Nope. No plans for blackbird pie. The feathers get stuck in your teeth and I’m no royal to demand such gourmet fare. However, blackbirds are a perennial perplexing pest of the most pestilent persistence on our farm. A pox on their house. Among other things, they are a plague on our strawberries, settling on them like a black cloud of winged demons and feasting like there’s no tomorrow. Well, there will be no tomorrow for this little nest of pre-blackbirds. That’s Jesse, my middle son, with his recently discovered nest of five blackbird eggs. He’s a brilliant Lego architect, connoisseur of frozen yogurt pushups, and all-around cheerful little soldier. He does not have a shred of mercy for blackbirds (as he is also a connoisseur of strawberries).
One thought on “Four and twenty blackbirds…”
Around here, it’s starlings. Same effect. The kids of our orchardist friends down the street are really calloused about them, too.
Get Jesse to blow out the eggs, and display the whole lot as a science project.