...
Okay. Snail MacGyver ripped out all the rotting stuff in my mudroom and replaced a facia board so we could get the rain gutter out there to run in the right direction. In the course of this removal of the awful for an eventual refurbishment there are little slots open to the side of the house, out into the open air, where once was something failing to approximate a solid wall.
Perfect for birds to nest.
Some sparrows moved into one of those slots. They used almost solid whacked tall grasses to weave their nest. It's pretty slick and darn cozy... but... they failed to take into account that ravens scour my roof several times a day for the endless supply of spiders it provides.
The trees that ran along side this place since before it was built were cut down a few years ago, and there are new ones coming up from the trunks but they are not big enough to provide for the endless supply of spiders their forebears supported and so just about everybody moved to my roof. One of the owls and several of the spiders moved to my car, but mostly everybody's on my roof and the ravens rely on it for snacks.
So, now that the chicks have hatched and are yelling for more food all the time... yes... the ravens are hip to this nest and its contents. The battles to survive their attempts to eat the sparrow babies require my assistance. I'm having to try to learn the difference between frantic squawking for food and frantic squawking in the effort to defeat the latest raven diner. If I go out the door the ravens fly off empty-beaked.
They don't give up if I yell. They don't give up until I go out there where I might actually do something about it.
I almost can't believe there's even a nest left there to defend. The ravens must be having difficulty craning their necks to both hold onto something to support them while they try to raid and try to raid. At any moment one of them will decide to just yank on the grass nest to get at their morsels and it's Game Over.
Since the sparrows are utterly unfazed by my proximity, it strikes me those little fucks factored me into their rotten choice of a nesting place. I'm reliable.
Only... not when I'm asleep.
It'll be a miracle if anyone's left alive long enough to fledge a new sparrow into the world.
...
Six hours later, the sparrows are still chirping and squawking. It's very warm. The smoke is high and brown. I'm not finding anything nearer than Buckskin. It could be that. I am starting to feel it at the breakpoint between my nostrils and my sinuses and in the back of my throat. I wonder if that has anything to do with the constancy of the sparrow chirping or if they're really just that hungry today....
always and any time....
