August 21, 2014 - Old Jack

If you chance upon a faerie meadow, you may just run into an old scarecrow.  His name is Old Jack.  He’s easy to miss because he’s so ragged and forlorn-looking.  Unlike some scarecrows who can command your attention all the way across a field while you’re driving by on a highway, Old Jack slips in and out of the flowers and weeds like a ghost.  If he doesn’t want to be seen, you won’t see him.  Except for the crows.  They always see him and they just seem to love him.

In fact, that’s how I found Old Jack today.  I went looking for him because I hadn’t seen him in a few years now.  I knew he was still around here and there because he’s always leaving traces of his passing.  Now and then I’ll find some seeds harvested from the rye grass and kept in a nice pile, or some noxious weeds tied back or even cut down, or a tiny flower propped up with some twine on a stick so it can get some sun that the other taller flowers have been hogging.  And I’ll say to myself, “Yep, Old Jack’s been here.”

So I followed the crows today.  What an awful ruckus those birds make!  When they congregate in what’s known as a murder of crows, they could wake the dead.  They only do it for two reasons:  either a fox is slinking through the meadow looking for some prey (usually my chickens) and they’re hoping to get a piece, or Old Jack is in the vicinity and they’ve come to see how he’s doing.  Today it was Old Jack they were squawking about, and it’s a good thing for that because I’ve about lost my patience with chicken thieves.

Old Jack, scarecrow of the faerie meadow.

Anyhow, at first I didn’t see him because Old Jack has to decide he wants to be seen.  Sure enough, he tapped me on the shoulder and then jumped aside and stood as still as ice, almost as if he’d always been there.  I smiled at him and put his hat back on.  He’s always losing that thing.

“Where’ve you been these last few years?” I asked.

“Busy with the crows.  Busy with the flowers.  Busy with the bees.  Old Jack never gets no rest,” he said.

“Thinking about retiring?”
“Naw.  Critters around here need me too much.  Old Jack’s busy.”

“I’ve been busy too,” I said, “and the faeries are getting feistier.  I think I might have found an ally among them, though.”
“Yep,” he said, “Old Jack’s been watching.  Saw you down at the pond that day (see First Contact).  But not everything is as it seems.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just mean you never do know with faeries, dummy.”
“Or scarecrows,” I said.

We both laughed at that.  I’ve always liked Old Jack, and I was happy to see him again.  I was a little worried, though, about his ragged condition.   I think it was the worst shape I’ve ever seen him in, and that’s saying something.

As if he could read my mind, the old scarecrow said, “Well, there are those who say I’ve seen my better days, but I say I’m seeing my best days now.”

“Which would you say is the best day you’ve ever had?” I asked.

“Every day,” he said.

Then he slipped off through the meadows and the crows flew after him.  Old Jack’s a good egg, he is.