Crow Days

The apartment building next to our condo is one floor shorter than our own. Our windows look down on its roof, which is in such a sad state that deep puddles collect during any rain and remain for days afterwards.

This is a shame for the buildings’ tenants but a boon for birds. Almost every morning starlings gather on the roof to drink from and bathe in the puddles. One afternoon I saw a whole flock of robins doing the same, their bellies in the falling light as russet as autumn leaves.

Today I saw a crow bending to the surface of a puddle and was able to get a couple of pictures.

The pictures weren’t terrific, but they did let me see that the crow, unlike the other avian visitors, wasn’t just drinking: it was dipping a piece of something—bread, popcorn, or some other scavenged food—in the water, presumably to soften it before eating it.

Crows are smart.

They’re also fascinating. I love the way they move, the calls they make, and the challenge they present to photographers. This time I was at least able to capture more of its plumage than unyielding blackness—this time I was able to see the beautiful pattern on its back, almost like iridescent scales, and the metallic charcoal color of its beak.

It was the only crow I saw, but I’m sure I heard more of them. I regularly see a murder of five flying from tree to tree or harrying a red-tailed hawk. Once I counted 20 of them flying by, to what destination I couldn’t say.

If I had a lot more time, I would make it a year’s project to just photograph and draw crows. I don’t think I would get tired of them.

What animal do you think you could devote a year to?

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Oh, the drama!

Not having much time for text these days, but I couldn't resist sharing this shot.

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Hit and Myth

Last weekend I spotted this beautiful crow hanging out on a trash container on the corner of U and 14th St NW.

Crows are always difficult to photograph, because they seem to delight in perching so that their dark bodies are silhouetted against the sky, turning them into black-paper cut-outs, inky and featureless.

This time I was lucky in the lighting, and so was able to capture the iridescent color variations in its feathers, the saurian scaly-ness of its feet, and the sharp look in its eyes.

I’m fascinated by corvids—by their look, their intelligence, their ingenuity in tool-use and improvisation—but I don’t know much about them beyond what I learned from the few examples I read about in animal-behavior textbooks and a documentary I saw on PBS a couple of years ago.

They’re yet another example of species that have managed to adapt to human environments and are, as usual, disdained (rather than admired) for having done so—and yet crows and ravens have a mythic history that lends them a degree of dignity that’s lacking in poor, much-maligned pigeons.

This makes me want to raise two questions: 1. What do you associate crows and ravens with? Cities? Pine forests? American Indian or Norse mythology? Scavenging? Edgar Allen Poe?

And 2. How can I create some nice mythic themes surrounded pigeons so that they get more respect?

{A note: I do write all text and take all pictures. Please do not reproduce either without my permission.}