full whip-around. I stood helpless, watching Xena’s nest coming apart with each rotation, spewing all over the porch and furniture. The other blades were catching straw, twigs and ribbons of dead vegetation. I thought of stopping the blades with my hands, but realized I couldn’t stand there through a windy afternoon taming a runaway ceiling fan. I was heartbroken for Xena.

This devastation was akin to what can happen to a homebuilder on Cape Fear. Imagine: You set the foundation, get the framing up, then the roof rafters, and along comes Hurricane Egbert. Before the demolition is over, your roofline is gone, the framing is mostly pickup sticks, and there’s trash everywhere. After the horror and disbelief at your bad luck, you do what everyone does – you begin again.

When the winds finally moved on, Xena’s natural instincts kicked in. I never saw her shrug her wings, but I did see her begin again

It has taken her about five days to collect the mess and install it in a new location, on the top shelf of the baker’s rack.

All the fan blades dripping with nest mess were stripped clean. She conscientiously reused every raw material, cleaning the porch as she went. She has almost trimmed it out with the necessary mud pack. I have no idea how they carry the mud, but I’m in awe of her thoroughness and dedication.

Xena made an initial error in judgment, but she has proven that even with a major setback, perseverance triumphs. She’s not such a dumb cluck after all.

Marcy O’Brien lives in Warren with her husband, Richard, and Finian, their psychotic Maine Coon cat. Marcy can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com