I thought I was actually going to be documenting the sudden and violent demise of Marvin this past Sunday.
I was at Make-It! Market for most of last week, but I took an hour or so off on Sunday morning to mail some online orders. On the way back from the post office, walking down the alley to the garden gate I heard a crow-motion, along with a simultaneous flash of massive wings.
A bald eagle had landed in the tree one street over. We often see them around here, but they’re usually soaring high overhead so you don’t really appreciate how very huge they are. You can see its true size as it perches next to the Crow Complaints Committee (CCC), voicing their various grievances from a nearby branch.
I’m sure that the four crows are Marvin, Mavis, Eric and Clara — the two pairs with territory closest to the offending eagle visitor.
And this is where I thought I was about to witness the death of one of them.
Based on what I know of the personalities of the four crows, Marvin is the most likely to pull this stunt.
As I clicked the shutter I closed my eyes, not wanting to see what happened next.
Amazingly, what did happen was that the eagle took off in search of a less irritating spot to spend Sunday morning … and Marvin the Maniac lived to annoy birds of prey another day.
Post eagle-exploits, Marvin was looking pretty full of himself.
While, at the same time, keeping a close eye on the sky.
Crows are often the only obvious representative of the natural world that a busy urbanite might see in a day. Many more wild things live among us, of course — but crows are so “in your face” that they’re hard to overlook, no matter how distracted you are. Once they’ve caught your eye, you can’t help but start to notice the rest of the quieter members of the urban nature gang… sparrows, chickadees, coyotes, eagles, hawks, bushtits, raccoons, ravens, squirrels, flickers, hummingbirds … and the precious scraps of urban greenery in which they thrive.
2. Crow as Mirror
Crows have evolved through millennia along an entirely separate path from humans.
And yet, and yet … here we find ourselves, crows and people, living strangely parallel urban lives.
We all —crows and humans — have to deploy every bit of our creativity and hard work to get by in the urban jungle. We take comfort in our family groups, and we commute in tandem— the nightly river of roost-bound crows soaring raucously over their earthbound fellow travellers, the latter inching their way homeward though traffic.
While I love and admire crows, I don’t usually think of them as my “spirit animal” or anything particularly mystical.
And yet, sometimes, when I look at Mavis …
3. Crows Really Don’t Care
Crows have a rather enviable devil-may-care attitude.
Their gaze is firmly outward, with little or no thought wasted on what others think of them. They know that their crow-ness is sufficient.
I try to be more like them in that regard, … although I don’t think I don’t think I’m quite ready to start digging up my neighbours’ lawns just yet.
As I get older I wonder if I should start doing Sudoku or crosswords to keep my mind sharp.
I haven’t yet, but I find that crow watching is a pretty good substitute. I see a crow doing something rather inexplicable. I wonder about it, read a book or an article about crows, I watch some more, and then — aha! — the puzzle pieces suddenly fit into place. Then I have to try and keep that bit of information stored in my brain as I add more clues to a growing picture. It’s like being a crow P.I.
Take, for instance, the mystery of the barking crow …
See my previous blog post A Puzzlement of Crows for just how much of my brain this sort of thing occupies at any one time.
Whitewing here has a perennially wonky wing feather which helps me pick her out from the crowd.
5. Crows For Kids
We worry that our kids spend too much time inside, screen-mesmerized (much like the rest of us) and rarely keen to get outside and get involved with nature. They’re able to identify far more corporate logos than birds or plants.
From experiences with my own children when they were younger, the most effective way to get them interested in doing something is to create a story around it.
My son was reluctant to come on walks until we found Dragon Alley. A street near our house is lined with massive trees, and the trunks are all covered in various kinds of thick moss. Once we “discovered” that this was were the local dragons came to rub off their old scales, walking was a delight.
I wish I’d started noticing crows when my children were little. The tales we could have spun! The characters we could have followed! They loved books with animals in them, but most of them were not indigenous to East Vancouver. They read about tigers and badgers and hedgehogs in brambly hedges, none of which they were ever likely to actually find on their own adventures. It would have been fun to introduce them to some real life local crow characters.
Well I guess it’s never too late as I do that now, even though the kids are now in their twenties …
6. Crow Therapy is Egalitarian
Just about anyone in a crow-populated city can take advantage of crow therapy. You don’t even need to get up close and personal — you can read their messages of beauty and nature from a distance in the calligraphy they write against the sky.
We simply need to stop for a moment to look up and try to interpret it.
In fact, crow therapy is SO egalitarian that it doesn’t even need to involve crows.
If it’s wondering what the starlings are up to today, or how the light will hit the leaves on your favourite tree this morning, or which dragons left scales in Dragon Alley overnight — whatever gives you a thrill of anticipation as your step outside — that’s Crow Therapy.
The subject of our chat was my City Crow calendar in particular, and “crow therapy” in general.
I must admit that when I first coined the phrase “crow therapy” for city dwellers, I half meant it as a joke.
After all, there are already so many cures from our mental and spiritual ailments these days — ranging from the snake oil variety, to the truly helpful.
As I scroll through my social media feed and my blood pressure inevitably begins to rise — there it is — the ad for “Calm” (apparently the best-selling app of the year) floating serenely down the page. It seems to actually know which posts are going to aggravate me most so that it can make a timely and soothing appearance.
There is the lovely forest bathing therapy, and that is generally free – all you need is some forest in which to wander. That, and hiking in the mountains looking for ravens, are two of my favourite calming “apps.” Unfortunately, I have neither forest nor mountain on my doorstep, so those types of respite take a bit of time and planning.
Given how fraught our daily lives can be, we could all take to wandering the mountain trails and forest pathways on a full-time basis, having bid farewell to our jobs and families.
Or, we could look for a stress-busting technique that’s more readily at hand.
There are always those handy phone apps, of course. But it seems counter productive to spend yet more time looking at screens in order to reduce the tension often brought about by too much time immersed in that world to begin with.
What we need is a window OUT of our normal world, even for if it’s just for a few minutes.
Therefore, I present to you: Crow Therapy — 100% free, and readily available!
A crow knows what’s it like to be struggling to make it in the big city.
A crow isn’t perfect.
They don’t expect you to be either.
So what are you waiting for?
A Crow Therapist, or two, are likely waiting for you outside right now.
I’ve been meaning to write this post for months … possibly years.
I’m often asked about my photography — what kind of equipment I use, lighting and so on — so I naturally I thought I’d blog about it.
Starting a new post is a bit like deciding the angle from which you will dive into a pool. The first few attempts often end as belly flops.
I began composing an epic, encompassing my personal photographic journey, plus every thought that’s ever crossed my mind about the possible significance of photography.
You will be relieved to hear that it has, after days of literary struggle, been edited down to a more modest offering. Hopefully a cleaner dive.
If you’re in a BIG rush, here’s the Cole’s Notes version:
Keep everything portable. The best camera is the world is no good to you if you didn’t bring it along because it’s too heavy and/or precious.
Don’t get bogged down in the technology.
Flat light is your best friend. There are exceptions to this (and most) rules.
Photograph subjects that mean something to you, and aim to communicate why it’s special in each image.
I am utterly hopeless at retaining any kind of technical information. Each and every time I go to reply to someone about what kind of camera and lens I use, I have to go and actually find the camera to have a look at the the numbers on it.
So — this is the camera I use currently. It’s an Olympus micro-four thirds model, the OM-1D EM-1 model, about four or five years old. As you can see, it’s a bit battered, because I just pick it up a take it with me almost every time I head out of the door. It’s been soaked more that once. Last fall it suffered the camera version of a stroke — I took a picture and it made a terrible sound and everything went white. The shutter was stuck open and I had to take it for repair. It’s back in business now, but has never really been the same.
I almost always have my camera on the same setting for my crow photos — fast ISO, big aperture (so the background will be out of focus) and speed as fast as the available light will allow. Since my camera’s brush with death these are the only settings at which it will work properly — so I guess woman and machine have become one.
The lens I use almost exclusively is an Olympus zoom, 75-300mm. It’s not the “best” quality lens by any means. It’s plastic, rather slow, has eccentric focusing habits. It too has also had to be repaired a couple of times. On the plus side, it’s not too heavy and relatively inexpensive, so if it does get terminally injured on a raven-seeking mountain trip in the snow, it’s not the end of the world. I do own an Olympus “pro” lens (40-150mm) and it is unquestionably a superior lens. I use it when photographing close to home, or when I go to the Still Creek roost, because it’s better in low light. But the weight of the thing! And the cost!!
One technical tip — if you have a larger than pocket-sized camera, replace the strap with one like this that allows you to wear it over your shoulder and tuck it behind you when it’s not needed and swing to the front when you do. This one’s a Joby (there are lots of other brands) and the only reason I made this awesome discovery is because I won the strap, and some other gear, in a photography contest a few years back.
A bright sunny day would show this young crow as a black bird. The myriad subtle shades of sepia, indigo and mauve in those lovely immature feathers would be quite lost.
Flat light is what I love the most — those days when there is some high cloud and a weak sun filtering through it. Yes, I am one of those obnoxious people who complain about a long run of hot sunny days. They’re terrible for taking photographs of dark feathered birds — too much deep shadow and burning highlight, and almost impossible to get the subtle detail. In the middle of summer I tend to get up really early to try and get some photographs before the sun is fully up. I always aim for a photograph that looks as if it could have been painted, and diffuse light really is the only way I’ve found to achieve that effect.
Exceptions to the Rule
Bright sunny days are often good for taking interesting corvid silhouette pictures.
Obviously, crows and ravens are MY subjects, with occasional other birds, and a bit of rust and foliage on the side.
Whatever “your” subject is — fashion, flowers, architecture, slugs, barbed wire fences, kittens, soup tins — just follow it. Set yourself little assignments every day, if you can. Look at the results and see what you like and what you don’t like.
Does the image tell the viewer something specific about the subject, something that conveys the emotion you feel in its presence?
If yes — do more of that.
If no — try something slightly different next time.
The side effect of this process is that you set up a bit of a feedback loop. The more you look at your chosen subject, the more you think about the reasons why you take photos.
Some Reasons to Take Photographs
to create a periscope up from the choppy (or becalmed) sea of daily life
to try to stop time from moving on
to make yourself think more about a subject
to see that a single subject can look very different from another angle
to simply record things (many photos I take are just to keep a note of which crow is where and when)
to try (perhaps over years) to find the truth in something
I consider my work to be a combination of wildlife and portrait, with an emphasis on the latter. My daily struggle is to create images that don’t just tell the viewer what the bird looks like, but also to hint at what is going on behind those glinting, intelligent eyes.
One day earlier this week both of the nesters made a rare double trip down to terra firma for a chat.
Perhaps they were out on a date, although one of them seemed to be feeling the need for a little personal space ….
Eric and Clara are around too. I think their nest is also in the poplars, just a bit to the south of the Firehall nest. It’s not within view of my window and too far up to see from the ground, but Eric is guarding his corner diligently.
A couple of weeks ago there were a few inter-crow skirmishes between Eric and the Firehall gang, presumable sparked by minor breaches of neighbourly conduct.
A detente seems to have been reached lately.
A circumspect hush has fallen over the neighbourhood.
Now that nests are becoming populated, location is an even more closely guarded secret. Energy must be saved for the most important things.
Part of the silence seems due to the absence of some of usual crow enemies at the moment.
The ravens have moved on. I haven’t seen or heard one near here for almost a month now. Also missing: the pair of bald eagles that usually cruise the area at this time of year. Perhaps both ravens and eagles are waiting to hear the quacking of baby crows before they start their “grocery shopping” expeditions.
But there is one sure thing around now that will get the nesting crows to break their silence.
With a vengeance.
Meeting of CCC (Concerned Corvid Citizens) in the alley earlier this week.
Two weeks ago Marvin cawed for an entire day. He was cawing when I got up, before 6am, and he was still at it when dusk fell. Even by crow standards, he was sounding a bit hoarse by then.
The culprit, in both of these incidents, was almost certainly the masked bandit. The tree in which Marvin and Mavis seem to have their nest has been robbed by racoons every spring since I’ve been noticing such things.
Yesterday, on the dog walk, I heard a furious crow, then noticed a small, lollipop-shaped tree in someone’s garden shaking as if in a hurricane.
As it was a windless morning I decided to wait and see what happened next.
Sure enough …
I’m not sure if the raccoon scored any eggs this time. Perhaps Geordie and I interrupted this particular heist, but those clever little hands are very adept at nest robbing. I suppose there are little raccoon kits waiting for lunch somewhere.
Circle of life, and etc …
Marvin and his trusty pal, Rusty, engage in philosophical discussion on the back gate.
Marvin is still coming by occasionally for a snack and visit. I imagine Mavis is on the nest, so I’m hoping Marvin is thoughtfully saving some peanuts to take back for her.
On a recent dog walk I heard a crow begging call coming form a cedar tree. It sounded just like a baby crow calling for “food, food, food” — but it’s too early for such noisy youngsters. As I suspected, it was a mother crow, confined to nest duty, calling out to dad to quit lolling about, pondering the meaning of life, and *@#*%! bring her something to eat.
Soon, we will be hearing the ceaseless “quacking” sound of dozens of baby crows, all vying for parental feeding service
I am the cutest of my siblings. I am the loudest. Feed me. Feed me. F-E-E-D M-E!!
We started our day early when I saw her on the first dog walk of the day. You can see her raven breath in the chilly morning air.
In this next clip, I honestly felt she was trying to get through to a particularly slow student when she making her oh-so-carefully articulated speech.
Sometimes, you know how you choke up for the big performance. Especially when you have an audience …
But, for me, the highlight of the day was when I realized why it’s often so hard, just listening to her calls, to figure out exactly where she is. Sometimes it sounds like two birds calling to each other. Sometimes she sounds close, a second later, really distant.
The mystery was solved on Sunday, when I found her calling in a spot where she was surrounded by walls on three sides. The echo was so amazing that I just stood there for quite a while before I thought to try and video it. Unfortunately, the tiny and uni-directional microphone on my camera doesn’t pick up the echo that well — but you can see her stop and listen to her own voice coming back to her.
I wondered if she thought it was a second raven, or whether she did it to sound as if there were more of her and to generally drive the crows crazy.
Speaking of driving the crows crazy, I think this is Eric and Clara keeping an eye on her raven shenanigans.
Madame Raven completes her morning toilette, heedless of the scolding crows and the clicking cameras.
And then, this last weekend, came the bluebirds.
I only noticed them because I was scouring the area for the raven.
Something darted over an unused piece of grassland that looked, in it’s flight pattern, more like a swift or swallow that the usual small birds I see around here. Upon closer inspection, there was an improbable flash of summer sky blue.
Poor Geordie. I’m sure he sighed an enormous doggy sigh as our walk came to an abrupt halt and I started feverishly consulting the Sibley’s Bird app on my iPhone.
Not a Western Bluebird then — they have brown/orange chests. Could it be a Mountain Bluebird? I had never seen one, even though I lived and worked for years in the north and interior of BC, which is more their usual spring/summer range. It seemed so odd that they should make a sudden appearance in East Vancouver. The Sibley’s map shows the coast of BC as part of their migration route, so just passing through.
They like open grasslands with some trees for shelter and they had found exactly that for their Vancouver stopover. I guess they did some excellent BirdAirBnB research in advance.
The piece of overgrown grass had small bushes and fences for them to perch on to view their insect prey before diving in to dine.
I “visited” them several times over the weekend, often pointing them out to neighbours passing by. Some of them went to bring their families to see the amazing sight. None of us had ever seen them before. They reminded me of the little birds that helped Cinderella to do her housework and get ready for the ball in the original Disney animation.
More real … still magical.
The male birds are impossibly vivid. The females are more subtle in the their colouring, but there would still be a spectacular flash of blue from their wings when they took flight.
These appearances were, as they say in the furniture flyers, Limited Time Offer Only!
May many of your days be special, and may the Bluebird of Happiness fly over to your shoulder …
… and rest there for a while.
Oh, and if you’re wondering, when will their be bluebird cushion covers? … don’t worry, I’m on it!
I usually don’t like the term “murder” to describe a group of crows.
Rather prejudicial, I always think. In the case of this gathering, however, it seemed apt.
Incredibly, (spoiler alert) all participants in this brawl did walk away — but the ferocity was something I’d never seen in my all years of crow-watching.
The crows are pretty fractious at this time of year. All of that bucolic nest building has the side effect of making them hyper-sensitive to territorial infringements, — by traditional foes (raven, eagle, cat, racoon, coyote) — or their fellow crows.
On Sunday morning the crows were particularly loud. I assumed it was the usual group protest directed at the new raven in the neighbourhood.
I was first preoccupied with the raven, who seemed especially oblivious to the crows on this particular morning . She carefully ran through a full repertoire of calls and meticulously groomed her lovely feathers.
The crows weren’t bothering to swoop and harass her, and I noticed that their anger seemed focussed elsewhere. I walked over that way to see what was bothering them.
Just then, all hell broke loose. From a distance, it looked like a muscular black feather duster exploding in the middle of the alley way.
As I got closer the individual participants in the melée became more distinct.
It seems that two or three crows are at the centre of the brawl, with one of them pinned to the ground.
The fighters are surrounded by a vociferous crowd — like a scene from Gladiator, with some Hogarthian figures passing judgement from the sidelines.
Just as I was thinking that this fight might need a human referee, a corvid one seemed to step in. Abruptly the flapping stopped and “discussion” resumed..
Miraculously, the combatants, aside from some ruffled feathers, looked relatively unscathed.
Indignant, but uninjured.
The warring factions decide to suspend hostilities, and live to fight (and nest) another day.
Of course, someone always has to have the last word …
The crowd dispersed as far as the nearest trees and wires where they continued to comment on the event for quite a while.
Political panel “unpacks” the issues.
Eventually the tribunal concluded and all participants went back to their own territories. There they resumed the more tranquil business of finding just the right twig to complete the perfect nest.
Well, obviously the ravens of East Vancouver did not think much of my raven language skills! The very morning I published Learning to Speak Raven, they sent a tutor to teach me some new phrases.
I could hear the crows fussing and a raven making some sounds I’d never heard before as soon as I got up. Threw on some clothes (out of consideration for the neighbours) and rushed outside with my camera — but I’d missed them.
But it was my day for a lesson in raven anyway. When I took Geordie out for his walk later, my instructor returned. She landed on the neighbour’s roof and began a virtuoso performance. I think she may have been trying to show me just how little “raven” I know.
How I’d love to stumble across and old English/Raven dictionary in a thrift shop.
Or be able to take a Conversational Raven online course.
My husband is currently refreshing his Spanish skills using such an app. I can imagine him repeating Spanish phrases in one corner of the house, and me practicing my “knocking call” in another …
As it is, I have just been piecing things together from books and blogs, and from my own limited observations over the years. Lately there have been a group of ravens in our very own neighbourhood, so it’s a thrill to see and hear them on the daily walks with the dog.
Here are a few bits and pieces of video and photography to share with you some of the interesting things I’ve noticed. I’m not, of course, a scientist — so I’m mostly casting about in the dark about the significance of what I see. I’m always thrilled to hear from people who properly study these matters who can fill in the many blanks.
Before we go any further, there are a lot of videos in this post. As they won’t show up in an email, make sure to click on the BLOG POST itself to be able to see them OK.
This is the most common call that I hear ravens make.
It almost seems like an “I’m here. Where are you?” sort of call. The raven in the video above was filmed only a few metres from our house in the tall trees around one of the local schools. The raven seemed to make that call, listen for a distant answering call, and then call again.
Of course, the local crows are not pleased about the newcomers to the ‘hood and spend a lot of time and energy mobbing their larger corvid cousins, trying to get them to “move on.”
That raven call has amazing carrying power. I can hear it from what seems like miles away — over the city noises of traffic, construction, conversation and angry crows. I’m not sure if it’s just because I’m always listening for it, or because it’s at just the right frequency to cut through.
Of course, in the quiet of the mountains it’s easier to hear more subtle raven calls. My favourite one is a kind of “knocking” call that sounds like water dripping into a still pool. Recently I was lucky enough to be out snowshoeing on Mount Seymour and witness the call being made at close quarters.
This raven hung around for a while, making this fabulous sound. Long enough for me to notice that when he or she made it, all of those magnificent throat feathers stick out like an Elizabethan ruff.
It made me wonder … do ravens have that fabulous feather cravat just to add visual splendour to that particular call … or do they make that sound just as an excuse to show off their feathery abundance? Always more questions than answers …
Ruff flaunting raven in mid “knocking” call.
More wondering. Do their feathers stick out like that because they have to somehow puff out their throat and make it taut to create such a hollow, musical sound? It does sound like some sort of percussion instrument.
The raven below, spotted on Mount Washington, is making a slightly different call, more of a hollow wooden sound. You may have to turn the sound up, as s/he was quite far away.
Feather preening, in between performances.
The raven in the next video is making yet another call. I call it the “wow” sound.
My raven vocalist friend.
Me, reflected in the raven’s eye. I love this image because I spend so much time watching, and thinking about, crows and ravens that it seems appropriate for me to be “caught” there.
Some playful muttering and off-camera raven commentary in this video.
Finally our raven pals got tired of being our house band and took off for other adventures.
This last video is a couple of years old, taken near the ski hill parking lot at Cypress Mountain.
This is one of my favourite snippets of raven film. It’s not very good, technically. I took it from a distance with a lot of car park noise in the background and, as usual, no tripod. But I watch it quite often and it always makes me smile. It reminds me of a scene from a Jane Austen novel. The raven couples are doing the rounds at the ball. Social rituals are observed, silent judgements are made, gossip and meaningful looks are exchanged. Meanwhile, at the top of the frame, one young single raven, oblivious to the formalities, plays in the snow.
As you see, I’m still a million miles away from that Raven to English translation program, but it’s a lot of fun to work towards it.
“Slightly Ransacked” might be the best way to describe the look of our house.
Some people call it “charming” or “eclectic,” but I know they’re only being kind.
Clearly, I am quite unqualified to offer serious home décor tips. With that in mind, please consider the following post to be, not so much a design philosophy, but more a coping mechanism.
The thing is, I do aspire to neat and stylish home. Just … not quite enough to do very much about it.
Take this morning, for instance. The plan was: take the dog for a brisk walk and then come back and spend an hour cleaning out my chaotic closet.
But, but, but … there were two ravens in the neighbourhood. Naturally, Geordie and I had to follow them (and their trailing posse of angry crows) up hill and down dale, thus squandering my closet-cleaning time slot.
I’m sure that not all nature lovers are as domestically disinterested as me, but just in case you do face some of the same challenges, here are few things I find work for me.
This is key. When people come over (or even when you first come home yourself) you don’t want to immediately notice the clutter. So, what you need is something rather big and spectacular to create a diversion. We have some of my enormous fern prints in the kitchen and I like to think they draw the eye to their lovely forms, rather than the sink full of dishes directly under them.
This is how the kitchen looked in its pristine state, just after the renovations were completed, about 12 years ago.
How it looks today. So much messier — but at least you can chose to focus on the ferns instead of the mess.
Crows and ravens are, of course, great attention grabbers.
The bigger the better. I have them all over my house, in every form and size. (There is only the smallest chance that this advice may be biased.)
Prince Charming crow with a sort of Eames inspired crow I bought years ago at a now-closed Vancouver shop called Nood.
One of several Hermann Edler folk art crow figures I have dotted around the house.
The judgmental expressions of Marvin and Mavis here could be interpreted as criticism of the housekeeping, but we’ll just keep that thought to ourselves …
Elevate the Clutter
You can almost make clutter seem desirable if you assemble some of it into “collections.” It implies that it’s all carefully curated, rather than a random accumulation. Old printer’s trays are great for this, with their inviting grid of little boxes, all needing to be filled. We won’t talk about the dusting, except to say that once a year is more than enough.
This printer’s tray in my studio contains many treasures.
My favourite item here is a chestnut taken from the ground below a tree that grows over Mozart’s grave in Vienna. My friend, the amazing author Lyanda Lynn Haupt (who wrote Mozart’s Starling, Crow Planet and The Urban Bestiary, sent me this precious seed. We surmise that it may contain a molecule or two of Mozart’s creativity. It came with a lovely note (on the wall below the shelf) about the story behind it and came packaged in the beautiful lavender silk box at top of the shelf.
As you probably know already, I love things with a story!
Another printer’s tray in the living room, full of yet more miscellaneous treasures, displayed with a doll by Hornby Island artist, Veronica Lynn; a smaller doll by a Kyrgyzstan craftswoman; and a bird puppet by another Hornby artist, Susan Cain. Behind the herd of inherited ebony elephants are some very beautiful raku vessels by Canadian ceramicist Mas Funo. I must find a better display spot for them as they’re gorgeous and a bit lost, what with all the elephants …
Over the years I’ve collected snow globes, old tea cups, mad-eyed ceramic terriers, and plastic flowers, to name but a few. Vestiges of these collections linger in corners of the house, overlaid with a thick layer of anything crow or bird related.
Kitchen window at dusk. Lots of birds in there (including more Hermann Edler crows). I also detect the seeds of a possible ornamental cat collection …
Vintage Japanese birds with hare porcelain churn by Vancouver ceramicist, Russell Hackney.
If you just go all-out eclectic and quirky with your home décor, it’s very freeing. There is no theme or colour scheme you need to adhere to. If you find a piece of art or a vintage treasure you love, you don’t worry for a minute whether it will fit in with the rest of the décor. At our place, we already have so much of a smozzle that one more odd item really makes no difference at all.
Top Shelf: Vintage Woodwards truck (a gift from an elderly neighbour); a remnant of the mad-eyed terrier collection; drawing by my son; vintage robot box; miniature landscape by Lois Ditchburn (Phillip’s aunt). Bottom shelf: mechanical toy; vintage silver teapots; tug boat by Vancouver artist, Mark Wilkinson; Jimi Hendrix action figures; William Shakespeare bobble head; chicken portraits by Elaine Savoie and one by me; family photos.
I have a large collection of little vases, from thimble to urn-sized, so that there’s always something to display a cutting from the garden in.
I find you can study a plant for much longer when it’s right by the sink when you’re doing the dishes. Also, it cheers up the dishwashing time.
Fern tiles over the bathroom sink, so you can think about nature while you brush your teeth …
Even though the house is usually a bit of a tip, I’m always happy to return to it.
Messy as it is, there’s no place like home. We’ve lived here for over 27 years and the whole place, clutter and all, is filled with love and memories. And stories.
Wonkily hung collection of family photos in mismatched frames. One of my favourite parts of the house!
Below is a custom-made wooden toy celebrating Edgar, Geordie and Eric the Crow. It’s a love machine, so their hearts beat in and out when you turn the handle. This is one of my most precious things, and just one of many gorgeous pieces I’ve collected by Cornish artist and toymaker, Jane Ryan.
Miniature portraits (about 2×3-inches) in painted plastic frames from Valu Village. These are our previous lovely dogs, the brother and sister team of Taz and Molly.
Current beloved pets. As I get older I find I get more and more lax about “no pets on the furniture/bed” rules.
Having made this brave defence of clutter (oops, I mean collections), I may have to write a new post in the near future. We have recently acquired a copy of The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning, which Phillip keeps reading aloud to me. You never know. By this time next year, we may be living a simple life in a minimalist paradise.
If that fails, however, I am always comforted by the words of a Globe and Mail column I read about twenty years ago. I can’t remember the writer unfortunately, but she said something like: “the homes of the most interesting people always show signs of a recent struggle.”
A little shelf by the back door is a home for some of my nature finds.
Crow and raven cushion covers, guaranteed to distract from messy areas of the home.