A Murder of Crows

A few years ago, a friend and I saw a bald eagle swoop down to a lake, pluck out a large fish, and fly away. We were in awe, and the exclamations tumbled out in a flurry: "Did you see that?!" "That was an EAGLE!" "The fish was huge!"

Seeing an eagle is always a special event for me, but this particular occasion stands out, because we were not in a pristine national park where you might expect to see such a sight. Instead, I was at Green Lake, a popular urban lake in a Seattle residential neighborhood. People from all around flock to the lake and its surrounding park to play team sports and enjoy the three-mile paved path that winds around its shores. Eagle watching is not among the usual offerings.

On that particular day, the path was dense with people and everyone who saw the eagle stopped in their tracks. The story of the eagle catching a fish was certainly retold many times that evening as the walkers and runners left the lake to meet their friends. Those conversations probably began with an enthusiastic, "You'll never guess what I saw today!"

Last week, I was at Green Lake, again, and saw a crow swoop down to a garbage can, pluck out a crumpled McDonald’s bag, and fly away. I was not in awe and no one stopped in their tracks. Indeed, seeing a crow root around in the garbage is commonplace and we don’t even take notice. But what if there were thousands of crows assembled in one place? I can tell you, it’s breathtaking.

My sister, Janie, lives and works in Seattle’s southend and, for years, has talked about an immense flock of crows that gathers near her house at dusk. I had seen large groups of crows in her area before, but on a recent visit, she insisted I hadn’t really seen them until I went with her to her “secret special spot.” We got in the car, drove past the mall and warehouses, snaked up some side streets, and ended up parking next to a plain, two-story industrial building.

“Secret spot, eh?” I said with a tone of sarcasm.

“Just you wait,” she replied.

We left the car and walked across the street, and there I suddenly saw a beautiful wetland. It was completely unexpected, especially just over an embankment from an industrial area.

We walked along and, at first, I noticed only a few crows flying off one way or another and heard a few caws, but nothing remarkable. The area is beautiful, though, and we strolled on a boardwalk that extends across a marsh. My attention turned to a heron taking off with its long wingspan and slow, elegant wing stroke. Like the eagle, it’s special to see a heron and we both watched it glide up the creek until it disappeared behind distant trees.

When we looked west—after being distracted by the heron for few minutes—there were suddenly many more crows. Dozens in fact, maybe even hundreds. The cawing increased. As minutes passed and the sun dipped lower and lower on the horizon, the numbers continued to grow. Janie told me that they fly into the area on what look like rivers in the sky. They always take the same routes, which feed into the final roosting place for the evening, which is in the trees near the boardwalk.

More of the blue sky turned black as ebony patches flew up and down and left and right. The main flock flew east, only to come back a few minutes later from the south, even bigger and stronger in numbers. They flew wingtip to wingtip like planes flying in formation. Once overhead, the crows were in a loud frenzy. Thousands and thousands of birds were cawing at once and the sound vibrated through my body. It was awe inspiring, like a scene from the Planet Earth series where thousands of birds fly across the African savanna. In that moment, I felt the vastness and wildness of the earth and her creatures.

Standing underneath that ceiling of beaks and claws and beating wings made me think of the old Alfred Hitchcock movie The Birds. I can see why someone would be afraid of being attacked. But while a flock of crows is officially called a “murder” of crows, there was nothing murderous or sinister about the birds overhead. Sure, I felt a little vulnerable, but not in danger. In fact, I laid down on the boardwalk with face to the sky and drank up the energy. Janie was right, this was a special spot.

I’ve read that crows are symbols of many things to many people. Crows can symbolize justice, balance, creativity, and even the shadow self. They are said to teach us to live in the moment and to know ourselves. After watching them swirl overhead, I believe it. I felt alive. I didn’t want the moment to end. I felt in tune with the earth. I was inspired to write about crows and wondered how to convey the beauty and majesty of the great crow assembly. It was every bit as memorable a moment as watching the eagle catch its dinner at Green Lake.

So, the next time I see a crow grab a piece of garbage, I’ll be reminded that as dusk nears, it will fly south on a river in the sky and become part of something magnificent-—a murder of crows.

For a map of crow activity in the Seattle area, visit http://depts.washington.edu/uwcrows/. The crows I describe are located on the map at the “nighttime crow roost” south of I-405 near Renton, Washington.

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