in the late spring, early summer come these unusually regular and large groups of crows in the field, as we all know them collectively called a murder; how fun that that is what they’re called. at first we weren’t sure what the shrill, sustained and unidentifiable screams coming from the field were, surely unrelated, and so suddenly new, only present now that the days are longer and the nights shorter. up until recently, we had no idea what the noises could be, nor could we even guess. such a wild and strange sound, it couldn’t have been from anything or anyone we know. almost indescribable, but imagine best you can: a harsh, uncomfortably croaky scream, starting early in the morning, then ceasing, then resuming again in the afternoon, ceasing again, then once more again in the evening, when the sun hides behind the mountains. frogs? no.
the crows come every day. I’m watching them now, as i write this, the three of them, all spaced out enough but still triangulated amongst one another; together.
a fourth flies down.
the trail camera down by the pond would show us eventually that these groups of crows were a family. assumedly, a mother and her children, for the first time in the field, so to speak, learning what to do and how to be. for the first time, all together.
we know they are family because we see mother feeding her children on our computer, once we had rushedly retrieved the SD cards, hoping for a bear or a bobcat, expecting the does and the bucks. we slowly noticed the fledglings' brown and scrawny head feathers, the size difference: not yet fully themselves. almost a mirror image of mother but so much still to grow. seeing their beautiful dependency on the camera was so amazing. the screams are her babies, ecstatic for their meal, demanding their next. a 15 second clip shows baby screaming that same shrill, ugly noise, and mother feeding, happily. then the next baby screams and the process repeats.
the throaty screeches now had been placed. and they no longer irritate me.
when i see the numbers grow from three or four to as many as seven on the camera i rejoice! for they are beautiful and plenty and screaming as loud as they can for their next bug or worm or tadpole from the pond. may the gods bless them, and their mother especially, for rearing such a successful family. good job mama.
i watch them all together now, walking down to the creek where the canopy thickens and the darkness obstructs my view from the deck. they walk side by side, more like a waddle i suppose, honking and barking, i’m not sure what the best word is to describe it, but together, and probably going to find some crawdads in the woods for the first time. what a gift to experience this wild world with love and family and bugs freshly picked for you from the ground, but next time i'll do it because now I know how.
mother showed me.
I cheer on the crows in my field now, and sit to watch them every time I hear their squawking down there or hear their excited flight calls as they soar in from over the trees and over my head. to eat! to play, to learn, to fly. to be together.
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