Crows voice a ruckus
in the howling heat of a scorching summer
On my patio chair I am wrapped tightly in a hot blanket of still, smoky air after spending my day working from the couch. My living room hovers in the mid-70s for most of the day, cooled by upstairs window unit A/C and careful midmorning closing of windows and curtains. An oscillating fan keeps the air moving all the time. It is pleasant enough but I tire of the same view and I want to visit our menagerie of animal neighbors. Each morning I sit outside with my coffee and enjoy the hell out of them. This might be the Northside, but it’s got wildlife. Afternoons I venture back outside in the 100º and think how to live better in the world with my non-human friends.
This morning a raccoon family stopped by. They paused for a group photo near the fence on the far edge of the courtyard. The video I made following the image below shows the mama leading the way and three adorable kits rambunctiously tagging along. When she reaches the Yard Poplar she posts up behind it and eyeballs me (and Gracie, I’m sure) carefully for several seconds before taking off with babes in tow for the breakfast buffet in the alley.
My spider friend has built and rebuilt a web this summer. It’s just over my left shoulder as I sit in the blue chair. Daytimes she snoozes in the top edge of the windowpane with one leg monitoring a radius thread should it suddenly jangle with a tasty capture. Evenings she slides down the filaments to center her body on her gorgeous web and wait. This morning I glanced up in time to watch her pull herself back to her slumbering chamber, a movement so graceful it hints at the divine. About eight feet above her, a sister runs another web operation on the same timeline and I watch her, too, ascend effortlessly to her hiding place behind the green shutter.
I had a moment last summer with a crow and now I feel like they’re everywhere in my consciousness. All this spring and summer I have cultivated a friendship with a neighborhood crow. I call him Maistoo, the Blackfoot word for crow, because when I first noticed him, I’d been working closely with my language partners in Browning and the name seemed appropriate. Maistoo has a misplaced feather that marks him out from the rest, and I can tell you this: he likes peanuts but scoffs at raisins. Earlier this summer he didn’t come around for a bit, and now I know why. He’s got a family. Mornings, he, his woman and their three size-large fledglings swoop over the rooftops in in feathery loops, voicing a ruckus to one another all the while, then hop-land in the empty field to poke around for bugs. Occasionally Maistoo will spy me sitting in my chair and when the fam looks the other way, he’ll swing by for a quick snack and exchange a few words with me.
Yesterday I spotted a northern flicker trying to avail himself of the bird feeder out back but he’s just too big for it. Plus, it’s hot. His mouth hangs open. He’s all beak and claw and plaintive calls. He along with all the other overwrought avian friends gives me another reason to consider installing a bird bath or watering hole.
Because don’t we all need something to help us get by? Some kind of respite from the thirst of days over 100º, some tasty treat we can share with a relative, some borrowed calm from the howling heat of a scorching summer.
Two miles up Sawmill Gulch three crows voice a ruckus, one tracing ovals in the sky, two others holler 'cross the canyon from perches in the pines. - Chris La Tray, from One-Sentence Journal (2018)
Sharing this poem in honor of Chris’ new book, Becoming Little Shell, out this summer and I’m so excited for him. Read more from Chris at An Irritable Métis.
Looks like it's too hot for a footnote. Get any big shallow pan and put it in your yard for the birds., an upside down garbage can lid, a big flowerpot dish. It doesn't need to be elevated. I have been delivering pans to relative's yards. It takes a few days for the birds to trust the bath place, but they will thank you.
I love your story about our Northside wildlife. This morning as I walked through the neighborhood enjoying the coolness and almost clean air, I saw two dead crows lying among some downed tree branches yet to be removed. It made me sad. The crows have done a good job minimizing our pigeon population, and they are smart and entertaining. I wondered if they were killed in the storm on Wednesday.