Nest Building

After spending almost two hours on this, I was beginning to understand why people referred to is as “grinding.” It described it perfectly in every way, the noise, the effort, the repetition, the thought of not being done yet. Definitely grinding, as I slid the sharpening stone down the length of the axe head for another pass. The scraping of stone on metal reverberated about the barn again, much louder than I would have liked.

I’d kept the sole standing door open while I did this, although there would have been plenty of light inside, what with all the gaps and holes in the walls allowing sunbeams to filter through. Enough light to illuminate the three piles of fresh wooden planks, the one opened can of paint atop the pyramid of unopened ones. Gleaming off the new door hinges laying atop the other barn door, half of them affixed. Shining on the ladder that still had to be affixed to the upper landing. All these things arrayed haphazardly within the confines of the barn, just outside of my peripheral as I drove the sharpening stone down the axe head again.

“Stupid logs. Stupid axe. Stupid barn,” I muttered, constantly reminding myself of the source of my aggravation. I’d wonder what I was supposed to do with the pile of logs sitting behind the barn and had found the old axe nestled against the wall inside, hidden behind one of the doors like a surprise. But not a fun surprise. Any fan of horror movies could tell you that an axe did not qualify as a happy fun surprise.

The rustling of feathers caught my attention, as did the light shower of dust descending from above. The grinding ceased as I turned my vision up. There, resting on the center rafter with rapt attention was another not-fun surprise I’d found within the barn: a barn owl. Brown and white speckled feathers coated the bird, apart from the white face contrasting beady black eyes. It stared at me, as was custom whenever I was within the barn, head cocked to one side, then twitching to the other. As far as I could tell, it was the only bird here, and nested somewhere high up where even the ample amounts of sunlight couldn’t reach. Despite my short time here, the owl had done more than enough to earn my ire. Its screeches would echo all through the night, it left droppings and the results of its feeding all across the barn floor, and I was fairly sure it was the reason for the large number of rodents within the nearby house, hapless prey seeking refuge from the aerial hunter. I never named the damned bird; you only named something if you wanted to get attached to it. Getting rid of the bird was yet another task I needed to do, so I could finally stop with the various annoyances it created…

Thinking about annoyances, I suddenly remembered the cascade of dust and dirt the owl had created. Letting the axe fall to the ground, I looked over to the space beneath the bird’s rafter. The only other object within the barn, parked amidst the various projects in work, was the most valuable as well. The car I’d driven here, one of the few things I owned before arriving. Well, “owned” in a loose sense of the word. It was my father’s, and he could have told you all about it, things like year it was made, model, horsepower, how many remained in the world, how long it had taken him to restore it. I didn’t care. All I knew was that it was blue, and I could use it to get away from that house. Driving it out in the middle of the night had been equally parts exhilarating and terrifying. Fortunately, by the time my father could get outside, the only thing I could see of him was his form dwindling away in the rearview mirror. I couldn’t even make out the expression on his face.

And with that car, and the money saved up for remaining college tuitions I would never enroll for, I drove until I ended up in a small town with small people, where I could buy a small farmhouse that had caught my eye as I’d driven past. I wasn’t entirely sure why I stopped. I could have only stayed long enough for gas. But the place was cheap, and I was just living off of gut feelings at that point, so what the hell. I owned this tattered house and the crumbling barn next to it. And within that barn I’d found the second most infuriating creature on the planet.

A creature that had given the car a thick coat of grime from settling above. I walked over to the car, seeing the dirt spread across the roof, and swept my arm across it. Some dirt was sent scattering to the ground, but most of it merely smeared across the blue paint. I groaned, looking around for a rag. None in here apparently. I hadn’t even checked if there was a working hose outside. With my luck, there was just a pump or a well, which would mean hand carrying buckets of water in here. All because of some cheeky little owl. I glared up at the beast, where it stared back at me for a few moments before extending its right wing out and began to groom itself. Not even going to give me the satisfaction of a proper stare.

“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping at this time?” I asked. Of course, it was too busy to answer properly, so I just went back to the axe. It lay on the ground where I had dropped it, just like everything else in the barn. I stared at it, then turned my gaze out the open doorway. The house I was living in was peeking around the left side. I could see the parts of it that were worn down and in desperate need of repair. Windows to replace or clean. Paint to reapply, naturally a different color than the barn. It would be a good idea to replace the furniture inside as well.

I turned back to the owl. It was now preening its chest, still ignoring me. I’d heard once that barn owls were pretty sedentary creatures, that even if there were better hunting grounds available and nearby, they would choose to stay in their current nest rather than move. I couldn’t understand that. Why stay in one place if there was something better just a step away? A drive away? I looked at the house again, then past it. From here, a small sliver of the road could be seen, winding away from the barn, the land, onwards to somewhere new, some place I’d never seen yet. The car would still run. And so could I.

I was startled by the sudden rustling of feathers as the owl took flight. It crested the top of the door and soared over the ground, gradually gaining altitude with steady wingbeats. I watched after it, beginning its hunt for whatever caught its attention. Maybe it wouldn’t catch the first mouse. Maybe it would get distracted by better prey. Maybe it would commit to a kill. Who knew? But I did know that despite all those uncertainties, the bird would return here. It had a home, and would always choose to return. To stay.

I watched the owl leave my view; wings outstretched as it sailed away. Imagining the wind coursing between the feathers and under its wings. Watched the low afternoon sun sweep golden hues across a blue sky and a small brown and white owl. Then I turned back into the barn. Taking the axe back in hand, I returned to sharpening its edge, the screeching of the sharpening stone beginning to sound a lot more like a predator’s screech into the night.