The Story and The Poem
|By: EarlB, 1:06 AM GMT on October 14, 2012||+0|
I heard a once familiar birdcall a couple of weeks ago, from a bird
I've never seen on the farm in the 12 years I've lived here, but I
distinctly remembered that call. I also know that the year-round-
resident mockingbirds have heard it before and wouldn't hesitate
to practice it at my expense! Later in the week I was surprised and
happy to see at least three bluejays streaking back and forth through
the trees calling that same familiar, raucous call.
"Having" jays is spotty here, I remember years ago while living
just 15 miles north in a small community, a much less wild
environment than the farm, that a friend involved in the local
annual bird count asked if I'd mind his stopping by with team
members to count jays at my feeder! You either had jays or not,
and most places just didn't!
It's also the time-of-year when the oaks are throwing their fading
energies into fattening their fruit, the acorns. Plump, and still
soft-shelled, the acorns are the larder for the jays: the tree
to which the jays flew was dripping with flight food.
So, though I continue to have hopes for a winter presence of the
colorful jays, and will continue to tempt them with the sadly
deficient sunflower and safflower seeds, their somewhat annoying
"song" hasn't scolded me for the past week. Maybe this troupe
moved on farther south, maybe another will stop for the slimmer
pickings at the winter bird feeding station and stay local. In
any case, for now, both bluejays and acorns are gone.
Jays in the trees eat
Ripe acorns to fuel their flight;
And then they are gone.
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