Possum Views Vultures

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She was a mail order Bride

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Happy sunshine a week or so ago...and who should I see, sitting in an otherwise empty field, but three enormous turkey buzzards standing on the ground, backs to the sun, wings stretched out so big, so long, the pinfeathers all poking out with its pale trim! They were apparently catching some back-warming rays after a long cold spell, all peacefully facing north, unconcerned about the highway beyond.

Cars racing about, as they do every day, none of the occupants paying any attention at all to the sight of these huge birds who are, for once, at rest, not performing their endless spirals on updrafts, not searching for the smell of death, the scent that signifies a nearby vulture meal.
                                                          "Glorious Battle"

Reality = Not so much

We have a lot of turkey vultures in this valley, more than anywhere else I've ever lived. When we went to Gettysburg, many years ago, the guide  the crowd on the walking tour spun quite a tale. It was about the hoards of vultures who came after the battle, crowding in huge, never-before seen flocks to feast upon the dead, both animals and men. Believable, as vultures have amazing olfactory abilities. I'd imagine they also communicate, group to group, in some way.

"Hey Eddie! I hear there's big doin's down the valley. A reg'lar banquet! Folks flyin' in from everywhere! 'Nuff for ever'body!*"

"Thought I smelt somethin' tasty on that hot wind blowin' up from the south. Let's spiral up this here thermal and go check 'er out!"

Our guide, after allowing us to savor that creepy fact for a few minutes, then went on to add that this was the reason why there were still so many turkey vultures in the area, even now, 150+ years after the mad-house convulsion of slaughter that was the Battle of Gettysburg. 

This left me metaphorically scratching my head. What do these still persistent armies of scavengers live on during the long generations since the marvelous three days of the legendary banquet? Do the vultures hang out with their young, telling and retelling their nestlings about the "thrilling days of yesteryear," as they dream of another episode of The Big Kill?  

Cathartes Aura is their (poetic, I think) Latin designation, which means Cleansing Wind. You might be interested to learn that a group of vultures on the ground are called a "committee" and as I ponder some committees I've watched in action--especially lately in our Senate--I think the name is apt. In flight, a group of vultures is called a "kettle." On the ground, at supper with a host of family and friends, they are--wait for it!--called a "wake."  


~~Juliet Waldron

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* with apologies to Cheech and Chong

Possum Goes on Retreat

Rumination after a return from the woods. 

The possum has been at a retreat in the woods, in company with a lot of other creatures, bears, snakes, turtles, birds of every hue, wolves, rabbits, frogs, monkeys, mice, dogs, as well as some highly verbal cockroaches, dread-locked dragons, and reclusive cats, all meeting, greeting, contemplating, and studying the ways of balance and peaceful co-existence. It was very hot and very sweaty because it was July, and the animals slept in tents, walking some distance to reach showers or potty. That is, when they weren't dancing, singing, creating art, forming friendships, or meditating.

One of the finest sights is only on view during middle of the night rambles to the necessary: the Milky Way, our local galaxy, now nearly invisible to the more domesticated animals who live in the vast sprawl of cities. At the same time, grandmother moon grew fat, her face glowing through the tall straight trees, the oak, tulip poplar, beech, swamp maple, as well as the trees that grow with a hula-hoop twist, like sassafras, or flowering shrubs like mountain laurel and witch hazel.  All the creatures did a lot of walking through the woods and down along the creek, which was now singing a very soft tune as it ran over  the red and gray earth bones because it hasn’t been raining much.

What goes down must come up again, and this is true, not only for rain, but for all of us, especially if we wanted get back up again, away from the Hemlock Hole where we had been swimming, to our tents, or to the open pavilion where delicious meals are served, or to visit the forest cathedral. Worship took place in the open air. You don't need to go inside a building to hear the sacred words-or to sing hymns to Creator. If you wonder at that, remember the sermon on the mount--and if that's not your creed, recall the great Black Elk, who simply said: "The holy land is everywhere." 

Cell phones do not work in this place, although occasionally, standing on the hill by the contemplative labyrinth—stones laid into the ground, wildflowers—you could get a signal. Some creatures, suffering from electronic withdrawal, could sometimes be seen standing up there, arms extended, waving little glowing rectangles at the heavens, like devotees of some new sect, praying for even the smallest sign from the brutal cacophony which lay on the other side of the ancient blue mountains.

The possum returned home after a week of study, peace, mutual respect, and concord to a world convulsed with shootings and military coups, as well as the usual work-a-day torture, sexual slavery, famine, drought, injustice, greed, and cruelty. A few mass murders in the name of God were tossed in for good measure. Sound bite solutions to complex problems were trumpeted by the servants of Mammon--and by many accepted--easy-way-out notions which, when examined for longer than a minute, shouldn’t convince a flatworm, much less any self-respecting creature who (in vain) calls itself homo sapiens.

Humble Possum was shell-shocked. She had left the Holy Isle and re-entered the electric mad house. 

~Juliet Waldron

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