Not too long ago at dusk, we met a group of Hartford Audubon Society birders to watch the crows come home to roost for the night. Our fearless leader had been observing the crows’ behavior for several weeks and instructed us to meet in Hartford at a school near Flatbush Ave. There, crows had been congregating in the past as a warm-up to a quick flight to their roost. We met at the school and saw lots of geese but no crows, so we caravanned to another location closer to the trees where the crows like to bed down. Looking towards the heavens, we did see crow after crow flying in from several directions heading to a group of massive trees. They made quite a racket as there were thousands of birds in the trees. Each one landed with some fanfare from the others and jostled for position.
If you do not have the opportunity to see thousands of crows roosting in winter at dusk in Hartford, perhaps you can observe one in milder conditions right in your own backyard!
I was mesmerized by the action in the trees, but our leader wanted to cover all her bases and had us get in our cars and follow her as she drove like Mario Andretti through Hartford. We snaked our cars behind hers, white-knuckled, dodging cars passing in the wrong lane or those with a perpetual blinker on. After excessive backseat driving on my part, we arrived near some cinemas at a parking lot in which the crows had gathered two nights earlier. Wildlife can be fickle, but we saw a number of crows who liked the action near the theater and preferred to doze off to the smell of freshly popped popcorn and the dull drone of the soundtrack to whatever film was being played. As the movie-goers filed in from the parking lot, we stood in the cold craning our necks to observe the crows in the trees. It wasn’t long before darkness was upon us. We were out of time.
Driving home I thought back to the vision of the crows flying in to roost and wondered what they were chatting about as they touched down on a branch for the night. Were they pairs speaking the language of love? Were they sub adults pushing the boundaries with their parents or were they strangers telling of their day on the wing? Who knows?
This phenomenon has been well documented over the years. Crows gather during the non-breeding season to settle down for the night. They use the roost as an information center, chattering about food sources and observing potential mates. Roosting in numbers also helps with predator protection and warmth. Imagine the fun of sleeping with a bunch of friends and relatives sprinkled with a dose of strangers every night. Sign me up! And if you see them with your very own eyes and listen to them, it sure sounds like they are “all in” for their bedtime ritual.
Thinking of birds and field trips and fun, I am reminded that when I was young my mom was asked to join my brother’s class on a field trip to the bird sanctuary here in town. That was right in my mom’s wheelhouse as she brought us there often. I still recall her talking about it at the dinner table when I was hiding my scalloped potatoes in my napkin. Then my brother added a stipulation to my mom’s joining his class on the trip. He insisted that she wear the “fall” that she had recently gotten on her trip to Paris. This was a long black wig-like hairpiece, and it did make her look glamourous. There was quite a repartee between my brother and my mom about this subject. Eventually, the rest of us were shooed from the table while my dad put his foot down. So, my mom won the battle and did not have to look ridiculous chaperoning a bunch of fourth graders around the trails, but the wind was out of both my mom’s and my brother’s sails. Opting to leave the wig at home seemed like a smart decision, but it also removed a layer of excitement from the field trip. So, after the trip there were no stories of my mom’s wig getting caught on some branch or washed down the brook. Neither my brother nor my mom talked too much about their time. To this day, whenever I am walking those trails, I sometimes think about the exchange between my mom and my brother and what may have happened if my mom had acquiesced. I find my own head of hair challenging enough when I encounter the multiflora rose shoots on the trail. So I can honestly say that I rarely wish I had a wig on as I am meandering around the trails by the brook. Though it sure would help in the beauty department.