In the olden days the crow was considered an omen of death, hence that ancient designation of a bevy of crows that we enjoy on Lotus Island, swooping, frolicking, linguistically diverse, usefully omnivorous, collegial and remarkably intelligent; hardly ominous for a group once considered as a murder of crows.
My neighbor Bob had a nice Sweet Cherry. Stella, a self -pollinizer that produced delicious black cherries on occasion when the crows forgot to come there, or were otherwise engaged in our place.
One spring when the trees were in early bloom and the expectation of fruit was high Bob took action unlike him and shot a couple of crows, murdered them really, and put them in his freezer beside Helen's frozen chickens. When the cherries started to ripen in June Bob hung the crows on his young tree branches thinking the omen for the crows would serve as a warning. It certainly did and the ruckus was immense. The cherries were left alone to mature into black, soft, sweet, plump and delicious looking fruit.
The night before Bob's designated picking time some unanticipated visitors came and in the morning the pickers found a family of raccoons who had dined on the softened rotting crows, stripped off most of the cherries for dessert and damaged some branches.
It has seemed to me at the time when he shot the crows that it was rough but smart action on Bob's part, but I learned otherwise to my blessing. We had two Stella trees in our orchard as well and I then on, accepted humbly my place in the order of natural precedence and I acknowledged that fact is an omen of life , not death. Therefore, murder of crows on my farm has no place for any murder of crows that happen to know where they belong and are willing to share it with us.
My neighbor Bob had a nice Sweet Cherry. Stella, a self -pollinizer that produced delicious black cherries on occasion when the crows forgot to come there, or were otherwise engaged in our place.
One spring when the trees were in early bloom and the expectation of fruit was high Bob took action unlike him and shot a couple of crows, murdered them really, and put them in his freezer beside Helen's frozen chickens. When the cherries started to ripen in June Bob hung the crows on his young tree branches thinking the omen for the crows would serve as a warning. It certainly did and the ruckus was immense. The cherries were left alone to mature into black, soft, sweet, plump and delicious looking fruit.
The night before Bob's designated picking time some unanticipated visitors came and in the morning the pickers found a family of raccoons who had dined on the softened rotting crows, stripped off most of the cherries for dessert and damaged some branches.
It has seemed to me at the time when he shot the crows that it was rough but smart action on Bob's part, but I learned otherwise to my blessing. We had two Stella trees in our orchard as well and I then on, accepted humbly my place in the order of natural precedence and I acknowledged that fact is an omen of life , not death. Therefore, murder of crows on my farm has no place for any murder of crows that happen to know where they belong and are willing to share it with us.
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