For the birds?

July is supposed to be the happiest of months. Or maybe somehow I just have that stuck in my mind. Maybe because it's the first month of no school. Or maybe because I often go to Kansas for the Amelia Earhart Festival (cancelled again this year) and its exciting display of fireworks. 

It's traditionally been the month when I get back down to plenty of leisure reading. Something about warm weather that makes me want to sit outside with a book -- a great excuse for not doing anything more energetic. 

When I used to work in schools, July felt like the time when I was finally free of responsibilities of classroom teaching (marking, ugh) or library work (inventory, double-ugh). So the idea of free reading is one I still associate with this month. 

Again going back to work days, my brain never seemed ready to tackle 'big' books. I'd start off by reading a few of Tintin's adventures, and then gradually go forward to books like David and the Phoenix or The Secret Garden. Before the month would be out, my brain would be back in gear and ready to tackle some grown-up books. 

Even though I no longer have those mega-duties anymore, I still find myself doing 'warm-up' reading with what might these days be called YA materials. This year, it was GG-winner, The King of Jam Sandwiches, followed by the old-fashioned pleasures of a Green Knowe book from Lucy M. Boston. 

Already I've managed to roar through Thomas King's latest, the very timely, Sufferance, much of it actually set on the site of a residential school. Among the residents of this very fine book is a passel of crows, one of whom stopped by on one of our skylights. Not sure if he thought he could get inside or what. Must have been a nice buffet of dead bugs up there. Or maybe he was just looking down onto my current stack of library books, hoping to find something good to read. 

A murder of crows?

I've always disliked that particular collective noun. But then, that might be because I like crows. For one thing, they're smart. For another, they're always so nice and shiny.

I've been trying to think of a better name for a group of them. When I see crows near a garbage bin, I think a plunder might suit them. But then, hearing a huge number of them, as in the video below (shades of The Birds), I consider the word cacophony. A cacophony of crows -- it even sounds cacophonous. But since crows aren't always loud, that might be nearly as unfair as murder. How about a riddle of crows?

drupelets galore

I'm pretty sure the first reference I heard to the word drupelet was in some book by Kurt Vonnegut. Maybe Cat's Cradle, with all its Boko-Maru. Wherever, today was a day for gathering many tiny karasses -- drupelets of beings that make up the fruit we know as raspberries.

While we were picking, a clatter of crows kept engaging in a series of family disputes. Doing anything else, their noise might have bothered me. As it was, I just took refuge by reaching further into the shadow of the leaves and finding some the biggest, softest berries -- the ones that roll off into your hand like fuzzy marbles.

A beautiful day well-spent, and one that will taste good all the way to next March.