It’s no surprise that crows overrun Seattle. This year has been an especially hearty year for crows. Throughout the day I can overhear many hungry babies squalling and squeaking on nearby roofs. While watering my garden, a mother crow screamed at me from a tree: wasn’t it clear that I was too close to her nest? The crows rouse the neighborhood at the crack of dawn, out-crowing the more cheerful sounds of native birds. Garbage is strewn up and down our street which only encourages crow scavenging. Their selfish caws invoke strange mutterings from my husband that usually involve bee-bee guns, stalking, and crow homicide.

This summer when the crows arrived, I felt slightly superstitious. Isn’t it rumored that crows represent death? Aren’t there some weird sayings about crows and babies? This isn’t a nice thing to think about when pregnant. So, I did a little online research and found all sorts of crow-related folklore. Everything from “Finding a dead crow on the road is good luck,” to “a baby will die if a raven’s eggs are stolen.” There is also a lot of superstition sorrounding the number of crows that hang around. A single crow over a house means bad news, and often foretells a death within: “A crow on the thatch, soon death lifts the latch.” It is unlucky in Wales to have a crow cross your path. However, if two crows cross your path, the luck is reversed. “Two crows I see, good luck to me.” But then, like all folklore, there are loads of contradiction: In New England to see two crows flying together from the left was bad luck.

I’ve decided I’m going to align myself with the Native American view on crows and ravens. Crows are good-luck signs of protection and messengers of wealth. However, much of their folklore involves the raven being a trickster, an originator of the human species, or a cunning helpful hand in navigating life’s mysteries (like death).

It was then fortuitous that I my local public radio station did an entire segment on crows in the community, (I highly recommend giving it a listen). While making ice cream on a hot day, I listened to a local author’s reverence for the cleverness of crows. While, I’m not ready to embrace crows as intelligent companions to my front yard, I certainly prefer thinking of them as wily neighbors then cunning killers. As the babies grow older and fly off, the noise has died down. Random lonely mother crows now sit on top of abandon chimneys, their caws long and brave.