The Surly Farmer

I started my day yesterday with a starling in the drainpipe. Euphemism, you ask? Alas, no. Early yesterday, we heard some kind of animal scrambling around on metal, and thought that a critter had gotten into the kitchen vent. I turned the fan on in an attempt to blast it out, but nothing happened, so I went outside to check on it. There, I found that the scratching was coming from the downspout, not the kitchen vent (**whew**). The bottom of the downspout was crushed by repeated mower collisions, so whatever was in there was stuck about eight inches above the ground. I fetched some snips and began cutting the metal away above the crush zone. As soon as I’d made a hole, a beak popped through and solved the mystery of “what kinda critter is stuck?” Mr. Bird was not cooperative with his rescue crew (me), and kept trying to squeeze through the hole I was slowly cutting—slowly, because I was trying  to not lop off dummy’s wing whilst “saving” him. It turned out the bird was a starling. Friends, I love the creatures, great and small, but I don’t have much patience for the starling. They are basically pests and they crowd out other bird species. It’s not their fault; they are an introduced species and probably would have been just as happy to have stayed in their native Europe.¹ I eventually freed the miserable bird, but not before he cut himself up on the jagged aluminum. He flew off on the wings of my ambivalence. I’ve since learned that starlings are nesting at this time of the year, and are prone to invading chimneys (and I guess downspouts).

In other bird news, we have red tailed hawks nesting at the corner of our property, and they often hunt in our meadows. (Heh, OUR meadows. I’m sure the hawks see them as THEIR meadows, right?) I doubt that I’ll get the access I had to our Charleston hawks a few years ago, but they are still wonderful to watch.

In other, other bird news, we have birds living in our basement. Six of them, in fact. And it’s intentional. Dr. Evil is officially a poultry keeper. She came home from Tractor Supply the other day with six pullets in tow. They are living the good life right now, luxuriating in a bed of wood chips in the basement, with a heat lamp over them 24/7. I wonder how they’ll handle the eventual eviction. Still, it shouldn’t be too much of a shock for them, as Dr. Evil purchased some sort of chicken condo for them. I can’t wait to see the condo board meetings.

That’s not the only thing living in our basement, though. During heavy rains, the basement tends to weep a bit. Okay, it cries. It bawls. After a particularly wet stretch, I found not one, but three salamanders along the perimeter. Not small ones, either, they were a good six inches long and as big around as a magic marker. How’d they get there? Beats me, but I’m beginning to understand the roots of our predecessors’ belief in spontaneous generation. I was able to get them back to nature, but I’m in the lookout now.

Both girls, plus one friend, came for a visit last weekend, so we’ve had our first family reunion at the farm. The girls have known this house since they were born, essentially, so they were immediately comfortable, and were surprisingly equanimous about our stuff being in their grandparent’s home. It is said that at least one kid will be spending spring break here as well, so that’s nice. I mean, who needs Cancun when you’ve got Albany, Ohio? The visiting friendkid was wearing Adidas Superstars, which I complimented her on, telling her they were THE shoe to have when I was ten years old or so. She informed me that they are “basic ho” shoes. The things you learn.

I did not watch the Oscars, but next time I’m going to unload on 3 Billboards . . . stay tuned.

¹ http://www.nytimes.com/1990/09/01/opinion/100-years-of-the-starling.html?src=pm