The Neighborhood Feud
I was sitting on the edge of our ridge with a friend, chatting about life and hiding from her kids, when a pair of hawks flew overhead. They barely cleared the tree branches above us and Rebecca let out an audible gasp and said “WOW! How absolutely magnificent!”
“Yes, they are” I conceded – “but we are in the midst of a multi-year feud, a feud which they have been easily winning.”
I explained how whenever we let our chickens out to free range, the hawks treat our flock like their very own “all you can eat” buffet.
Anne and I have taken to calling them Attila the hawk and Genghis Khan. They stop by multiple times a day, to see if by any chance I’ve let the hens out again.
They are gorgeous beings, and I love having them in my life - I just wish they’d find something else to eat. Like maybe they could go after the squirrel that eats our shiitakes, or better yet, the 5-foot long black snake that tries to steal the bluebird eggs.
For the past few years, Attila and Genghis have nested in one of the hundred-year-old white pines my great aunt planted along the Clatter Valley Road. Even though it’s a quarter mile away (as the crow flies), I can easily spot their white chests juxtaposed against the deep green of the pines. When I walk up the old stagecoach road to the pond, I pass by their tree, and I make a point of calling out – “Hullo! I hope I just woke your baby chicks up from their nap!” They fuss and screech as I go by. “Two can play this game,” I think, feeling slightly vengeful.
My friend seemed startled and remarked laughingly, “What a complicated relationship you have with the wildlife around you.” “Yes,” I agreed - but actually, it’s not. It’s about as straightforward as any relationship could ever be. I am as much a part of their web of life as they are a part of mine - and things don’t ever get a whole lot simpler than that.
