Turkey Dinner

Day 48: Even without COVID, it's difficult for me to find material for my daily posts at this time of year, so when I stepped out to feed the birdies this morning and spotted a couple of Grey Jays, I said aloud, "Oh, I think my blog shot for the day just flew in." I am almost certain that this is the same family grouping which comes for a brief visit each winter. It began with two birds and after a few years, a third arrived. Now there are four. They seldom stick around for more than a few days, but may return several times over the course of the winter. Now officially known as the Canada Jay, Perisoreus canadensis is a gregarious fellow, and in their normal habitat which here is usually considered to include the subalpine and forested zones, they can be quite brazen when it comes to stealing food from backpackers. I've had them land on my head, my hands, my shoulders, and even had one fly through a very narrow space between my hand and my lips, taking with it the graham cracker I had intended to put in my mouth. They are not quite as comfortable around humans when in populated areas, so I am not expecting this group to eat from my hand even though they did enjoy a post-Thanksgiving turkey dinner on the crow board.

Intrepid Explorer Reaches Goal

Day 93: Breaking news: Using only primitive technology, our intrepid explorer was able to reach her goal earlier this morning during a lull in blizzard-like conditions. Almost immediately after her return to the shelter of the porch, heavy snow resumed, accompanied by the cawing and squawking of a horde of hungry onlookers who were anxious for their breakfast. The current weather pattern indicates that snow and wind will persist throughout much of the remainder of the week. Power fluctuations may render it impossible for this correspondent to report on a regular schedule. Your patience is appreciated during these trying times.

Friends At Breakfast

Day 91: After being given a clean bill of health from my oral surgeon last Thursday, I decided it was time to have my Christmas dinner. I'd bought a nice little turkey in early December, but of course the tooth situation had put my high-flown plans on hold: no turkey, no Brussels sprouts, no cranberry-horseradish sauce despite the fact that I wasn't in any particular pain. So, Friday morning found the turkey still somewhat frozen, so a soak in the sink finished the thawing process and by a little after noon, I had it in the oven. Now it must be explained that my favourite part of the turkey is the soup I make from the carcase. I'm not quite to that point yet (it was a 12-pounder, after all), but part of the bargain is that I share the stuffing and giblets with my friends. This is even more important now that there's some snow on the ground. These two crows seem to be a couple. They stay close to one another, whether on the ground or sitting on the fence. They engage in allopreening and intimate beak contact, both typical of a newly-formed bond. Behaviour would indicate that the one in the foreground of this photo is the female, although it usually takes me a few minutes to sort out who's who when they first land.

The Crow Board

Day 97: It's almost impossible to get a good photo of any of the Breakfast Bunch for two reasons. One, no matter how I angle the shot, the background is a dense screen of Douglas fir. Two, although they are comfortable with me standing on the back porch with almost anything else in my hands, they are highly suspicious of the black-bodied camera with its glinting eye. Even if I stand well back in the kitchen and shoot through the double-pane glass of the door as I did for this image, they are wary. Still, the Crow Board has gone through many iterations in thirty years of daily use. The platform has been replaced several times and the post at least twice. They're not bothered by new wood or shiny-bright nailheads, but let the lens wink, and they scatter. Sometimes as many as a dozen birds crowd onto the board, wings flapping to maintain purchase on the rough edges as beaks dart below other beaks to snatch a bite of dog kibble. Older, cleverer birds wait for an opening and then pack multiples in their bills before flying off to eat them at their leisure.

Namesake

Day 192: Over the course of some 50-plus years, I have learned to say four "words" in Crow-speak. It's hard enough learning to speak a human foreign language; learning how to communicate in the language of another species requires first understanding the mode of communication. Let's take it to an extreme. We'll assume for the moment that when extraterrestrials land on Earth, they will have a vocal language. We cannot expect to be able to translate it word-for-word; we can't even do that reliably with our own languages, e.g., "Ich bin ganz voll" translates literally from German as "I am completely full," something you might say after dinner. In fact, it means something quite different: "I'm pregnant." Once you understand the context, the literal translation makes sense, but the origins of other euphemisms are not as easily connected. However, in communicating with another species, we have a broader gap to bridge: what factors make up the base of their system?

Scientists have identified over 200 different vocalizations among ravens, distinguishable by analysis of their respective sonograms. They know that each one signifies something, but what? These quorks and caws do not represent words as we know them. They cannot be strung together to make sentences in the way human words are. Rather, they convey a specific concept, as if in human speech the sentence "I'm eating a sandwich in the back yard under the maple tree" were to be compacted to the single idea, "wgnrmy." Crows have a language similar to that of ravens in that they speak in this conceptual form. The human throat probably isn't capable of producing the subtleties of sound which would show up in a sonogram of Crow-speak, but accented or not, I have learned how to tell my friends my identity and location (one word), that food is safe to take, that food is dangerous to approach, and lastly, that there is danger in the area. They trust me to tell them the truth. On one occasion many years ago, I inadvertently misinformed the Breakfast Bunch by telling them that the food was safe to approach. What I didn't know was that my neighbour had just gotten in his truck and was preparing to leave for work. As soon as he started the engine, every crow fled in haste and I could not get them to come back to the board for a week. Honesty is apparently valued quite highly in the world of corvids, and therefore I have never used that "word" again.

Packing Expert

Day 271: I took advantage of cooler weather to sit outside with friends while they had lunch today and couldn't help but admire their skills at packing for future picnics. All guests but one filled their sub-lingual pouches to capacity and then deftly collected four or five more round pieces of dog food until their beaks were stuffed as well. The remaining visitor (nicknamed Timid) approached the feeding station with trepidation, landing only long enough to make a quick thrust at a piece of food, knocking it to the ground to be retrieved on the second try. I suspect Timid is new this year and hasn't learned the ropes. On the other hand, Sweetheart sits on the fence patiently, waiting for me to walk away. When I caw softly to her, she responds with the same syllables, acknowledging me in the same tone.