Christie Mastric

By Christie Mastric

Journal Staff Writer

I feel bad that I haven’t spent as much as I should publicly praising crows.

Birds that are all black tend to not get as much love as a toucan, rainbow lorikeet or male painted bunting. In fact, I think this extends to dogs, with all-black ones reportedly not getting adopted as easily in a shelter.

We might have to ponder initially whether black is really a color. According to Britannica — which knows a lot more about this stuff than I do — physics dictates that black and white aren’t true colors. We see white when all wavelengths of light are reflected off an object, while we see black in a space that reflects very little light.

But back to crows. Birdsadvice.com said American crows most likely are black because of the presence of dark pigment-producing melanin in their bodies. If a crow doesn’t have melanin, it might be brown, gray or even white. I have never seen one, and if I did, I might be attempted to write a poem, “The Crow That Stands Out.” (There already is a film titled “The White Crow.”)

Crows also might not be getting enough positive attention because they caw. They don’t have melodious songs such as a hermit thrush or a veery, which I think sounds like a flute in a can. They have a variety of calls that might serve different purposes, but they aren’t always pleasing to the human ear.

I assume other crows, though, don’t have a problem with the sounds, so what do they care what humans think?

I’m not an expert on crow calls, but I have noticed that when a crow sees me fill my bird feeder, it sometimes looks around and caws. Perhaps it’s ringing a dinner bell to its chums — or warning them to stay away because, dang it, it saw the seeds first.

From my observations, I have come to believe that it alerted other crows to the feast.

Other times I will see a lone crow on my semi-dead maple tree, waiting for who knows what. Then I will grab a handful of shelled peanuts and toss them on the ground, and then dinner-bell-ringing caws ensue.

Crows earn my respect the most, though, because of their intellect, being a member of the corvid family. Corvids include blue jays — which also seem to call to fellow jays to alert them to newly found food — and ravens, also all black. They are considered the smartest of birds, seemingly able to solve problems, use tools and size up situations in a way not common in the avian world.

It’s possible that I have first-hand experience of this. I came home one day to find a piece of partially eaten red licorice on a chair on our outdoor deck. I called my husband, who in his concern for me gave me tips to defend myself in the presence of a marauder.

However, we have come to believe it was a token from a grateful crow. I mean, what person would eat part of a piece of licorice, walk up the back steps of a home whose residents are likely strangers, and leave the candy on a chair?

First, why not finish the licorice? It didn’t look moldy, so it must have had some flavor left. Second, why not dispose of the candy in a more convenient spot? By the way, we do have a trash receptacle on our deck for people’s convenience.

I didn’t eat the licorice, because who knows where it had been? Had it been a gift from a crow, however, I would express my eternal gratitude by way of peanuts and bird seed.

I think Chatham-Kent, Ontario has the right idea. The community in 2022 celebrated the crows that winter in the area during its first Crowfest. It had a Crow Your Boat race, costume contest, a Squawk the Block storefront decor competition and other fun activities.

Were Chatham-Kent to ask me about possible musical acts should the festival happen again, I would suggest Sheryl Crow, Counting Crows and the Black Crowes, among others.

The true crow lover, though, doesn’t need a festival or even mass acceptance of the species’ awesomeness to admire the Melanin Bird. For me, I just enjoy watching crows showing their intelligence, regardless of their caws — which I don’t mind — and lack of rainbow-hued plumage.

So, I will continue to toss peanuts to my neighborhood crows, even if I don’t receive any licorice in return.