Barbara J. Hamby

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Creative Crow and Other Observations

Today I watched a crow scoop bugs from a neighbor’s roof using a stick (actually a small tree branch with tributary branches still attached). When I finally figured out what he was doing, he flew away, carrying the cumbersome stick with him. I’ve seen similar scenes on television, but never “in the wild,” so to speak.

It made me realize, once again, how lucky I am. Sure, birds can fly, but they really have to work hard to make a living. There are no paid vacations from gathering food for themselves and sometimes for their offspring. No retirement to look forward to, either. No wonder they gaze enviously at me from the tree outside the window behind my computer.

Working on memoirs, I’ve been spending the last few days reliving my teenage years during World War II. Like dark chocolate, some of those days were rich and sweet. Others had a bitter taste that returns to my tongue as I write about them.

Most periods in history have turbulent times that may be difficult for adults, not to mention pre-adults, to cope with. My parents had to deal with poverty when they were children and the depression as young adults. My children live with the threat of destruction of our planet, either by nuclear annihilation or consumptive greed. The stakes seem to get higher as time moves on.

My premature initiation into adulthood, or at least a borderline version of it, began with the sudden announcement of the attack on Pearl Harbor. Writing about those days brings the feelings I experienced closer to the surface. It isn’t easy, but I tell myself it’s important.

When I read about older family members it helps me to know and understand them more fully. It also connects me to history in a way that no school ever did. I’d like to think I’ll be contributing to that sort of learning.