Well, they’ve gone. Sometime during October, the crows in my neighbourhood leave for the winter. Ringo, the crow in charge of my block, and his mate Missy have been gone for three days now. The streetlight from which Ringo conducts his municipal affairs is empty. My morning coffee at sunrise is missing his presence. His start-of-the-day announcements have temporarily ceased, and therefore so have the replies from neighbouring blocks.
There is a void in the trees and skies. They have been left to the playful magpies and a random little flock of pigeons adopted by our neighbourhood. Of course, the little songbirds will fill my yard during the winter months, and I will be visited often by a Northern Flicker couple.
I have become increasingly connected to nature’s creatures in my neighbourhood. They are a large part of the fabric here, whether they are noticed or not.
I am in awe of their resilience. They just do. No human overthinking.
In the spring of this year, I watched Ringo and Missy work relentlessly for days to build a nest in a tall spruce tree next to our house. We had gale-force winds for three consecutive days. It was unsettling. Even though they took a break during the storm, Ringo and Missy continued their work, only to be met with another round of fierce winds. With the nest almost complete and all that labour behind them, this tree proved to have too much sway, and they had to start over in another evergreen down the street.
I was disappointed they had to move. However, I felt honoured to be able to witness their activity up close, even briefly. They flew back and forth inches from my writing room window. Leaving and returning with specially selected twigs. Experts in their field.
I always greet Ringo by name. I have become a trusted ally. He feels safe when he visits my yard and prances around like a proud chicken. The house two doors down is another matter.
One day, I heard Ringo cawing in distress. When I ran to the door, a man was in his front yard wielding a broom in the air as high as he could reach. There was Ringo sitting on the roof, giving him every what for in the book. Perhaps the man was panicking, caught up in superstition. I gently called to Ringo, and he came over to the tree by my house and became quiet. Maybe that’s why he decided to nest there.
I do not feed Ringo, but I am known to throw a treat or two in the yard for whoever comes to call. First come, first served. Our cats must think we have pets who reside outside because I name the regular visitors and speak to them like I’m a cartoon Disney princess.
I have just finished my fifth season sharing the street with Ringo. I find it baffling that I might be the only one who notices he exists. How much more are we missing?
Ringo is a common crow, but what a grand character he is. A crow who notices and recognizes people and, okay, yes, passes judgement. He protects his family and community, has meetings with his council, and roosts along with large numbers of his kind so they may stay safe and sort out their affairs.
I’ve become so familiar with this beloved crow that I recognize his caw without even looking. Missy’s too, for that matter.
Crows have special talents. Ringo has the uncanny ability of showing up and cawing at just the right time, either when I am having an aha moment or when I'm beginning to realize my thoughts are on the right track. It is almost like he is my messenger and I have been given a nod of approval.
Ringo is no ordinary crow to me. There is something about our connection I can’t quite explain.
Three days without Ringo, and I feel his absence. I shall wait the winter and eagerly look forward to his return in March or April.
One morning, I’ll sit down with my coffee cup, and there he’ll be on his streetlight.
Godspeed, Ringo. I wish you a warm winter and a safe return.
~ Sandra