Friday Fodder – Generosity

Crows had bright purple feathers. Crows have always been highly intelligent birds with excellent memories and an eye for detail. The crows in our story live in the countryside where there is ample wheat from surrounding farms and plenty of rodents to keep their bellies full. Life is so good for the crows that they even look after their blind brother. Viewed as spiritual messengers, honour among the purple murder is paramount. 

Stavros, a local wheat and vege farmer, despised the crows with every ounce of his being. Every time he heard their calls, he would run at the birds shaking his fist and yelling obscenities. One day after harvesting the biggest, gnarliest pumpkin of the season, Stavros decided to create the most sinister and grotesque-looking scarecrow he could imagine to frighten the crows off once and for all. He completed his creation’s ensemble with a long red and black striped scarf and a cackle to rival any crow “Mwahahahaaaaaa!”

The work wasn’t difficult but it was incredibly isolated and lonely. Comfortless days and nights passed by with no one to talk to. The only thing Scarecrow could do was look at the birds from afar. Desperate for a friend, each time they flew by he would energetically wave at them. But they only flew away as if they were afraid. The wind seemed to be the only partner who cherished Scarecrow’s solitude. Constantly immersed in the eternally empty hours, watching the blades on the mills go around and around,  Scarecrow listened to the wheat fields murmur and sway like golden seas.

One day Scarecrow felt so forsaken, he did something forbidden. He offered the crows some seed, but they screeched in fear and fled to the sky in a whirlwind of purple feathers. Scarecrow was miserable. He wondered why nobody wanted to be his friend. With every ounce of his big pumpkin head, he craved contact with the crows so he continued performing small acts of kindness every day, in the hope of one day catching their attention.

As winter set in, the weather became squally. One particularly cold and blustery night, a blind crow fell at Scarcrow’s feet. The crow was shivering and desperately hungry. Scarecrow immediately wrapped the bird up in his scarf and took care of him. He gave him seed to eat and after several days the blind crow was better and ready to take to the skies once again. Before the crow departed, Scarecrow asked why birds never wanted to be friends with scarecrows. The crow explained that the job of the scarecrows is to scare the poor birds. “They are evil and despicable monsters. They fulfill that for which they were created.”

Scarecrow was shocked “That’s not true” he pleaded, “I’m not evil and I’m a Scarecrow”.

The blind crow shrieked in terror and quickly flew away. Once again, Scarecrow was alone, empty and deserted with no friends. He lamented at being created just as the blind crow described, with the sole function of scaring away all animals, especially crows. He was condemned to live in eternal solitude, governed by the cycles of the crop, and the guidelines of men.

“This is too much to bear” he decided “I don’t want to frighten birds. I will just have to tell the farmer I need another job”. So he made his way to the farmhouse where the farmer was sleeping. Terrified to see a talking scarecrow, the farmer fled and woke up all the surrounding neighbours. He announced to the village that somehow the scarecrow had come alive and that it could only be the work of a demon.

Out on the edge of the field, Scarecrow first heard a commotion. Then he saw fire torches and pitchforks as the angry mob drew closer. Frantically looking around, there was only one place he could go. He ran into the windmill for safety and up the winding stairs. The mob became violent and torched the mill – rakes and pitchforks pumping at the towering inferno. Scarecrow screamed, but no one cared.

The crows flew overhead to witness the commotion. One of them was the blind crow. His feathered brothers explained that the villagers were burning the windmill where a scarecrow with a very long scarf was trying to hide. The blind crow told them he was a good scarecrow who saved his life. Moved by the story, the fiercely protective crows vowed to save Scarecrow… but it was too late. The entire windmill was roaring in flames and the villagers had begun to disperse. 

The crows waited until dawn for the embers to die down. They searched the remains of the windmill and gathered the ashes of our kind scarecrow. Up on high, they scattered the ashes through the air. The wind carried Scarecrow’s ashes across the land. At last he was flying side-by-side with all the birds. In this way, Scarecrow would never again have to be alone.

In memory of the tragic death of Scarecrow, the blind crow and all his friends decided to dress in mourning. Crows are a symbol of transformation. They are a symbol of change that is required. Since that day, all crows are black – acknowledging the generosity of he who always wanted to be their friend.