Witnessing a Murder

For a number of years, I lived on a high hill overlooking downtown Lawrence, Massachusetts, home to a legendary roost of thousands upon thousands of crows.

Many late afternoons, hordes of them would congregate in the trees outside my kitchen slider windows. When they reached a critical mass discernible only to themselves, a few would take off for the nighttime roost, shortly followed by the progressive departure of the rest. Then another squadron would begin to fill the trees, repeating the process multiple times.

I have no idea where all those birds went during the day; only a smattering of them frequented the neighborhood during daylight hours. Looking out my kitchen sliders as I ate breakfast, I’d occasionally see a few messing around in the trees. When my cat died, I decided to have some fun with a bag of leftover food.

I went to the end of my driveway, making a clicking sound on the way, and spread a cupful of cat chow. I wanted to see if any crows would come, and if they would recognize the pattern and come to expect some food. They very quickly did. One or two would be up in the trees each morning, waiting to see if I came out. I think they were lookouts, ready to signal others whether breakfast was ready. Crows always came, but they always waited till I was inside before swooping down. It was a great show.

I didn’t want to spook them, but did want to get some photographs. So I made a sort-of blind by propping the garage door slightly open and blocking off the sides of the gap to leave a narrow space for photography while I laid on the garage floor. These are some of the images that resulted.