Mossy Cottage Knits

Duck! Oh, Wait, I Mean, "Crow!"

Apparently The Powers That Be have decided that I am to continue telling stories about wildlife plummeting out of trees because this weekend K and I became temporary foster parents to a wayward baby crow.

First, you should know that K has extreme birdophobia, specifically flappingwingophobia and peckingbeakophobia. And I, who am not birdophobic and would, in fact, have welcomed the chance to get up close and personal with the baby bird, was, at the time of his inelegant arrival, quite elsewhere and was taking my $%^!&* time about getting home. When I finally did get home at about 7pm, I called K for our nightly “check in” and she told me, in one big, long anxious breath, that a baby crow had fallen out of its nest into her yard, that she had called animal rescue but they said they don’t come out and pick up downed wildlife anymore, that they advised her to get the crow herself, that she had attempted to do so but that, in the meantime, the parents who, to hear her tell it, were the size of B-52s, had found their lost little one and attempted to beat the crap out of K whenever she went out in her yard.

After I arrived at her house, we went out to rescue the wee one, she armed with a broom for whacking the B-52s and me with a box. We put the crowlet who, by that time, had been named Barclay (ask K why, don’t ask me), taped the box up and put him in the workshed for the night. The parents did swoop in during this operation and, while they didn’t come down and physically belabor us, they did make a God-awful racket and one of them, in a great display of avian melodrama, ripped leaves off the apple tree and gouged out chunks of wood from its branches. I’m quite sure at one point I saw him put his wing up to his forehead and swoon.

While waiting for me to arrive, K had cobbled together a little platform for the box which we affixed to the fence under the tree that Barclay had fallen out of. The next morning, Barclay looked no worse for the wear, so we bungeed his box to the platform and waited anxiously to see what would happen. It took the B-52s a good half-day to get used to the new set-up but we are thrilled to report that, as of this Monday morning, they have been feeding Barclay in his new home for the last two days. Armed with our faithful Excalibroom, we did check in on him a couple of times. Originally, he was flat, listless and hunkered down on the kitchen towels we had lined the box with but, as of yesterday, he was much more three-dimensional, sitting up, moving, flapping, and staring around with his amazingly blue eyes. Going into the yard is still a little dicey because the B-52s are still keeping a protective vigil and hate K, me, the dog, and everything we stand for, but we couldn’t be happier with the outcome. Please keep your fingers crossed for our ugly little child.

Addendum: K asked me to post this other picture of the Barclay Box because she says the other photo makes his new home look so stark and lonely:

Knitting Knews – Stash Explosion!
A couple of postings ago, I smugly said that my yarn stash is unusually small and, in fact, fits in one small plastic bag. A week later, I am forced to eat my words. First, I acquired the six large skeins of Schaefer Yarns which I wrote about in my May 28 entry. That alone pretty much doubled my stash. Two small plastic bags. Then, yesterday at a lovely knitting party at Sheila's house, as part of a stash-reduction, she presented me with pretty much her entire collection of sock yarns. Three small plastic bags and a stash that has tripled in size in a week!

Lest I sound ungrateful and stash-size-obsessed, be assured I would quadruple, five-uple or six-uple my stash if it meant getting wonderful yarns like my treasures from Sheila. Such rich, wonderful colors: plum, brown, white, gold, dusty blue, taupe, bright red, burgundy, a blue tweed and a kicky red with dark flecks. Thank you for my Christmas in May, Sheila! (Incidentally, she did want me to mention that while she got rid of her sock yarn because she is perhaps sock-knitting-averse, perhaps sock-knitting-challenged, or perhaps just not-sock-knitting-inclined, she does wear socks. Hmmmm. She wears socks. I knit socks. An idea is born.)

Dyeing Dyegest – First Harvest!!
We harvested our first dye flowers yesterday, all of the first flowers from the marigolds. We put them in a plastic bag and they now reside in the deep recesses of K’s freezer until we find them some more brothers and sisters.

Posted by Ryan at June 2, 2003 10:00 AM