An English In Kentucky


















September 21st 2010    Tim Candler

    The Pretender has I suppose youth on his side.  Hardly a Titmouse, or Boy Wren.   He is deep in the glee club, and if you like that sort of thing he has appeal.

   It is that time for Blue Jay to carol across the Vegetable Garden.  Ten of them.  Twenty one of them.  And I once lost count at thirty of them.  Which is a depressing number of Blue Jay to have to endure at one time, and the idiot Pretender took to their call, which surely encourages them. 

    I have never seen Blue Jay in such numbers.  In summer proper we see them not at all.  In winter, I think they can sometimes be heard.  Then in Spring and early Fall they cross our path in these intent flocks.  Sometimes heading North, sometimes heading South with no particular direction that can be related to either a Spring or a Fall migration.  So classic of Blue Jays, like pretty girls.  My old friend would chase them into the distance and I would cheer him. 

    I do know that the oldest Mockingbird lived for fourteen years and ten months.  So maybe the Pretender too will learn to dislike everyone, live celibate and be here to watch me dig my grave.  The oldest wild Blue Jay lived seventeen years and six months, which just seems so wrong.

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