life

THE BOYS’RE BACK IN TOOOO-OOO-OOOWN!

October 3, 2023October 2, 2023 J.5 Comments

Not long ago, I wrote about the family of starlings that had pretty much taken over. A squawping mass of tiny kicks, punches, flung food, and babies that would walk up and demand to be fed by anything that moved (and a few things that didn’t).

While they were fun to watch, they also seemed to drive away a lot of the other birds that visited me — especially the crows. Given how much energy I’d put into building a relationship with my local crows, this bummed me out. Still, I knew that starlings aren’t forever, and it wouldn’t be long before they’d join a migratory murmuration and the yard would be peaceful once again.

At that point, I figured, I could try attracting crows again. They might not be the same family that I’d grown to love, but I knew this area was hospitable to breeding populations of crows and would easily become so again.

Anyhow, the starlings have gone on their yearly vacation. I discovered this when I woke up the other morning to big, black shadows passing over the skylight. I went to investigate, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but…

A view through a window, showing seven crows crowding around a feeder. — The view from my Handsome Assistant’s office. Not shown: The **other** six crows at the feeder on the other side of the deck.

All of the crows.
At the same time.

I knew it was the same group because they have a handful of pretty visually and behaviorally distinct individuals. They scrapped over cat kibble, raisins, nuts, and fancy organic peanut butter cereal (which is apparently a very hot commodity among corvids). I went outside to refill the feeders once they’d nearly wiped them out, and they flew off to the roof, waited for me to finish, and immediately swooped back to resume feeding.

It feels nice. As far-fetched as it seemed, there was always a nagging fear that I’d done something wrong somehow. Something to drive them away. Crows are intelligent, perceptive creatures, and I’ve heard stories of them spurning people for things like imitating the wrong crow calls. It’s good to have some confirmation that it wasn’t me — if anything, it seems like they’d been champing at the bit to get back and hang out.

It was also great to see how much they remembered. In the beginning, they’d fly off when I went outside. Things got to the point where they’d hop to the roof, at most, and wait for me to fill the feeders. Sometimes, if I was sitting down on the deck, they’d land near me to eat anyhow. Despite their hiatus, they still aren’t afraid. A couple flaps to perch on the roof, or the fence, or the shed, and they’re content to wait patiently and watch me put more food down.

A group of five crows swooping in to feed.

I missed these dorks so much. ❤

life

“hey. hey. hey where’d you go”

July 13, 2023July 6, 2023 J.3 Comments

So, my spouse and I went to an out-of-town family shindig the weekend before July 4th. It was a lot of fun — there was a ton of food, live music, and a huge crowd of interesting people to talk to (many of whom are also Garden People like me).

When I came back, the yard was silent. My heart dropped into my stomach.

Was it because I wasn’t there to keep the food and water replenished? Was it the fireworks? Had someone gotten injured or killed, scaring the whole murder away?
Did something happen to Boink?

I put fresh water and the usual mix of food (peanut butter cereal, cat kibble, dried bugs, and berries) out, but all I got was a clamorous mob of starlings.

(Apparently a group of starlings can be called an “affliction,” which sounds about right. I love all of the birds that come to my home, but most of these are, to put it bluntly, invasive shrieking dickheads who throw things.)

A day went by, then another. I lost sleep and felt my urge to write or paint completely sapped. So much of my art is inspired by these magnificent little weirdos, I hated the idea of working on a painted bird when the real ones had disappeared.

Then this happened.

A crow, head cocked, peers through a bathroom window. — “hey, you there? you guys back n- oh, you poopin?”

The crows returned by having this guy rock up to the bathroom window (please ignore the spots on the glass — the rain and pollen have fingerpainted everything) and stare inside. They twisted their head from one side to the other, very deliberately peering in. If they had hands, they probably would’ve cupped them around their eyes to see better.

It was funny, but, in retrospect, also somewhat concerning. Did they watch us leave? Did they send someone to stare into our house every day to see if we were back yet? There are so many windows, you guys, why did they pick the bathroom?!

Anyhow, the big maple tree is once again filled with raucous caws and shiny black birds. I’ve seen Magni and Muse, and even Boink has once again taken up his position on top of the shed. (I have no idea where — or how, for that matter — he went for several days at a time. I’m just glad he’s back.)

It does my heart good to see them. I just kind of wish they’d maybe peeked in the kitchen instead.

life

This is Boink.

July 10, 2023July 6, 2023 J.Leave a comment

Crows are sleek, beautiful, intelligent creatures.

And then there’s Boink.

Boink looks like he was made by Jim Henson with spare parts and a strict time limit. He looks like what birds would look like in the Fraggle universe.

Boink is not injured, but has somehow managed to damage all of the flight feathers on one wing and half of his tail. He can fly, but it’s the flight a bird whose wings have been clipped — just enough to keep from falling, until his flight feathers grow back in. His main means of locomotion is to hop and scramble in a way that even the best foley artist would have difficult putting a sound to.

A small, scruffy crow gazes pensively through slats in a deck railing. — Boink having a small philosophical moment.

He spends most of the day hanging out on the railing by my back door. When I open it, he jumps up and… well, boinks his way across the deck to the shed. He hops on the roof, bops his way to the other side, and ducks down with his little head sticking up like a periscope.

If I look at him, he ducks.

If I pretend to close the door, he pokes his head up again.

If I go back inside, he moves back to the railing to sit.

Boink is the scruffiest wild animal that I’ve ever seen. He is the prime specimen of scrunginess. An absolute scrunglemuppet. He is Mother Nature’s silliest fool and I love him very much.

He doesn’t seem to have trouble avoiding predators, somehow — when he needs to hide, he hides behind the other shed, or climbs up the big apple tree. It makes me grateful that I didn’t prune it as much as I should have, because the lowermost branches give Boink something to hop onto and make his way up.

(I don’t even really know if he’s a he. In my defense, I don’t think Boink does either.)

I think that Boink may have a criminal record. He doesn’t seem to have a mate to help take care of him, and the other crows push him away from the feeders. I sneak extra portions of food into places I know he can reach easily and put extra fruit and dried bugs to make up for the things he may not be able to forage for himself.

A small, scruffy crow sitting on a deck railing in the rain. — “Hoh. Kibble for Boink? No! Cereals for Boink? No! Every time, they bully Boink.”

The other crows also don’t seem to have a problem with leaving Boink behind, too. Is he Outlaw Boink? Has he been ostracized for crimes, or do they just leave him because they know he’s safe, with his water dish and his food stashes and his shed roof?

I don’t know what Boink did, or what happened to him. He sits on my deck like a tiny, questionably useful gargoyle. He is my very special boy and his presence is delightful.

Blog · life · Plants and Herbs

Come. Let us frolic among the violets and- upset bird noises

April 20, 2022April 17, 2022 J.1 Comment

I struggle with setting up and changing routines. I thrive with structure, though it’s very difficult for me to adhere to, and I don’t like having to move things around. This isn’t to say I don’t like spontaneity — but I need to schedule opportunities for spontaneity around the stuff I gotta do. Maybe it’s my Virgoan tendencies, maybe it’s the unmedicated ADHD and the fact that I have the executive function of a brine shrimp. Who knows!

A vase of flowers and jar of chalk next to an open day planner. — You want spontaneity? I can be spontaneous for four hours next Thursday.

Anyhow, all of this is a roundabout way of explaining how my partner and I went to frolic with the polycorns and run amongst the brain trees. See, we try to hit up farmers’ markets whenever feasible. This is partially out of a desire to shop local, our duty to support our community, the need to make sure the market keeps happening in our city, and also because the food is way better (and generally cheaper) than our other options here.

A head of lettuce growing from the ground. — A fresh lettuce with the roots still on absolutely beats the metaphorical balls off of an anemic head of iceberg, and I do not apologize to anyone.

There’s only one problem — the market we usually visit is open on Sunday, and we had a Thing scheduled for that day. So, we roused ourselves on Saturday to go track down another farmers’ market, which meant that the morning I usually spend sleeping in (and being slept on, in turn, by a small orange cat), I instead spent buying produce, cheese, a batch of really kickass empanadas, et al.

This meant that both partner and I were bright eyed and bushy tailed, with a whole afternoon ahead of us and nothing to do with it. I suggested a walk, so we went to find an entrance to this pretty little local trail.

As it turns out? It was a really good idea.

We didn’t walk very far, but there wasn’t a need to. The area we found was carpeted with violets, and a little flowering dogwood had burst into a riot of bright pink blooms. There was even what may have been an apple tree nearby — it’s hard to tell, because a lot of that branch of Rosaceae look similar when they flower — perfuming the air with a bright, sweet scent. Some deer had evidently paused there, leaving tracks in the soft, damp sand.

A close up of five-petaled white flowers on a tree, possibly apple blossoms.

Some new leaves on a pink flowering dogwood tree.

A close up of some sweet white violet flowers.

A flat white mushroom clinging to the bark of a fallen tree.

The trail was full of dogs, too, from an adorable miniature schnauzer, to a huge, sleek, jet-black pit bull. (His ears were cropped, and he crossed the little footbridge before his owners did. When I first saw him, a tiny caveman part of my mind warned that I might somehow be looking at a panther. I’d say this is silly and ridiculous, but this is also a world where the Tiger King exists and zebras just kind of wandered around the DC area for a while.)

My partner and I looked for four-leaf clovers between the sweet purple and white violets, poked around the shore of the nearby creek, and picked up litter along the trail.

A faded, wet, beaten-up sign saying "Love thy neighbor, no exceptions. Black lives matter. God is love. LGBTQ+ people are of sacred worth." — Even the litter here is extremely wholesome.

Then, in the midst of this sweet, flowery idyll, I heard what could only be described as the sound of someone trying to feed an uncooperative bagpipe into a garbage disposal. There was a crashing noise, the crunch and rustle of leaves, and a pair of shapes darting through the trees.

Well, one was darting. One was kind of… scramble-flailing? Whatever it was, it wasn’t flying and it wasn’t falling, but it looked extremely uncomfortable.

A large crow had chased a falcon to the end of his family’s territory, and was in the process of escorting the interloper out (with violence). I’d read about crows doing this, had even seen videos of it, but nothing compared to the sight of that massive, almost eerily silent corvid turning an entire-ass raptor into a crying mess.

Now, I had a front row seat. I was fortunate enough to be standing right where there was a break in the trees, which gave me a really good view of the whole situation. It happened too fast for me to record any of it, though it had the same kind of weird time-dilation you experience watching a car crash. It was an amazing experience, though, and I felt honored to have been privy to it.
It was also the most absolutely metal thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

(The falcon and crow were fine in the end, from what I could see. The falcon beat a very embarrassed retreat, and the crow went back to survey his spot.)

Even in a flowery park, nature is hardcore.

Now I’m gonna go have empanadas. (They are spinach and cheese.)
Have a good day!