Conversations with Rod
A totally stellar Steller's Jay in Lake Tahoe
On our second morning in Tahoe, I went underneath the carport to find the sun umbrella that was stowed there sometime last fall. I carried the stowage bag to the back deck and unzipped it.
This was not your average umbrella, and if I’m honest, it took me some time to figure out how its cleverly engineered armature worked.
Extending from a brown aluminum pole was a cantilevered arm that looked a bit like a curved tree branch. It held the twelve-foot wide fabric umbrella securely—from above, not below.
Usually, there’s a support pole beneath an umbrella preventing you from sitting directly underneath it, but this design allowed you to fully luxuriate in the center of the shade.
And I was doing just that—enjoying the expansive views of the surrounding meadow and mountains—when a male Steller’s Jay flew up underneath the umbrella, landing on the central hub of the canopy’s eight aluminum support spokes.
He looked all around. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m likin’ this,” he said.
His black mohawk shook back and forth, yet it still held firm, as if he’d applied hair gel and used a blow dryer to hold it in place.
He cocked his head this way and that, stepped on the sturdy round structure beneath his feet, and looked up at the twelve-foot umbrella above.
“This is totally defensible. You’re hidden, but you can see all around. Nice light, too!”
His mate landed on the nearby deck railing and looked up at the spot.
He looked down at her, eager to please. “Whataya think? Perfect nest site, am I right?”
Looking up, she turned her head this way and that—she didn’t have a mohawk hairdo, that was one of the things that distinguished them from each other.
“Eh, I dunno,” she said, and flew away.
He stayed.
“Dafuck does she know. This is ace! I mean, look at the symmetry of this thing! I’ll build it, then she’ll see.”
It was then that the Jay’s attention turned to my presence.
“Wait, what are you doing here?”
Jays can be a little gruff.
“Uh, hi, yeah, I used to live here. A long time ago.”
“Oh, what, so you own the place now?”
“Just visiting.”
“Well, la-dee-fricken-da! Look, see my mate over there!? Preg-o. I got precious days to build a nest. So why don’t you make yourself scarce, huh?”
I went inside.
“Yeah, you walk away!”
After making myself a cup of coffee, I returned to the deck and sat on a chair underneath the umbrella. Not directly underneath, but off to the side a bit.
The Jay had already placed a few small twigs atop the umbrella’s under-hub. He flew up with another twig in his beak, landed deftly, and placed the twig where he wanted it.
He looked this way and that, visualizing. “Yeah, this is fantastic, she’ll see.”
He looked down at me.
“Okay. You can sit there. That’s what you people do, yeah? Sit. So you just sit there, then.”
He flew across the meadow and returned a moment later with another twig in his beak, placing it carefully between two spokes of the umbrella.
He looked down at me again.
“I don’t understand you people. Isn’t there any urgency in your life? You just fucking sit around all day? Oh, right, you don’t have to build a nest every year! You build it once and you’re set, yeah?”
“Uh, yes and no,” I said. “There was a time when men could just walk out here and build a house like you’re doing. Build a homestead. But you can’t do that anymore.”
“Why not?! Open your eyes! You could build, easy! I mean, ya got hands! You know what I could do with two hands!”
“I’d have to own the land first. Men can’t build on land unless they own the land.”
“Nobody owns the land! You own your nest, not the land! Of all the cloaca shit you could believe! Dust to dust, ever heard that?”
“I’ve heard it.”
“Yeah, dwell on that, ape ass.”
He flew into the meadow again, disappearing within a willow. A moment later, he returned with a twig in his beak and landed.
“Look,” I said, “I don’t want to discourage you, but I don’t think the underside of this umbrella is the greatest spot to build a nest. I mean, I see the appeal, I get it, it’s just not wise.”
He placed the twig in his beak down, cocked to his head to one side and stared at me.
“And why is that, smart guy?”
“This isn’t—someone might close the umbrella. You can’t depend on it. I’m only here for three weeks, and even if I don’t destroy your nest, I can’t speak for the next guy. Find a nice spot in a tree!”
“Dafuck you know about trees? We need protection from above. That’s the genius of this thing. Look, total coverage over our heads and 360 visibility around. Nice light. It’s perfect!”
“Your time and energy are precious. Babies on the way. I’m telling you, don’t waste your energy on this. Build in a tree or maybe in the eaves of the house or something.”
“Build my house on your house!? Fat chance!”
“I’d hate to see you put in all this energy for nothing. Trust me, I’ve been there.”
“Uh-huh. Other than sitting around, what is it that you do?”
“I’m a father, I write, I design things.”
“Oh yeah? That’s your kid over there?”
“Yeah.”
“And it’ll be years before he even needs to think about building a nest, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Unbelievable. So what is it that you write?”
“For money, I might write ads, or books, or the words that appear on a product someone buys.”
“No shit? And you make a living?”
“Well, maybe not a lot of money, but yeah.”
“You feed your kid though?”
“Yeah.”
He looked around to make sure no other Jays were in earshot.
“I write, too,” he whispered. “But I have to memorize everything because I can’t—” His mohawk dipped a bit. “—I can’t write it down.”
“Give me a sample,” I said.
He popped his head up to full height. Puffed out his chest feathers. Bobbed back and forth on his legs a few times and began rap-singing.
“I started life with two black eyes
Hard knocks in the Bristlecone Pines
Pushed from the nest, learned how to fly
Now I own the whole damn blue sky
You should see what I can do with my beak
Pick up a twig, fly ‘cross the street
Build you a nest, see my technique
You lay the eggs, I feed you sweets
Out on the lake, feelin’ a’ight
Look in my eyes, black as the night
Tight ski boat, bed made o’ leather
My light touch is soft as a feather
Flying skills, so off the chain
Insane stunts in the sun or rain
Corkscrew, hard stop, pirouette
If we mate, the best to come is yet
Maybe I had a hard past
I’d rather flight than fight
How long can I last?
How bout we mate for life?”
He continued bobbing up and down for a beat, then stopped and looked at me.
“Very impressive,” I said.
“Yeah? For real?”
“Not only well-written, exquisitely performed.”
“Thank you. I’m thinking about starting a group.”
“What would you call yourselves?”
“Rod and The Cones. You might think pinecones, but it’s really about vision.”
“Fantastic. Look, my son and I gotta make a grocery run, but I really think you should build your nest in a tree, okay?”
“Yeah, you go buy yourself some food and leave me to solve my own problems.”
The following evening, Jobe and Crissy, two of my close friends from South Tahoe High, stopped by with their son, Bodie, who now goes to South Tahoe High.
When I see Jobe, it’s obvious that he and I are males of the same species. He’s the more perfect specimen, being born and raised entirely in Tahoe, whereas I was here off and on.
“It’s great to have friends you can see after a long time, as if no time has passed at all,” Crissy said.
After sharing a lovely dinner together, we moved to the back deck and sat on the chairs underneath the umbrella.
The deck boasted a stone table. Bodie noticed that the table had rocks at the center. He turned a knob on the side, igniting the natural gas.
A moment later, the six of us were eating ice cream around a table with flames burning at its center.
That’s when we heard Rod’s wife scream from a nearby tree.
“I TOLD YOU not to build a nest down there—look, there’s a fucking FIRE!”
Rod yelled back, “I didn’t KNOW! Okay?!”
“A FIRE!”
“I HEARD you!”
“A FIRE!”
“I GOT IT!”
We laughed at the bickering couple.
Rod yelled down at us. “Yeah, laugh it up! Sitting there in your chairs on your ape asses!”
“It’s best to ignore him,” I said.
Crissy changed the subject. “What did you put in this pear compote?”
Truman answered, “A touch of black tea and vinegar.”
“Wow, I never would have thought of that. I need the recipe.”
“You all enjoy your store-bought food! La-dee-fricken-da!” Rod yelled.
Jobe, Crissy, and Bodie were about to travel to Europe for an international robotics competition. Bodie is on the robotics team. The team’s robots have to complete a set of tasks, akin to athletic events, so the team must design and program their robots to compete in these events.
In the tree above us, Rod muttered, “Fuckin’ robots. Fuckin’ goddamned robots.”
We all ignored him.
The following morning, I was up hours before my wife and son, as usual.
I sat on the back deck as the sun rose above the horizon, brightening the meadow grasses still covered in dew.
Rod landed on the deck railing.
“Fuck is wrong with you? Why didn’t you tell me about the fire?”
“I didn’t think we’d turn on the fire,” I said. “And in fairness, I told you not to build a nest here!”
“Yeah, but you didn’t say fire!”
“I’m sorry.”
“You made me look like a fool! And now I gotta start from scratch.”
There was an awkward silence.
“Does your wife help build the nest?”
“I gather the materials. Miles of flying involved in that. Plus the dangers—it ain’t a trip to the lumber store. I am architect, contractor, crew. I have the vision. I build the nest. Then she comes in at the last minute, adds a couple of soft bits, and takes credit for the whole thing.”
“How long have you been together?”
“I don’t even know. Who can keep track of time anymore?”
“I woke up with your song in my head.”
He perked up. “Yeah?”
I rap-sang it.
“Pushed from the nest, learned how to fly
Now I own the whole damn blue sky.”
He bobbed his head up, mohawk fully proud.
“Maybe there’s hope for your ape ass.”
And with that, he took off, flying across the meadow until he disappeared from view.