A Tree of Jays

No brigadier throughout the year
So civic as the jay.
A neighbor and a warrior too,
With shrill felicity

Pursuing winds that censure us
A February day,
The brother of the universe
Was never blown away.

The snow and he are intimate;
I ‘ve often seen them play
When heaven looked upon us all
With such severity,

I felt apology were due
To an insulted sky,
Whose pompous frown was nutriment
To their temerity.

The pillow of this daring head
Is pungent evergreens;
His larder — terse and militant —
Unknown, refreshing things;

His character a tonic,
His future a dispute;
Unfair an immortality
That leaves this neighbor out.

Emily Dickinson, The Blue Jay

From time to time, I have noticed the odd blue jay in the pines that front our house.  Their color is distinctive, and their appearance is all the more noticeable given their size, raucous cry, and energetic investigations of all things piney.  Their relative scarcity makes them all the more attractive.

Ours are Steller’s Jays.  They don’t chase the smaller birds as crows do, but are sociable, but inquisitive, neighbors.  They spend most of their time in the pines, rarely alighting on the ground.  In the pines, their movements are quick, assertive, and somewhat manic, and they constantly fly among tree limbs and between trees.  They always seem to be pursuing an imperative goal during their visits, one no doubt associated with food for I have never seen them nesting nearby – at least not prior to yesterday.

Yesterday, Helen and I began what we hope will become a regular morning walk.  We have been constantly promising ourselves we would start walking as shared exercise since my December retirement, and yesterday all of our available excuses finally ran out.  So, we suited up as a walking duo for the first time: Helen reassembling her walking gear from her last solo trip in early December; me assembling for the first time a combination of new and old athletic gear into something resembling an ensemble (assuming gear with an inconstant University of Michigan theme so qualifies).

We walked down our driveway to one of the paved lanes we share with our neighbors, and began a truncated walk up and down its length.  We observed homes and wilderness alike, chatting about the apparently new neighbors who are having an old friend’s house remodeled to taste and who have not yet moved in, the large vacant tract to our south which is owned by that same old friend, and the state of the weather, both current and prospective.

Strangely, we saw no humans on our walk, other than a passing van-driver delivering new carpet to the neighbors behind us and a painter going into the home being remodeled.  Neither was close enough to speak to us and only the carpet deliveryman gave us any attention, and that only for the purpose of steering around us.  However, Beau, the three-legged Siberian Husky belonging to a further neighbor, gave us all of his attention, barking at us from behind his fence in what Helen advised was his usual practice and offering dire warnings and unfriendly advice as we twice passed in alternating directions.  He deigned to cease despite our friendly entreaties.

After passing Beau the second time, and just prior to reaching the juncture of the two private lanes serving our neighborhood, we heard raucous screeching originating from a pine just off the lane about 20 yards in front of us.  At first, we were certain it was starlings, for they abound in all seasons and the noise was such that it only could have originated from a congregation.  Starlings’ choruses are so constant and incessant as to not have any discernible meaning; their choruses seem to be nothing more than a statement of existence aimed at the world in general, but at no one in particular.

When we arrived at the tree, we found to our mutual surprise that it was, instead, a flock of blue jays seemingly complicit with Beau in offering further warnings and advice about the danger of invading another’s domain – in this case the environs of their tree.  Their screeching continued throughout our investigation of them and until we were 20 feet or so beyond their tree.  There were at least 6 large jays in the pine: all in constant motion, all unified by warning voice and assertive manner.  Their screeching was as full of menace as was Beau’s barking, causing me to conclude that we must have stumbled upon a communal nesting tree.

Upon our return to the house, I borrowed Helen’s bird book to identify and read about  Steller’s Jays.  Helen’s book offered insight on such items as coloring, range, habits, and desired environment, all of which corresponded to what we’d seen. For it was a book of facts.

The book offered nothing, however, about the possibility of a shared sense of community and possession among Steller’s Jays.  As I reflected upon the Tree of Jays and Beau’s vociferous defense of his realm, I realized that each was protecting a home just as I would mine.  And this realization made me wonder whether their sense of place is as expansive as mine: whether either jay or dog appreciates our shared environment as much for its beauty and tranquility as for its sustaining properties.

I have no real insight into the ability of jays and dogs to appreciate beauty in the land; I only know for certain that they are of that beauty and, as such, are appreciated by me, each in a particular way and each for what they are.

I look forward to visiting with the jays and with Beau on future walks and am pleased to have made their acquaintance, and I promise faithfully to honor their mutual threats by staying well clear of the boundaries they each so avidly guard.

Even so, the jays are always welcome at our house.  Beau?  Beau can stay home.

About Gavin Stevens

Humptulips County is the wholly fictional on-line residence of Stephen Ellis, a would-be writer, an avid fan of William Faulkner and his Yoknapatawpha County, and a retired lawyer.
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One Response to A Tree of Jays

  1. Richard Pierson says:

    Glad to hear Gavin and Helen have started their family walks in Maltby country. I enjoy hearing of others who venture forth in the morning for delight and exercise.
    This morning Bingo (aka law dawg) and I stepped out of the Anacortes house to view the light frost on evergreens, ground and cars in our neighborhood. The view from our South facing deck over Burroughs Bay to the Olympics is a blended blue, grey fogey expanse. We had our walk uninterrupted by human company this morning. A pair of Black tail deer were the subject of Bingo’s investigation and later discovery with a bark and very short chase. They elected to disappear down San Juan Blvd with a waive of their tails.

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