Used to be that the waxwings, crows, and robins would pretty well pick the land clean down to its bones. And now?
What is a poor elderberry bush to do?
Used to be that you couldn’t hear yourself think for all the racket of birds. You couldn’t get a word in edgewise. As soon as the elderberries were half ripe, they’d be gone. Bears loved them. Birds loved them. The berries in the picture above, on the wild, western side of Okanagan Lake, are so ripe they’re almost pure sugar. They must have been ripe for a month — and not a bird or a bear has come by in all that time. Even the descendants of the birds that seeded this tree on old orchard land are not popping in for afternoon tea.
Could it be that this is the beginning of a terrible future: we are alone?
I’m not proposing an answer here. I’m just saying: Geez, even a bear would be pretty welcome right about now.
I’d roll out the red carpet for a bear.
Categories: Other People