Black Bird Pie
“Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye
Four and twenty Black Birds, baked in a pie
When the pie was opened, the birds began to sing
Now wasn’t that a dainty dish to set before the king!”
I used to sing this common nursery rhyme often as a child and in fact even played the part of said Black Bird in a school play when I was in primary school, thinking it rather macabre at the time to eat black birds alive and wondering how they managed to by-pass the baking process in order to do so.
Now that innocuous nursery rhyme has taken on new meaning for me and I hear myself humming it, menacingly as I hang out washing or other activities that occur under our veranda.
It started off a few years ago. A couple of mating black birds chose a very cosy little nook under our verandah. Good choice. It offered plenty of shade, protection from elements and predators, nice location for rearing and bringing up young. I watched the progress of building the nest, the incubation and hatching of the chicks. The endless trips too and fro by the parents to satisfy what seemed to be an insatiable appetite of the brood. Poor things almost wore themselves out. Then the time came when the brood left the nest and it was a nerve-wracking experience watching them fumble and crash their way around until they got their wings and were able to competently fly where no human had been before.
Well, it seems word got out. Next season the honey eaters and sparrows moved in along side the black birds. Not sure if it was the same pair or their off-spring. It seems it’s a prime piece of real estate for the bird fraternity. This is all very well, but now our idyllic tranquil little paradise under the verandah, has turned into an Alfred Hitchock-ess nightmare. The noise, the big splotches of bird poop on the out-door furniture and washing, the flicking up of the mulch and bark while birds excavate for worms and bugs, they are truly beginning to ‘rule the roost’. Despite this, I cannot bring myself to interfere with their busy lives and consider them more like annoying guests who outstay their welcome. In the meantime, I can be heard ominously humming ‘Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye, four and twenty black birds baked in a pie………………….” As I hunt the web for Black Bird pie recipes.