Magpies · Monday August 4, 2008 by Julie
Over breakfast, Bob (not his real name) said, “I grew up in Eastern Washington. My dad used to shoot magpies out his bedroom window.”
“Why would he do that?”
“They were noisy. So, we kids would be sleeping and then BOOOM, there would go Dad.”
“Because they were noisy? And this man had children?”
“One time they were over by the chickens, and Dad started shooting them. Then he realized that he was shooting the windows out of the chicken house.”
“In Japan,” said Yuki (not her real name), “there are all kinds of magpie stories. They like water. One time, there were two lovers, who were of a different social class, so their parents forbade the marriage.”
“No, Mom, it was because they were lazy,” said her daughter.
“I think it was because they were necking all the time. Anyway, they became stars and were only allowed to see each other on the seventh day of the seventh month. The magpies made a bridge for them to cross. And we celebrate that, it’s like Valentine’s Day, or like Christmas. We make garlands and tie wishes to them, and then after the day is over, we throw them into the river.
When I first came to Los Angeles, I wanted to do that and your sister said, ‘let’s find a river,’ but it was August in L.A. So we went up to Griffith Park and found a little creek and threw it in there.”
“Did you get your wish?” I asked.
“I don’t remember.”
