The Texture Of A Baby Quail

This past summer I lived at the Green Gulch Farm, San Francisco Zen Center, studying the teachings of the founder, Suzuki Roshi. There, I worked in the kitchen, preparing meals for 50-100+ people daily. There was little free time, but when we had the opportunity to do as we please, it became hard to stop moving.

The first couple of weeks, I would offer to do community laundry and extra chores during my daily break from kitchen work. It was difficult for me to find the balance between hard work, and relaxation. Eventually, I started sitting by the Boncho Bell (big bell on a patch of grass) and watched the large groups of quails pick at the ground. It was fascinating to me to witness this community of birds mingle from patches of grass, to bushes, to the garden, even the parking lot. I noticed if you sat there long enough, more and more quails would emerge from the bushes. They would slowly pick their way closer and closer to you, without realizing you were there. Head down, solely focused on the nutritional part of survival. Eventually they would lift their head, see me, and trot away.

At some point, about half way through my time there, I noticed I wasn't seeing the quails as much. News around the temple travels fast, and I heard people had started spotting baby quails. So, on my daily break, I would sit at the Boncho Bell, sip my tea, and wait for the baby quails. They were the size of your thumb nail. Just these tiny balls of fuzz running as fast as they can to keep up with their parents. If they spotted you, the adult quails would rushingly try and herd all the chicks into the nearest bush for safety. They would wait until all the balls of fuzz were out of sight, before they joined the family in shelter.

I noticed how the adult quail's behavior changed, before and after entering parenthood. How their survival insists changed from “every man for themselves” to keeping a handful, maybe two, of baby chicks alive. I almost felt as if they started looking at me differently. Maybe it was the white hot pain throughout my whole body that was driving me a little off the rails, but I swear they looked at me differently. There was this shift. A change of emotional and priorities.

The weaving aspect of my piece is how I view the base of a quail egg. Beautiful, vibrant, aquamarine. The crochet part of my piece is the spots that usually come with the quail egg. Dark purple, that as it blends into the blue shell, creates a golden halo. Mohair made sense for cultivating the texture of a baby quail.