Magpie Chase Noureddine Boutahar

 Growing up in the countryside granted me a wealth of blessings: a tranquil rhythm of life, the embrace of nature, invigorating air, an unwavering sense of freedom, and a community so closely woven it felt like an extended family. Despite the meager population density of those bygone days, familiarity thrived – a world where everyone knew everyone, where assistance, love, and support flowed freely. In this close-knit haven, the ethos was one of selfless sharing, a collective fortitude that weathered the storms of country life together.

Agriculture stood as the backbone of my rural homeland, where the majority of inhabitants were farmers, agriculturalists, and shepherds. As children, we were embraced by the collective care of our community, where each adult member shouldered the mantle of responsibility for our education and moral compass as if we were their own children.

My grandfather held a revered position as one of the most respected figures in our countryside. His
integrity, sagacity, and firm principles set him apart, earning him both admiration and, at times, instilling fear in those who veered off the right path. Unfazed by the prospect of parental reproach, he did not hesitate to discipline any mischievous village child. Boys and girls held both love and trepidation for him, recognizing that his corrections, admonitions, or critiques were always motivated by their best interests.

Amidst the ubiquitous fig trees that embellished our village, we cultivated a charming haven of our own – a petite vineyard and a flourishing vegetable garden. Brimming with tomatoes, green peppers, potatoes, zucchini, gourds, calabashes, pumpkins, and a myriad of delights, it served as a vital source of sustenance for our household. Beyond our own needs, we generously shared the bounties with neighbors and cherished close relatives.

Yet, our lush haven faced a relentless foe, none other than the mischievous avian troupe comprising magpies, blackbirds, and sparrows. This winged menace posed a never-ending threat, especially to our precious tomatoes and grapes, a source of perpetual frustration for my farm aficionado grandfather.

One day, in a bid to safeguard our precious harvest, Grandfather, a genuinely popular green-fingered man, devised a plan reminiscent of Mao Zedong's "Smash Sparrows Campaign" from 1958 to 1962. Rallying the village youngsters, Grandpa issued a call to arms, urging them to embark on a mission to thwart the feathery invaders. Magpies, known for their early-morning raids on our tomatoes and grapes, found themselves facing an unexpected challenge from the resolute village youth. It was a scene remindful of ancient battles, but in this case, the prize was not just victory but also the safeguarding of our delectable fruits and vegetables.

Our humble garden transformed into a battlefield, where young defenders, armed with various slingshots, rocks, sticks, hardened mud clods, and enthusiasm, stood guard against the avian marauders. They chased them up and down the whole valley which harbored oleander, thorny blackberry trees, caprifigs (male fig trees), and occasional other bushes. Some children ran barefoot, some sprinted bare-chested, while a few managed to lose their shoes, or tear their old pants or shirts in the fervor of the chase. As the youngest among us, I found myself standing beside my grandfather, a towering and robust figure. With fervor, he encouraged and shouted at the magpie chasers, urging them to pick up the pace. Each young soul sought to please him by presenting him with a bird or two.

The clash between the innocent mischief of birds and the determined spirit of village kids unfolded like a whimsical tale of rural warfare. The warriors killed a few magpies, but the clever ones that managed to escape or hide never dared to revisit, leaving our trees and garden in peaceful serenity.

Ultimately, Grandfather's strategic move evolved into a legendary tale, echoing throughout the village as proof enough to the resilience and resourcefulness of a small community united against the caprices of nature. However, the question remains: was Grandpa correct or mistaken? I will never ascertain the answer. It stands as a million-dollar question, considering his frequent perception of nature as half friend, half enemy. Though he waged this relentless struggle against the feathered creatures encroaching on his precious crops, the ethos of eco-conservation coursed through grandfather’s veins.