Before this blog really begins, I thought it would be helpful to introduce you all, seeing as I have managed to acquire the recognition of crows in three different postcodes now. They are the names you will hear mentioned throughout, and who’s lives I will tell you about as much as possible in the hope you will become as enthralled with them as I am.
Hades and Persephone
Fittingly, these two were the ones that started it all. If you have visited the home page, you’ll know that my transition to Weird Bird Lady In The Park, started from giving them a bit of my lunch. I knew a little bit about crows before, but admittedly not a great deal. I had heard of course that they have knack for facial recognition, but didn’t really understand how good they actually are at this or how quickly they learn to pick you out of a crowd.
The Graveyard Shift
Before shielding and homeworking was a thing, I spent five days a week in a large multi use building. To escape the drudgery of office life, I began eloping on my lunch break to an old graveyard nearby where I would feed three crows named Edgar, Allen and Poe, who began my first frustrating attempts at corvid smartphone photography. Three turned into about ten as young were born, and another pair named Lucy and Albert who presided over a strip of grass outside the cemetery also adopted me as their lunch cart. The pandemic has separated me from them for a year now. When I return to the office I have no idea if they will recognise me and certainly don’t expect it to be the same as I attempt to rebuild my relationship and trust with them.
Crowpotkin and Esme
This pair reside outside my office, and have caused some interesting situations ever since the day they figured out where I sat and would show up whenever they felt like a snack. As well as eating, their hobbies include following me from the bottom of the street and perching outside the entrance, interrupting meetings and impersonating the local gulls. They are an absolute nightmare to photograph.
The Black Bloc
The Black Bloc is the largest group of crows I have come to know, and are so called not just because of their colour, but because they are so vast in numbers it is a lot more difficult to distinguish between individuals. Numbers vary when I arrive, but there can be anything between seven and fifty crows squabbling on the cliffs. There were two I could pick out, Meatball and Roadkill, who were always together. Roadkill was so called because of her appearance pre-moult. Meatball I knew because he had a very particular ritual whenever he landed near me. If you have seen my logo, that is his silhouette. He would bow and let out three, deep bellowing caws, and will only take a nut if I throw one to him personally, ignoring a generic pile of snacks even if it is inches away from him. The others have now learned to bellow in the same way so they get my attention, meaning it is harder to pick him out. Roadkill has cleaned up nice since her new feathers came through.
Ebeneezer and Marley
These two are as yet unphotographed, even badly. While they enjoy following me down my street in the hope of a snack and occasionally even bellow loudly outside to prompt me, they quickly vanish into nothing at the slightest hint of my phone coming out my pocket to capture them. Me and Ebeneezer got off on the wrong foot, thanks to a plastic halloween crow I put on my windowsill not long after we moved in, who he was convinced I was keeping captive and sang the songs of liberation from the roof opposite daily until I moved it. They are starting to get to know me better now and their presence if firmly cementing my reputation as the neighbourhood witch.
So now you’ve met them, I would like to tell you about what we’ve all been up to…
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