Thursday, September 18

Did you know a flock of crows is called a murder?

Today sees me typing from yet another glorious location. Perched on the banks of the Mary River at a place called Mary Pond. Surrounded by various gums and an array of birds it is hard to believe that currently this is my life.

The girls have just finished hanging out the load of washing that we put through the machines at the van park this morning before we set off. The small clothes line we purchased the other week has already paid of itself a dozen times over.  

Even Teapot is able to help thanks to the an extra low hanger thing that dear old Bev gave me. Bev and Brian were our neighbours in Kununurra the second time we stopped in there. We and their friends Win and Kev all arrived at the same time and despite a generational gap we all got on like old friends. 
I love that it makes this chore one the girls can now take on.



Which I must admit is mostly thanks to Mr Awesome. 

I realised this morning that he really is somewhat of a social butterfly. People are just drawn to him and while he may claim to not like talking to people, people most certainly like talking to him. He seems to forever be engaging in conversations with strangers. I tend to be a bit more hesitant in chewing the fat.









As the afternoon draws on a few stray cows from the nearby station wander on by. 


This provides us all with great entertainment. 

Lovely is adamant that she wanted to touch one so we carefully follow a few around seeing how close we can get before they get spooked.

There was one that was more interested in us than Lovely had bargained for. 

Hysterics ensue when it sticks it’s long tongue in Lovely’s direction. I contemplate at how it would've made for a brilliant photo only I was to busy living in the moment to capture it properly.



A flock of corellas swoop in low above my head. They gracefully scatter themselves amongst the branches and perch there for a while. Intermittently calling out to one another with a range of calls. I can’t help but wonder what each call means. If there are different words for each pitch and sound?There  certainly is no mistaking a difference in each squawk.

Of course it is not just the cockatoos that make me wonder what is being said. I listen to all the birds and ponder of what their song could mean. Do they talk just to their own species or are their cries understood universally across throughout the bird world.

Not long after we arrived this morning the crows were carrying on like nothing I have heard before. There was no denying their displeasure at something. What remained that was remained to be seen mind you. 

There would have been at least twenty to thirty of them all sitting in the branches of a tree not far from where we had decided to set up Edna for the night. They all kept repeating the same cry over and over. A few cockatoos were with them. Quietly watching, refusing to be moved.

The noise was so loud and constant that Mr Awesome went a little closer to investigate what was behind the disturbance. I watched through Edna’s window pleased to have a valid reason to delay my unpacking duties while marvelling at how beautiful our surroundings were.

After a few minutes it was evident that Mr A had found the cause of the raucous. My curiosity kicked in and I went to join him in his investigation.

Sadly we discovered the body of a dead bird.

We are not sure what caused it’s death but whatever it was was relatively recent. If we had to guess chances are pretty good that the crows are to blame. 

Did you know a flock of crows is called a murder? 

There is a valid reason for this. They are super territorial and when there territory is threatened by another species they turn into bullies. A gang mentality at it’s greatest.

I try not to dwell on it for too long though. I secretly love the crow. They walk with such confidence and aren’t afraid to stand their ground. Their black feathers in the right light shimmer and shine hiding a glimmering green that is not often seen. I also love that one of their call’s sounds like Mark. The name by which Mr Awesome is also known.

Mind you it is this aspect that he despises about them most. Growing up on a station where there were crows a plenty he would mistaken their call for his mother calling him home. A point that makes me giggle whenever I think of it. 

For now though I must try and recall all of the happenings of the last ten days. I have been so busy living in the moment I have not stopped to record the details for later. Which is both a good and bad thing. 




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