Monday, March 21, 2016

The Starling Song

As another Lame Cherry exclusive in matter anti matter.

The German was telling me about Starlings in watching the migrating flocks return to the Fatherland, and thinking of us looking up at our birds here.

I was once a snob when it came to songbirds, because I would watch the English, having destroyed the island and thinking the rest of the world is as barren as England, that we all had to exist in cages too. For those who do not know, England is a land of clouds of English Starling, and those wretched English Sparrows which have polluted the world.
They are both pack animals which bully native species in their 10 to 1 numbers and are cowards like Muslims and Latins in being only 3 to 1 in outnumbering the native Caucasian.

The Starling is a wonderful animal known primarily by its whistle. It mimics other birds, and appears ugly, until you discover one dead and then they have black feathers with gold flecks in them.

Like all the English vermin, they are highly intelligent. In the country in America, they are blasted and hoped that cats eat them, for the native birds of Robin, Cardinal, Blue Jay, Finch, Warbler, Native Sparrows abounding, Juncos, Chickadees, and the list goes on, as America before West Nile overflowed with song birds.
As a child, I had a game where I would go outside and literally as fast as I could look, I would count 7 different species of birds. The disappointment then was the lowly blackbird on the list, but after the US Fish and Wildlife assassinated millions of those birds in New Orleans for pooping on people's cars, they are a rare species in America now too.

In the metro the Starlings amaze me for they sit calmly without fear, picking bugs in the lawns in immense flocks. In the country, people would shoot at them constantly to be rid of them, in favor of native species.

Then again if our Starlings were like the Violet Backed Starling, I would have been in complete adoration of them.

 Creation: Violet-backed Starling

This looks more like the Robin or Grackle genus of birds, but who am I to say when God has decided to produce something for His children to admire........then again we are never overrun with flocks of beauty, only ugly Muslim and ugly Latin. We never are over run with silken haired Asians or Nordic blondes.

The US Fish and Wildlife Service is a criminal organization. They waste money on predators, ruin wildlife like the Snow and Blue Goose habitat and then murder those birds, and make criminals out of Citizens. They do far more damage to wildlife and people, than help. LaVoy Finicum is a product of US Fish and Wildlife assassination policy.

After reading a book by American hunter.......I forget his name, but it was like Helsing, (think it's Van Klymer or something)  he wrote of the great bird habitat in Hungary and I have always wanted to go there. There are great reed waterways there, and the geese and ducks, along with other waterfowl live upon that inland plain, which is a great deal like America.

If only I could have shared the funnels, like a tornado of 100,000 mallards in the autumn, sweeping over corn fields, which no longer are. That like the passenger pigeon are but testaments not against humanity, but to the feudal few who destroy all they  touch, and are in process now destroying the native specie of humans in Europe, America and Australia, and no one cares, because it is white people.

For the epitome of birds though, there is Russia. For some reason, God was having a very good day in Russia when he painted birds. In Russia, God took American birds like the black, grey and white chickadee and decided to paint these loud colors on them, in perfect combination, so they are absolutely stunning. It is like God kissed each feather to put glitter upon them as German Christmas Trees.

I listen for spring, and spring to me is the sound of geese. America has changed in the duck populations have been destroyed by mismanagement, but the geese are interesting in the little Cackler is now surging, and when I hear them I know winter is coming to an end, and when I hear the White Front or laughing geese, followed by the Snow and Blue Geese, I know spring has come.
Then appear the buck Robins scolding in the trees lustily in the morning, and I know their sign, as it will always snow one more time after they announce spring. This year it has been two times.

I look for swallows too. The Tree Swallow and then the Barn Swallow. Being insect eating birds, they come last sometime in April here, and then I look for the Orioles as they are last of all in May.......the Brown Thrush, like the Mockingbird arrives just before them, with their wonderful myriad of calls of songs and their own bird mimics......along with the lovely cat birds in their sooty grey prettiness.

As a child, I hated crows, because they are such predatory birds, and I often shot them to drive them off. One blizzard though, I noted that all we had were those crows sitting on a dead tree...and I stopped shooting them as all of that dead winter was made alive by the crow.
I actually had one that I would talk to, as I do talk crow. He would perch on a branch, bounce up and down, call at me, and I would call back. I do enjoy fooling those bright birds in making them swing over top of me, as I lure them in, and then watch their scowl as they figure out they are not as smart as they thought they were.

The Starling here are the only birds which eat another manmade vermin in those tent worms. The Sparrow of England eats huge grasshoppers. They have their purpose, but I long for days when the world had native species as in Russia, to delight the heart in all the wonder of a birdy din.

As I type this, a Hairy Woodpecker is drilling into a dead wood loudly, looking for a grub to eat. It is like a telephone ringing and soon enough the migratory woodpeckers will arrive here next month too...........and then the House Wrens appear.
Mom always liked them as my sister died just before Easter and the wrens appeared not long after and would sing in the morning to cheer Mom up.

Even Mr. Peepers is a bird of birds. He has now decided that the box is not the place for him in daylight savings time, and came to watch a John Wayne movie with us last night, before going into the bedroom again, where I had to dig him out from under the bed about midnight as he is such a good boy, I forgot he was not in his box.

I must go now, but we think of you, when we watch the birds too.