Outtakes, San Francisco 01.12

San Francisco from Oakland Hills

Chinatown conversation

SF Chinatown

Angry Bird & Co.

Woman in black, SF Chinatown

Chinatown apartment bldg.

AA Cafe, SF Chinatown

Buddha and dragons

Order of the morning

Drawing by Rachel Hoffman


Just after dawn, a squadron of magpies shoot up from the eastern sector of the sky, clear the stern peak of Dick's house, wings out in stunning formation and descend into the Bird Park, a black and white flash swirl touch down running breakfast grab, then are gone again in minutes. I like to think they wake up with the Bird Park on their minds, that it is first in the order of the morning. A bit later, two magpie return for seconds. I suspect they are the original 7 o'clock magpie and her friend. Generally, after the mob leaves, I tuck a few extra goodies in strategic out of the way places. They know where to look. But that's it. You may remember my neighbor Dwayne said he saw magpies eating quail babies. He ought to know. His giant, weeping Indian willow houses families. Must protect the babies so I had to revoke the magpie/crow all day pass. It's morning peanuts then they gotta go.

Soon after they leave, the starlings arrive. Then the pigeons. Then the sparrows and finches. The mild-mannered, yellow-breasted sparrows hit the yellow thistle seed sack in Quail Town over by Old Man Hills. They can pack a sack 15 deep without ruffling a feather. Share and share alike. However, fights are always breaking out among the finches in the main sector. They go for the sunflower seeds and, although there's plenty for all, constantly disagree over who eats where. They even argue standing knee deep in the very cool seed trough hanging from the fence. Trough. It's a trough of seeds. No one guy can cover the whole thing still they stop eating to run each other off.

There are the individual finches who come at off times to nibble and gaze over the park like genteel patron frequenting sidewalk cafes in the Champs Elysées afternoon. They are among my favorites and remind me of the little Buddha Bird who came here for a couple of summers. Just watching them, I feel peaceful. They enjoy the place as it's meant to be, a time out from hard scrabble, a haven of food and water, peace and quiet. Of course, even here there are predators but that's the irony of eden, isn't it? The occasional cat does appear, mainly Dwayne's drinking buddy, Clarence the Bastard, who is far too feeble to do more than reminisce. And the hawk. There is a hawk although, for the most part, he is stealth and, but for the strike, unobtrusive. Plus, he focuses mainly on Dwayne's.

Finally, last to arrival, the quail. They start the day at Dwayne's but hop up then down the fence later in the morning. They prefer almost anything to flying. They come after things are rolling, after the finch and sparrows have littered the ground with sunflower seed crumbs. Recently, at the urging of M. Lee, I started putting chick scratch out for the quail, in secret places of course, mainly Old Man Hills and under the lilac bushes, one of their favorite haunts in summer. I don't want the pigeons catching on so it has to be on the downlow. Don't get me wrong. I still love the pigeons. Did I already mention that they are members of the dove family? In good standing. Birds of peace. But...well, they are kind of huge in this small neighborhood and, not everyone shares my enlightened view, so nothing special for them although the little birds spill enough for everybody. And the pigeons dearly love cold tubbing so I make sure that there is water in the baths.

I'm trying out a tasty peanut replacement for the magpies, bite size dog treats. I'm running out of peanuts, thanks to the greedy asshole Stewart Parnell. His cue, Charlie the Town Crier showed up. The loudmouth. First crow of the winter. I'd know him anywhere, cigar dangling from his beak, wearing the Unrestricted Press Pass I immediately regretted a day after issuing it. He had plenty to say about Parnell, none of it good. Ever hear a crow swear? Oh and this year, a pair of robins joined us, probably down from Tahoe. I love robins. Two. Seems robins, once the unflappable auguries of spring, are also suffering under the boot of human sprawl and growing scarce so I'm delighted they are here.


But about the peanuts. Since the greedy idiot criminal asshole Stewart Parnell, president of Peanut Corp., and his morally bankrupt idiot drone plant manager, Sammy Lightsey, choose profit over honor and integrity, and ordered their salmonella infected nuts, "turned loose" on America, I can't find whole peanuts at a decent price anywhere! These unscrupulous dingbats, at the urging of company executives, even begged the USDA for permission to continue shipping peanuts after salmonella was discovered. People and animals died and they want "business as usual?" Now, my supply of safe peanuts for the magpies is dangerously low. In fact, it is very nearly gone. WTF, Stewart!?! I hate that guy. Money is NOT the bottom line, Stewaaaaart. And I can't find any my peanut butter Kashi TLC bars anywhere. WTdoubleF!?

Anyway, top o' the mornin or afternoon or whatever time of day it is to ya.


Stewart Parnell Sammy Lightsey Peanut Corp. salmonella outbreak

Happy Halloween

It's cloudy today and the scene in the Bird Park is completely different than it was yesterday when the Buddha Bird was the first to arrive. This morning the magpies made it here first, around 7:30, which is a bit late for them but it's cloudy. They didn't stay long enough to eat though. A couple of them got into a knock down roll in the dirt fist fight, or I guess I should say claw fight or claw, wing and beak fight. It was brutal. They made such a fuss they scared themselves off and everybody else when with them. Dummies. The lone magpie who comes about 8, after they are gone, will be happy for that. More goodies for him. I'm pretty sure he used to be the early bird, until the gang started tagging along. Hard to cover your tracks in the air. Now he comes back after the boobs takes off and I make a point of having a bit of birdie brunch waiting.

And what's up with pigeons? They must have radar eyes. I tucked some chicken scratch away in Old Guy Hills for the quail but the pigeons were all over it this morning, with the quail perched on the fence just watching them. Now I have to cut everybody off for a while, until the pigeons go back to their regular routine of stopping by for a cold tub and the few sunflower seeds the finches drop beneath the feeder. Ah the drama.

Happy Halloween. I strung lights last night. Looks pretty good, even if I do say so myself. The stage hogs at the Invisible Theatre, headed up by Uncle Monkey and Rat Woman of course, are agitated because I brought in outside talent to be the greeter this evening. Now everybody is miffed. They consider Halloween their gig, exclusively. It's not in their contract but tell them that. I hope they don't decide to pull some Halloween tricks on me.

Eternal Sunshine of the Buddha Bird

Buddha Bird came by today. First one in the Park this morning and had it all to herself. Great to see her again. I thought she was dead but in the magical world of the Bird Park, they live forever. As usual, she sat serenely on the feeder perch for at least 20 minutes before beginning breakfast.

In other news, yesterday's storm left that lovely leaf on my window and the San Carlos sailors set out this morning on another camping trip. This time they are headed north for 5 or 6 days looking for that ever illusive lonely lagoon in which to drop anchor. All in all, today is off to a good start. I hope yours is too. If not, remember you can start it over any time.

Bird Park spring update

The numerous quail who live in my neighbor Dwayne's sprawling Indian willow tree-o-life spend a lot of time here these days. They love nesting and bathing in the dirt. Yesterday afternoon there were about ten couples dozing under the bushes in a slow motion quail version of musical chairs. They belly out little tubs, lay in one awhile then switch places with each other, only no one gets left out during the switch. There are enough tubs for everyone. This morning, it being still cold, only one couple has made it over the fence so far. Napping is an afternoon pastime.

As far as the other birds go, the love talk, boasting and chest bumping has been replaced by an all day, every day feeding frenzy. As everyone knows, it takes a lot of calories to raise a family. The finches, red wings and sparrows drain the feeders by early afternoon but I've only seen one baby so far. It is a little early for that first trip to the Bird Park, but recently one fluffy toddler arrived in tow and, as usual, had no interest in feeding himself but instead chased the parent around with his mouth open, squawking for food.

I have always marveled at the relationships some people form with wild creatures but have never had any luck at it myself. A couple of years ago I tried engaging a particular crow in conversation but it didn't really go anywhere. I can identify a bird or two because of some unique physical characteristic, but that's it. There is Minerva with a swath of reddish feathers on the bottom of her left wing (I assign gender arbitrarily) and her companion with an odd feather jutting out from his left wing. I believe Minerva is back this year but, if it is her, she is looking a lot the worse for wear. Last year only a few wing feathers were a dull reddish color, now most of her feathers are faded and worn out looking. As for her friend, I don't know. Perhaps the wild-hair feather dropped out but I am saying the faded crow is Minerva and I put peanuts out with the two of them in mind.

Early this spring a new bird made it to the park, a very decrepit pigeon. It is amazing he even made it through the winter. This guy was really in tatters. Now when we go into the backyard, we are usually met with a full face flash point of wings which never fails to startle both us and the air. Big wings. Mostly big, squeaking pigeon wings pumping an emergency liftoff, occasionally mixed with the silent black wings of the crows. But Old Guy, as we called him, tottered away, maybe tossing a worried look over his shoulder but only, in the most desperate moments, was he willing to fly. We were his instant sympathizers and, if possible, avoided going into the backyard when he was around.

Old Guy's favorite place was what we call The Hills, a mound of dead sod Lee pulled up from the front last fall when he made a parking place for the off-road trailer. Old Guy liked The Hills, which we renamed Old Guy Hills in his honor. I'd show you a photo of him standing on them but my computer crashed yesterday, taking everything in the C Drive down with it. When will I ever learn? Lee partitions our hard drives to protect data from such things but I get lazy and don't move files to the safe D Drive so ... poof. No photo of Old Guy in the Old Guy Hills. He was sweet though. After surviving presumably his last winter, he loved standing on the topmost mound, some two or three feet above the world. I put a tasty mix of cracked corn and seed in a crevasse at his feet but he didn't always eat it. He just liked to sit in the sun on his mountain top and dream. Good last days.

For a couple of years a little sparrow I named Buddha Bird hung out around the house. I don't know if she was old but she was very different. She liked sitting on the lawn chair in the back, or lingering in the shadows of a cubby under the fence. Sometimes she perched for a long time on a warm rock or meditated for close to an hour on the limb of tree. She reminded me of certain passages from Desiderata. "Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence." She hasn't been back this year. "You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here." I miss her. "Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul."


But this spring, I have a new friend, reminding me of the old adage "be careful what you ask for."

A precocious crow has adopted me. He likes to talk and perches on the old wireless dish on the roof above the Bird Park and chatters away, three caws then silence. I caw back and so we go. It's fun. He doesn't fly off when I open the back door, walk across the yard or stand there making eye contact. He doesn't mind that I mangle his language but I can only imagine what the neighbors think. Good thing the immediate ones are nearly deaf, half blind or drunk. My friend and I have had many rousing conversations but now he has decided that 6 am is a good time to chat and has made a habit of sitting on the roof and doing his little three caw number for about fifteen minutes before starting his day. Lovely. He reminds me of a favorite childhood poem I used to make my mother repeat to me, "A birdie with a yellow bill, hopped upon my window sill, cocked his shining eyes and said, ain't you shamed, you sleepy head." I wish Buddha Bird were here to teach him, I'll call him Charlie, something about meditation.