Dead Crows and Forest Fires

What a sunny, blue skied day it was! My eyes longingly looked outside up the lane and pretty soon my feet were following. Strolling with my shoulders back and head tossed high, I looked at red-breasted robins and red winged black birds as they tweetered upon the large maple tree or gathered grass from the field. A little farther along, a squirrel skimpers up and down and all around a tree, not stopping in one place for long and jumping from branch to branch--defying gravity it seemed.

There was a strange feeling of solitude in the woods as I walked along. Yet, it also seemed filled with life. I felt alone in the human sense, but in the natural sense....it was simply permeated with friends and relatives; the trees and the dripping sunlight.

Up farther on the road I spotted a blackish hump of sorts and, thinking it was one of those deceiving clumps of mud that we would normally conjure up into raccoons and turtles, kept my usual pace...though I still gave myself the luxury of letting my curiosity wonder if it might be something other than sticks or mud.

Well, as it so happens, it wasn't a clump of mud, sticks, or leaves. No. It was a fully frozen and preserved black crow. Dead as could be yet eerily ominous, as if it were playing opossum and waiting for me to bend closer. I did bend closer, and upon examination, it looked as if it'd been there for the whole Winter. Yet I know for a fact that it had not been there the day before, so somehow this bird died and was frozen so perfectly without much damage...but then here it laid...and I couldn't make sense of it.

Obviously it was a curiosity and obviously everyone brings curiosities home, so I planned to scout out a suitable piece of bark to carry it on. A little later I had the bird, (about a foot or so long) upon the bark and I held it like a waiter might hold a pizza as I sauntered down the lane towards my destination. Above me I could hear the cawings of real, live crows. They seemed to proclaim that I was doing something wrong, but I simply stated that I was going to give it a proper burial and therefore they could hush up their loud sirens. Yet with them flying overhead and the eyes of the dead bird staring at me foggily, I did get a weird feeling...again as if the bird could pop to life and start tearing at my hair.

Nothing of the sort happened though and the morning was so beautiful that those thoughts fluttered off just as quickly as the robin when he sees me coming.

I set the bird on the deck so that the rest of my family could see it throughout the day and resolved to bury it the next day. He was a fine specimen, with a long beak and sleek feathers.

The cat sniffed him with great ceremony, the chickens stayed clear and the dog--I don't know what she thought. But what my family thought was that it was quite odd.

At some point during the afternoon it was declared strange (by my brother Andrew who has also written about this odd bird) and there was a great desire for it's immediate disposal. I softly stated that I'd be burying the next day and then I continued to placidly read, "What In The World Is God Doing?"

Anyway though, at some point that day the bird disappeared. I think Dad went to dispose it. I didn't think anything of it. But later that night, we all thought of it.

I was here at the computer, writing to Holly, the others were watching a movie. I usually can't sit still for a movie so I do many other things while catching bits and pieces of it. My Dad had gone into his bedroom to check on my little sister who is sick. While in there, he saw something out the window that caused him to rush down into the basement. I took note of it and wondered. It wasn't long till I found out...

"I need some help, I've got a bit of a fire," my Dad announced from the lower level of the house. The boys rushed to help and I went to the window...my first thought was that it was just a biggish bonfire that needed some watering. What I saw out of that window sent me flying down to the basement to pull on the nearest pair of pink boots and fill up whatever water jug was handy.

Behind our house is a woods. The first two hundred feet in length of that woods was ablaze and glowing.

When I rushed to the edge of the woods I saw that it had progressed at least fifty feet into the forest. My Dad was connecting our long hoses that are always kept at hand for just such occasions and I helped kink the hose so as to stop the water flow long enough to screw the other end on. Then I was in the midst of the fire itself, smoke creating an added dimension to the dark night and stomping on nearby flames while I pulled the hose past bothersome brush that blocked it's path. Dad and Andrew fought it in the depths of the woods and I pulled the snake along as they went farther and farther down.

Meanwhile, Isaac and Misha were filling jugs of water and splashing those on the smoking and smoldering articles that persisted in combustion.

My thoughts, as my muddy/ashy hands groped at the hose were first a quick prayer, that we'd be able to get the whole thing put out and then, feeling confident that we'd get it alright, I enjoyed every smoky moment of it. I love jumping up into action at a moments notice, I love stomping around in boots and aiding others fight something seemingly more powerful than ourselves.

The wind, (one of the main culprits) was rushing in it's taunting way, as if offering help but then laughing at our efforts. Within a half of an hour, it was almost dispelled. Misha and I chased little glowing coals with a pail of water and then found our way up from the woods, into the basement, and out of our muddy boots. My pants were covered with ash, my face was smeared with soot, my sweater smelled of smoke, and I hadn't enjoyed myself more thoroughly all week. We were all in a good mood as I prepared for bed.

Dad had apparently whisked my bird to be burned at the edge of the woods that afternoon, the wind had encouraged it throughout the day and it wasn't till that moment he looked out the window that he saw it spreading.

"Don't bring home anymore dead birds, Maryah!" They joked at me as I went to bed.
"Hey, I was going to bury it tomorrow..." I defended.

All the same, I resolved that night to leave all future dead crows right where they are and scurry on. Yet I couldn't help but smile as I fell asleep, who knew that my dead bird would cause so much excitement? And not only that, but we cleared all the brush in the woods for a good 200 feet and at least 60 feet in. Quite a good accomplishment, if I do say so myself.