If I had to choose between living in the city and in the country, I’d take the country.
I like the buzz of a big city, the electric hum, where something is going on all the time, where the stores are always open and the news is always fresh. But after a while, that pales. Another party, another shindig, another place to run. It can be tiring.
The country offers a place to pause, to relax, to appreciate God instead of man.
I walked down our driveway the other morning to pick up the empty trash can. On the way back up the driveway, I heard an owl hooting. Broad daylight, so he was no night owl. I was paced for ten or fifteen feet by a dragonfly, a cousin of the one I snapped last week (may have been the same one – hard to tell when I’m carrying a trash can uphill in my knock-off crocs).
Last week I saw a deer chase – two does, one of which thought the other one was trespassing. This wasn’t friendly, but it wasn’t personal. Once the offender had been chased to a different part of the yard, the aggressor paused and went back to eating.
But the most interesting thing I saw this week was the interactions of the crow and the hawk. The hawk was sitting on a little tree in the middle of our field, maybe 10 feet up.
He’s looking for lunch. He’s not a big guy like some of the ones we have soaring around overhead
Maybe he’s younger, but he’s still a hawk.
The crow is defending his territory, sitting about 40 feet up in a tree and swooping down at the hawk repeatedly. Big dive-bombs that I didn’t capture. Didn’t bother the hawk too much, although he did ruffle his feathers up as if trying to make himself look bigger.
The crow never attacked, just harassed. The hawk never retaliated. When he decided that enough was enough, he flew away.
So the crow took the battle. I doubt he’s going to win the war. Hawks have long memories.