As if responding to what I wrote just yesterday, Ziki has been shouting this morning, loudly, trilling and gargling and sounding reassuringly crow. He seems delighted by the sounds ( which I've tried to record on my phone) but has now turned his attention to brisk cleaning, and clearly, cleaning and shouting are not simultaneous activities.
It's a bit dark to clean the doves but clean them I must. I shall don the warm layers and wellies and do it, soon.
I've been thinking, since his death, about John Updike's story 'Pigeon Feathers', a story of a boy's realisation of mortality. Updike was a wonderful writer, a turner of sentences as polished, as easy and perfect and admirable as any ever written. I liked his short stories particularly-when there was an Updike story in my new copy of 'The New Yorker' I'd put off reading it, savouring the pleasure of the anticipation of the sparks of recognition, the unique truth of so much of what he wrote of the nature of living. When I wanted to quote a few words of his poetry in 'Corvus' I sought permission to do so, applying to the appropriate Harvard library which holds the right to his works. I was told to write to him, that 'Mr Updike doesn't do e-mail.' I did write, but heard nothing-he had things on his mind more important than a pile of minor requests such as mine-but I found the very insignificant thread of contact thrilling, the only way I'd express admiration, or perhaps thanks.
2 comments:
I have been reading Corvus in very different circumstances to cold winter snow, sitting on my back verandah at the junction of the Murray and Darling Rivers, Australia, at least on slightly cooler days (ie less than 35C, more than that and it's under the air-conditioner). As I read I'm surrounded by corvids who've adopted me over the few months as a reliable supply of food in the drought: a family of Australian magpies (2A, 4J) and a family of pied butcherbirds (2A 2J). The butcher birds came first - at least the juveniles, who were literally eating out of my hand in a week or so; it took the adults much longer to relax. Then the maggies barged in, bigger and more aggro but more nervous (so by moving judiciously I can hold them at bay while the butcher birds eat). The behaviour of the juveniles is totally different in the two species - young butcher birds are entreprenureal, young maggies just sit and whinge.
My verandah is just a concrete floor with iron roof, along the back of the house. The back yard (ca 20m of bare clay) is shaded by a dozen big red gums on the property boundary (no fence) which form a riparian woodland along a billabong (ox bow) of the river. The line of trees is a bird superhighway, no doubt because it provides protection: all kinds of birds fly beneath the branches at high speed. The ones that stop in my backyard are the same kinds as those you live with - pigeons, parrots (rosellas), and corvids - but not crows or ravens - they're about (this is open pastureland - sheep - away from the rivers) but have never deigned to stop.
The magpies and butcherbirds have tamed me well. One or two butcherbirds will sit on a table just outside the kitchen door and wait till I produce the goods - I can go in and out busy with other things, and they'll just wait. As soon as the food appears, the maggies swoop in, and recently a single kookabuura has also appeared - bigger than the others, it just moves to the top of the queue. I often eat my lunch, reading, while they have theirs. They always want mine - will jump on the old sofa next to me, try and perch on the newspaper or book I'm holding. Recently one young magpie has decided my toes (in sandals) look good to eat so I have to cover my feet.
Magpies and butcherbirds have the most beautiful carolling songs of any Australian birds. They never sing or call before food (they have a whole language of calls) but often afterwards I will be serenaded for up to 30 minutes, the singing bird sitting less than a metre away. Magic.
Have you ever come across the poem 'Tasmanian Magpies' by AD Hope? 'the same pure grace-notes, the same exquisite trill, the lilt, the liquid ease'? Email me for a copy.
Jeannette - what a vivid description of 'your' birds! And what an oasis you have provided for them.
My parents have a similar situation at their house (in Scotland) where they have chaffinches, a great tit, a robin and a dunnock all feeding out of the hand (or waiting on a branch to be fed from fingers!) - no drought here, just pure greed/laziness. As with your birds, they mob us when we sit out for lunch. The two male chaffinches (Chuffy and Boss Chuff) are particularly tame and will stay on the table next to us even when not feeding. If we don't lose patience, they can sometimes stay on the hand, after exhausting what's on it, for 10 min or so. My Dad thinks the Chuffs are 'enigmatic'.
Loved your comment!
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