We tangled with the crows last summer and came way out on the losing end. They patiently watched us plow, measure, make rows, and plant, showing special interest in the seeds we’d chosen. From their keen attention, we could see they were partial to sweet corn. They practically drooled when it came out of the bag. They watched patiently as we planted, then staked out our scarecrow complete with small twirling pie pans. Slightly interested, they eyed him from a distance, as though they might not have seen his identical twin earlier that day. By the time we got out to check our garden the next morning, all the corn was scratched up and the pie tins torn up. They’d been a little too big for the crows to fly off with. Bud cursed.
Back to the seed store, we got a large plastic owl and inflatable snakes for the garden. Instead of planting that day, Bud risked his life getting the owl on a high branch not too far from the garden to terrorize the crows. They battled over who would roost on it that evening. More cursing and posturing.
The next morning we replanted and scattered the inflatable snakes about the garden. The crows were impressed, circling the garden, giving the corn time to sprout. As it got taller, they showed greater attention, knowing the tiny tender kernel at the end of the shoot still remained. When Bud saw the crows braving the snakes to snatch shoots of corn, he’d had enough. Infuriated, he went for his shotgun. They disappeared the instant he walked out of the house with it. Trying to get the upper hand, went back in and brought it out in two pieces. They didn’t react to the disassembled shotgun, peacefully plucking corn shoots. He stood behind a tree to put it back together. The instant he snapped it together, they fled, obviously familiar that old trick. Determined not to be defeated, he went for his bow and arrows. What a waste of time!
These crows were obviously smarter than we were. We abandoned our efforts to save the few pitiful shoots left as the smart alecks among them even took to flying off with our useless rubber snakes.
I planted more corn in starter trays on the patio, determined to have corn. Once it got a few inches tall, we transplanted it to the garden. It thrived, growing tall and producing beautifully. We were looking forward to a bumper crop when a fox and her kits got into the garden and ate most of it in one night! They also loved our canteloupe. It’s good to be at one with nature!
The site of Jamestown Colony was nothing like the home they’d left. They’d felt pride in their natal farm though they’d belonged to it, not the other way around. Born to its manicured meadows, neat hedgerows, and trim outbuildings, its upkeep had been a part of every day. Born to thatched stone cottages in the shadow of the imposing barns and carriage house, they’d attended the chapel attached to the mossy, old manor house. They felt pride of place by virtue of family tradition; it was their work and the work of their fathers before them that stretched behnd them. They were often in need and sometimes Ill-treated, but they had a tie to the land. Had not fate intervened, their children would have worked and lived as they had.
As they surveyed all that lay before them, the forests were most impressive. England’s sparse woodlands could not compare. Though the settlement was raw and unfamiliar, they realized the intimidating forest held the future for those hardy enough to wrest it out. All they had to do was serve out their next four years to claim their portion, not thinking those same forests were home to indigenous people who’d thrived there for millennia.
Nutsrok 