Are crows and sparrows truly birds of prey? These local berry eating birds make the panhandlers look meek...are these birds annoying? Yes, dangerous? Not so much.
I am feeling much more neighborly to my feathered friends than what seems to be sauntering toward me.
This morning I resemble a PMS possessed-picker. Greedy and Moody, equal parts sans make-up... not pretty. A foodie simply wanting to eat these lovely little berries baked into scones, washed down with a cup of Earl Gray. While "zen"ned out in the fog, along comes neighbor Fred, also referred to as Foreclosure Fred or my personal fave Fucked Fred. Not Feeling the love for this dead on Fred Flintstone. (Trade the stone wheeled dune buggy for an Escalade, you've nailed the character.) He's talking at me how these blackberries are simply weeds dirty and invasive. My zen state evaporates into the thick fog as swiftly as the pesky sparrows.
I think about the word invasive. The word rolls around in my brain thinking of how invasive his sub-species seems to me, so combative and anti- Santa Cruz. The bombastic being that inhabits my brain chooses the NVC route and I simply say " Better to be picked than to be deposited ala colorful- rainbow coalition style upon your beloved SUV and left to bake in the hot hot sun."
Simultaneously my brain in tandem mode whispers : "I personally prefer to see them shat onto your pearlized-creamcicle steroid- ed ghetto mobile."
Maybe this is a sort of superpower that I alone possess because I believe the birds have heard this secret whisper of a thought. My imagination ponders a sort of feathered tour de force. Flocking together, planning, plotting to overthrow Fred. I smile a secret deliciously overt smile. I wish my other super power was flight because I would certainly join along in solidarity.
Fire sale properties are rare (at the moment) in my adopted hood. My wee slice of ocean nirvana may be the only piece zip code being sprayed with chemicals automatically billed-biweekly to that big credit card in the sky.
Bankruptcy court will need to track down Chem-lawn and square up. Good luck driving' that truck down Seabright Ave. If you think for a second Fred contemplates chemical run-off into the harbor below, rest assured. He sleeps well
Back to the task at hand. No harm really. It's not like I was using live kittens or something less useful in scouring for these little fruits in their thorny hell. My zen state leaves momentarily as I swear and lick my wounds thinking this is the reason Germans' refer to these razor wrapped morsels as fruit of the forest. My Scone Jones born of this more dark purple than black berry seemed implausible at this point. An easier bike ride is a 5min delay in almost-instant gratification waiting for me at The Buttery.
My berry bucket is brimming with berries now, and these birds are not simply hungry--they harbor a real issue with this Karl Rove meets Fred Flintstone character. It's so odd in my tie-died cul du sac of ocean tranquility to have a Fox News Fear Based Philosophy session with the midget minded.
In this moment it's crystal clear: Retaliation is the only option for the philosophically aligned feathered friends.
The preaching nature of Foreclosure Fred conjures up a funny visual as he shakes his bobble-like head in anger. Apparently the financial problems he has created for himself are not sufficiently complex enough and now these blackberry bushes are his target for flaming rage.
Flambe' works better with fresh figs and prosciutto as I drift off to ponder my lunch plans in my state of renewed zen.
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