But the best way to tell a baby crow is by its behavior!  Baby crows are not “dumb,” they possess all the native intelligence of their species.  But they are naive.  They sit quietly, looking slowly all around.  They are approachable, and believe that just about anything–a bicycle, a giant cat with a bell, a raccoon, an SUV, you or me–is a strange, wondrous, and probably even a friendly thing.  They have hesitant take-offs and rather bad landings.  They look “sweet.”  They are loud, begging for food from their parents with an annoying “waaaaaaaahhh” call.  If you see a crow, and you instinctively think of it as a “baby,” you’re probably right. Watch for them–they are all around us, and they are super-fun to observe.

An aside:  Ornithologists and even hard-core birders do not call young crows “babies.”  “Humans have babies, birds have young,” we are told.  True, true, but I believe it is a harmless colloquialism, and comes so naturally to our tongues implying, I think, an easy empathy that is one of our own species’ loveliest qualities.  Still, if you want to be orno-hip, you can call these babies “hatch-year” birds through the fall, after which it becomes harder to identify them.

The other day I was riding my bike through the neighborhood, and saw a crow in the middle of the street.  I rode up within two feet of her, and she looked up at me, wide-eyed, turning her head from side to side.  The adult bird was on the wire above me, and just gave me a brief vocal scolding.  I looked up and said, “What a lovely chick you have,” (then looked quickly around to see if there was anyone who might see that I am a Crazy Talking to Birds Lady).  I stayed with the chick for several minutes, until she slowly walked to the sidewalk.  Her parent was quite open-minded about my presence, though if we are calm and unassuming, crow adults will often let us watch their young in peace.  (But not always–see my earlier post about crow scolding and dive-bombing during this season of fledglings.)

By fall, most young-of-the-year will have grown their first adult flight feathers–their wings and tails will be shiny and new, but their backs and heads will still be a dull matte brown.

Enjoy the season of young wild creatures in our midst, and Happy Solstice!

Thanks to Flickr users Joshua and Lepak pix for the lovely photos.

I hope you’ll join me at one of my upcoming readings at two of the northwest’s most fabled bookshops:

Powell’s (Burnside), Portland,   Monday May 2, 7:30 p.m.

Elliott Bay Bookstore, Seattle, Monday, May 23, 7 p.m.

I’m giving a new talk, possibly including some current work, so even  if you’ve heard me speak before, I think there will be plenty to interest you.  Of course, I’ll still bring my Crow Call!

My husband Tom, who manages the technical side of this blog, has been watching the search terms that bring traffic to the site. While the random one-off searches can make for interesting reading (today someone found the Tangled Nest by searching for “the world is our tool for love”–I guess that’s good!), certain terms come up over and over. One of the most common search terms bringing people to this site lately is “divebombing crows.” Or, as someone searched for today, in a resonant plea that has finally moved me to write: “crow divebombing help!” Questions about divebombing are also frequently asked at readings for my book, Crow Planet.  I’ve written a little about this before, but given the volume of searchers seeking help, here’s a little more.

Divebombing of humans by crows is a seasonal occurrence, linked to the most vulnerable stages of nesting.  Right now, fledgling crows are emerging from the nest, all of them are naive, and some of them are unable to fly.  It really is a dangerous phase of life for a crow family. Even if you don’t actually see the young, the adult birds may be protecting a nest with eggs, a hidden nest with freshly-hatched chicks, or chicks that have left the nest, and are tucked away in the branches or shrubbery.  In a couple of months, when  the young are grown and self-sufficient, the dive-bombing will stop.

Being so large and loud and bulky, crows are at a disadvantage as nesters. Think about it–most of the urban tree-nesting songbirds are so small.  Robins, chickadees, sparrows, finches.  They can build sweet little nests tucked into shadowy corners, well-camouflaged and difficult to find.  Their young are small too, and easy to hide.  Crows have no such luck.  They are stealthy for their size, but really–it’s hard to hid a big nest full of baby crows, all of them cawing in that baby-crow way, sounding like ducks.  As large, unpredictable mammals, we are rightly perceived as a threat.  HERE’S WHAT TO DO:  If a crow is calling at you during this season, just cross nonchalantly to the other side of the street, ignoring it completely, as if that’s what you meant to do anyway.  Continue on your way, enjoying the day.  If you are divebombed anyway, just keep going–the farther away you get, the better.  Think nice thoughts for the well-being of the crow young–who knows, it might help you seem less threatening to the crow.  If a crow has already determined that you are a threat and is divebombing you on sight (not ideal–other crows will think that this crow has a good reason to hate you, and might join the fun), then avoid the area for awhile.  If that’s impossible, walk through the area waving your arms slowly over your head, or consider a disguise–for real!  A hat that hides your hair color, some sunglasses…

Crows attacking hawks and owls is another common occurrence, and that happens year-round.  Many hawks and owls prey on both adult crows and their young, so crows are very proactive about discouraging their presence.  It’s amazing to watch a few small crows attacking a huge hawk or eagle.  If you hear crows suddenly calling in the neighborhood, it’s worth taking  little walk outside to see what’s going on–you’ll frequently be led to a wonderful wild scene.

The same impulse, of course, is what leads robins to attack crows this season–crows do prey on robin eggs and nestlings.  Robins don’t usually attack crows unless they actually see one approaching or pestering their nest or young.  You have to admire their guts!

I’m not a crow apologist, but I do think it helps to consider matters from the complicated standpoint of an urban-nesting crow parent.  And I think it’s wonderful that, no matter how urban our lives, we can witness firsthand the circle of life from our home places.  Enjoy.

Thanks flickr user Dr. Pat for the great crow image.

Last Friday I received an e-mail from some neighbors that live about five blocks from me.  I’d never met them, but one of Leucy’s favorite perches was right in front of their house.  On the day of Seattle’s new heat record (over 103 degrees), they found her body on the parking strip.  They were heartbroken at the loss of “Brownie,” and were writing to ask if there was anything they could have done to help her, which of course there wasn’t.  I hated to foist my morbid tendencies on this super-nice couple, but this was such an amazing bird–I had to ask, “Did you by any chance save her body?  Maybe pop her in the freezer?”  They hadn’t.  She’d been wrapped in plastic in the garbage for the last three hot days.  Still, after receiving my question, they intrepidly dug her out and put her in the freezer.  I was a touch worried.  But the frozen body is actually in pretty good shape, now in my own freezer, next to the popsicles.  She’s worthy of further study.

All who observed Leucy agree that she was a particularly fabulous bird, both in terms of plumage and personality.  In her uniqueness, she invited people to look closely at the common birdlife around them.  It was her color that drew the initial observation, but her general wild wonderfulness that kept people watching–something shared by all crows, and the rest of the wild life that surrounds us.

Thank you, lovely Leucy, and RIP.

PS: Based on a couple of requests, my husband Tom posted this and another photo of “Leucy” on Flickr.com under a Creative Commons license, meaning you are free to repost them, print them, etc – basically do anything you wish with the images short of profiting from them.  They are at high enough resolution for a 5X7 print (unlike the image above in the blog post). Leucy photo 1, Leucy photo 2.

This is the season that everyone starts calling to ask why crows are dive-bombing their heads.  They are, of course, protecting their nests, eggs, and soon their fledglings.  It’s a seasonal behavior, and will cease as the chicks grow into sturdy young adults.  Dive-bombing makes crows seem aggressive, or even “mean.”  I’m not a crow apologist, but I do think we need to remember that because they are so large, and they have such big nests, crows don’t have the advantage of quiet, hidden chick-rearing that many birds do.  They resort to cawing and swooping only in order to protect their young.  If you are scolded by a crow this time of year, just try to avoid it–cross the street, and act uninterested.

All the beautiful Crow Planet prints are available for sale.  Contact artist Dan Cautrell through his Fusion Press Studio website.

Crow-bill hole in the pea patch

As soon as I finished planting and was putting my tools away in the shed, a swirl of three crows flew into the cherry tree, cawing loudly.  I laughed to myself, “They’re calling their friends to say, ‘She’s finished!  Come eat!’”  But I thought I was kidding.  Later I found perfect crow-bill-sized holes in the pea-patch!

In his wonderful book, Living With Wildlife in the Pacific Northwest (which offers a great deal of insight no matter what your geographic region), Russell Link writes, “We love wild animals, or we hate them, depending on what they’re doing.”  Our hearts lift at the robin’s spring song, then in the summer they eat our strawberries.

One morning there was a Cooper’s Hawk perched on the corner of our fence.  So close!  Such beautiful yellow legs, and deep orange eyes!  I rushed to get my binoculars, my first impulse as a bird nerd.  But in the next breath I realized, oh my lord, that bird was eying my six-week-old baby chickens!  Cooper’s Hawks are bird-eaters.  I ran out there like Ma Ingalls, barefoot in the wet grass, my pink flannel pajamas dragging around my feet, waving my arms and yelling “Shoo!”  The hawk looked at me coolly before lifting over the garage roof, and I brought my feathered girls in the kitchen for the day.  I’ve always been critical of farmers that bait “vermin” such as coyotes, wolves, and cougars because they are a perceived threat to livestock, and I still am.  But my thoughts are more nuanced since the hawk incident.  What if I really was Ma Ingalls?  What if those chickens were not my hobby, but my family’s livelihood?  My children’s sustenance?  What if all that were true, and I had a shotgun hanging over the door?

Missing pea plants after crow nibbling

I don’t have any brilliant how-tos for preventing crows from eating your peas.  But I love the reminder that there is no clear line we can draw between our households, our lives, our habits, and the wider, natural world.  Our homey thresholds are flimsy and marginal–they represent the point from which we cross into nature, and wild nature–distressingly sometimes–crosses back.  Such a recognition of our constant, inevitable continuity with the more-than-human world is, I believe, exhilirating, enlivening, and beautiful.

Meanwhile, we protect our chickens, net our strawberries, and wave our arms at waiting crows.  I tossed some  new pea seeds into the holes the crows had made, and they’re beginning to fill in nicely.