The Seagull and the Apple

I had been craving a scone for the longest time, and refusing to give in to the desire because I often can't properly digest them and end up having to walk it off literally. Today, I just needed a bit of something, so I stopped at Starbucks to get one.

You never know what flavor they may have, and there are a number of them that I won't even try - no cinnamon, no maple syrup (yuck), no raspberry (seeds), the frosted ones are too sweet, and I don't really care for the pumpkin. They have yet to discover peach, but they do a decent cherry and blueberry.

The absolute best scone I have ever had was at a cactus park in Arizona, of all places! Who would have thought you would find a real English tearoom in the middle of the desert??!!! I was not expecting it at all. I had thoroughly enjoyed walking around the paths, seeing the hundreds of varieties of cacti, feeling the warm sun in winter, enjoying the mild climate, taking in the grandeur of the mountains.

I was mostly thirsty, but also a bit hungry, though my tummy wasn't in a mood for anything heavy or greasy. As I perused the menu, it was the fresh fruit that caught my attention. The scone and fresh cream didn't mean anything to me until it arrived and I suddenly realized what a treat was set before me.

I have to admit, I didn't bother to stand on ceremony, just gobbled it down hungrily, practically moaning with every bite of sumptuous delectable delicacy. The tangyness of the strawberries and succulence of the blueberries and melon were such a sharp contrast to the light whipped cream and the moist texture of the scone it made your mouth water before during and after each bite. Starbucks can't hold a candle to that. I am told there is a real English tearoom here in Rochester, but the $35 price tag is a bit much to get past.

Anyway, I lucked out and Starbucks had one blueberry scone left. Unusual for them, the berries were plump and filled with moisture. I was a bit sad that they didn't have the capacity to warm it up (listen to me, what a spoiled brat!), but I thankfully took the little brown sack and headed to the car to do the "drive the kids to the next event" thing.

As I stepped off the curb, I was startled by a flutter of wings on the ground next to me. A rusty brown seagull was making a ruckus over a mid-sized green apple rolling about on the ground. As I watched, the bird pecked the apple, trying to gouge off a piece. The apple merely rolled to one side and the little bit dropped to the ground. Apparently the bird couldn't pick it up off the ground because of its hooked beak and it squawked and spluttered and hopped about madly (maybe not as mad as a wet hen, but definitely riled).

Again and again it attacked the rolling apple. Again and again a tiny shred splattered on the ground, out of reach. Juice from the apple was spattering all over, wetting the blacktop, releasing its pungent fragrance. Two other birds flew down to see what the commotion was about. As soon as they discovered the apple fracas, they swooped away, as if they knew the hopelessness of the situation.

I watched this peculiar dance for awhile, amazed at the bird's determination, rooting for the successful consumption of at least one little piece. That crazy apple dodged and darted and dashed about as if trying to avoid the razor stabs of the seagull's sharp beak. What a bizarre game, this hopping and pecking and squawking was. Just as I was about to give up and get in my car, the apple rolled over a drain and got stuck between the slats of the iron slots.

The bird went wild pecking at the now stationary apple, tossing bits and pieces everywhere but into its mouth. It was practically raining cider and the gull kept flapping its wings wildly to keep from getting stuck to itself. At last it managed to break off a fairly sizable chunk which landed on its foot. After flapping about a bit, the chunk was tossed onto the grass where the wily bird tipped its head sideways and scooped the piece into its mouth.

Such cawing and crowing you have never heard. You would have thought an olympic medal had been won. The other birds fluttered back down, hopping about and chattering, pecking gingerly at the stuck apple, but not managing to get anything out of it. The victorious bird sailed away triumphant, content with one taste.

I shook my head and climbed in the car. Good thing I don't have to work that hard for one bite of apple! Maybe Eve should have taken a lesson.