Vignette 9
Round Seven Wood Pigeon vs Plums
The Kowhai trees are blooming. This marks a change in season. The Kowhai blossoms are a distinct delicacy for Tui and Wood pigeon alike. I am sitting up at the top of our road on a bench under the Kowhai tree waiting for whoever is going to show up for the early morning walk to the crossroads. I am tucked in near some ti tree that provides me cover, and this gives me a clear view of what’s going on in the bird world. There is loads of action on this crisp morning. Whoo, whoo, whoo, clonk, crash, rustle: wood pigeon number one arrives. Too heavy for the branches that she has chosen, but determined to get right into the blossoms anyway, she extends her neck way out to a cluster of newly opened flowers. A moment later the branch gives way and I watch as the plump pigeon tumbles through the tree, snapping smaller branches as gravity takes hold. Thankfully a studier branch stops her momentum, and with a quick shake this fine specimen of bird that Maori call “kereru,” leans out undaunted by her fall from grace to casually take another mouthful.
Native New Zealand woodpigeon are about the size of a small chicken, sporting a voluptuous white breast. They have small pigeon heads and a scooped neckline of bright turquoise green feathers. Their wings and back vary from purple to blue gray depending on their angle to the sun. It is understandable why the woodpigeon was a frequent Maori meal. Kereru’s plumpness suggests that they haven’t missed too many meals. When Stu’s guava tree is ripe with fruit, wood pigeons gorge themselves until their crop looks as if it will burst. In late summer the small round guavas can be slightly fermented on the tree and can actually make the woodpigeon’s drunk. It is said that they actually fall out of the tree and lay in a plastered stupor in the grass until they collect their wits and take refuge in the closest bush. It might be during a fermented guava feeding session that their flight becomes compromised, because when one of these B52’s of the bird world hits your window the entire house shakes. One day I came home from shopping in town and found a perfect outline of a woodpigeon, complete with cartoon like head turned sideways imprinted on my bay window. I have used this to my advantage and now have a wonderful excuse not to wash the windows.
By the time my neighbor Carol shows up for our walk I have counted five pigeons in the kowhai tree. I try hard not to laugh out loud each time a pigeon tries to navigate through spindly branches to get at the yummy blossoms. I stop in mid laugh because with the arrival of kowhai blossoms I know that it won’t be long before I will be forced into our annual battle with these behemoths for the rites to our beloved plum trees.
In September the plum trees burst out in clusters of beautiful understated pink and white flowers and juicy, tender green leaves. Stu’s tree is first to bloom and signals that spring has sprung. It is now time to put on my thinking cap in order to try and ensure a good crop of plums isn’t thwarted by the multitudes of woodpigeon that live around Orapiu.
The conflict seems to materialize overnight. One morning there is one fat woodpigeon stripping the new leaves of the plum tree, and by day three there are up to six pigeons noshing away. So what battle plan has been successful thus far? Answer: not a single one. My bedroom is a story above the plum trees. I can hear the familiar sound of a pigeon’s crash landing and run over to the window to peek out over the edge. It is questionable whose domain it is. Regardless, I try to let them know who is boss by flying out the sliding door onto the deck waving my arms around like a banshee, shrieking at the top of my lungs. I must tell you that this little display of mine is abhorred by my husband, who tries to tell me that the pigeons were here first. My ranting only accomplishes the desired results for a short while and it is depressing when after a week or so the pigeons just stop long enough to look up at me as I carry on in such an undignified manner. I would like to know which neighbor taught them the “she’s a yank” look. What’s worse is that two weeks later they don’t even stop chewing long enough to look up. I think it is because they are worried that they might miss the opportunity of getting another mouthful in before the too small branch trying to support their enormous weight gives way. The uncanny thing is that the pigeons prefer my tree to Stu’s. When I shoo them off, they have the audacity to fly over to Stu’s plum tree and rest until they get the green light to come back to mine. One year we even tried being politically correct by not pruning the trees thus providing longer top branches for them and leaving a large under layer for us. Not only did this strategy not work but left us with a much smaller crop of plums.
I am not the only one thwarted by woodpigeon plum madness. Stu became frustrated a couple of years ago when the hefty ones were going after his prized white fleshed peaches. It takes a lot to get Stu’s knickers in a twist, and in true Stu fashion he rounded up some plastic bags and tied them all over the branches of his plum trees. The bags filled with air ballooning out as if they were alive. The white plastic bags jerked this way and that, scaring the woodpigeons away in short order. I think that he must have quietly patted himself on the back for this new twist on Kiwi ingenuity. Two days later as I sat in my window seat sipping my morning coffee I glanced over the corner of Stu’s roof to see Ms. Woodpigeon sitting on top of one of the white bags. He was gorging himself on white plums. When Stu emerged later that day I couldn’t resist asking him if he was planning to patent his new weapon. He calmly told me that it was time to go back to the drawing board.
As I arrived back home after my walk and I spotted Rita at the top of her stairs. She was trying to shoo away a woodpigeon from the Kowhai tree the leans out over their car park. She shook her fists in the air while yelling, “Get out my tree you bugger.” The pigeon bobbed its small head up and down and ignored her threats. “Okay then,” I announced, “Let the games begin.”
