a murder

Life goes on here at the farm. I used to call it my village, because there are three houses on the property. One used to be the barn but is now a house. One the two story victorian, and the last the two story farmhouse that we live in. There are also out buildings, one is a two story red building. I had hopes to make it my studio, but now it is the barn. Then there is the green building, charming really, with a front stoop and it has a root cellar underneath it. When we bought the place there were canned fruits and veggies from the people who lived here until their death. Her death first, and then his, (Joe) not too long after.

Death came today at the farm for Lil' Blackie, one of the ducklings that hatched here. He was a runner and the last to hatch. This of course made the perfection button click in and I searched out the reason why. I posted on a duck group I belong to, searched the internet. He went so quick. So quick. I had the mush water in a tea-cup ready to force feed him when he simply threw his head back and was gone. I kept looking at him, old soul eyes open, beautiful black beaked creature. I wanted him back, and I did tiny chest compressions, hoping I could will him back. I couldn't just sit there and do nothing. Even though there was nothing I could do.

I put Lil' Blackie in an empty Kellogg's Corn Pops box. I couldn't find any other box. I though for a moment, how undignified being put in a cereal box. But then I remembered, my desperate act to revive him and my pure intentions, and heck, at least he didn't go into the Fruity Pebbles box. I laughed at my sad self. Ever do that?

I went back to the duckling day pen that I constructed the day before. I watched each duck, for any sign of sickness, or weakness. There was nothing to see but waddling little duckies drinking, eating, nibbling on the greens, splattering and pooping. All happy as could be, being ducklings. Their neighbors the teenager chicks, looking at them, like "what is all the fuss?" Ducklings are animated and all splishy-spashy all the while peeping. I had spared them seeing one their hatch-mates die by taking him to the house. I was glad they all were seemingly oblivious. I gave them more peas, and added two more water bowls, because they dirty up water faster that the speed of light, or maybe a lightning bug.

Overhead I heard a noise and circling just over the tree lines were the crows. A murder of crows. I stopped and when I saw them I took a big breath. They were there to remind me. First to breathe. But mostly, the universe pulses, it ebbs and flows and yes it works it's mysterious ways. There was nothing I could do, or I would have done it. The blackbirds come when I need them. They wake up my connection to the collective.  They makes things clear, and they are sacred. That is why I am crow.

A "murder of crows" is probably the poetic phrase, while scientist would probably call them a flock. Interesting though, of this folk name for crows and other folk names of groups of birds, insects and animals. Maybe that is why people are wary of crows. The energy that has been passed on about crows. Crows are actually extremely smart. Take a moment to look at this page at crow.net. It is not a lot to read, but extremely interesting info there. Also read this page at crow.net. It has some fantastic pictures. I love the crow snow angel. Anyway, I think crows are misunderstood for the most part.

I am crow. Do I feel misunderstood? No, I do not. People are going to understand what they can or want to about me. Just the same as I can only understand or want to know about somebody else. By saying I am misunderstood, is saying that you, or this person or that person is suppose to know me. I don't even know me! I am always reflecting on my floods and droughts as a woman. Writing, here is a way to get to know me. I do not use the best grammar, and I HATE to proof read, because I want the thoughts feelings and words to ebb and flow. I want this... the sound of my fingers pecking away at the keyboard fast enough to capture thought or some sort of spiritual language to be one of the ways I interact with myself, you, and the universe. See? That was a way-too-long sentence. I am not changing it. I can't unthink something then dissect it to read properly. So, I am doing my best to understand and then to be understood. That is, as far as you want to understand me. Ha!

After the crows left. I gathered my ducklings to bring inside. I was talking to them, and gave a couple of kisses. I notice my neighbor Shirl sitting on his porch. I sure do give him great shows. Just yesterday, my donkey Earl, got loose and hauled ass (no pun intended) down the mountain. I went hauling ass after him. Luckily somebody caught him and there he was being led back by a car. So funny. Of course Shirl told me that "you can't keep them dang animals in", same as he said when I got my goats. He is a sensible old man. I have said it before, but I like him a whole lot. I know he must get a kick out of me and my animal circus. That is what I thought at least as I was kissing my ducklings then placing them in the transport bin. I am a darn fool woman. Proud of it.

I came in the house, and tucked in the duckings in the brooder and checked in with the duck group online. Nicky had posted and pretty much told me what the murder of crows did. She said:

"Aaaaah poor Blackie. Some babies just aren't as rigorous as the others and maybe it was Mother Nature doing her thing. Keep them on the niacin and the chick starter and grass. It could of been anything that got blackie, maybe he just wasn't cut out to be in the world but he at least got a glimpse of it and had a good home while he was here..."

That is what the crows told me. But Nicky speaks English and it was so comforting to hear it again. Plus, the universe didn't mention anything about duck care. I sure do like Nicky too.

I am going to the river now, and send Lil' Blackie back to the earth. Minus the cereal box.
Until next time, little one...
~crow

blackie (still wet) joins his peeps