All Quiet on the Western Front

These frozen January days have led to some quiet walks around the bog. Quiet because I am bundled up with wrap-around scarves and ear muffs and quiet because most birds seem to have either taken shelter somewhere else, or, are all, as it seems, in my backyard enjoying the daily dole of free food that I offer. For that matter, in the time it took me to walk around the bog the other day, a hawk of some sort came grazing at my feeder so that when I returned a little gray poof of feathers was all that remained of a Titmouse. Perhaps it is best I wasn’t there for that particular event.

Today’s walk seemed similarly cold, and similarly quiet. Thanks to the dog I am well aware of all the various tunnels around the bog that the meadow voles are using, and a crow or two flew over but otherwise I was free to think my thoughts, pray for my family, etc. without interruption. Until, just as I left the bog and was heading back through the woods, the crows began to set up a huge cawing, coughing, sounding madness.


The crow family that seems relegated to the woods-side of the tracks had gathered low in some trees whose view was obscured by the tangle of high bush blueberry and other trees. Trying to get a line on what was going on with binoculars just wasn’t working. Their calls would reach a pitch, than abate, than start all over again. I was due at a dentist appointment but this was too intriguing to be ignored. I had to pick my way around a tangle of briars, I love their other nickname of “Wait a Minute Bush”, for it truly took awhile. Either my scarf would catch, or my pants or my hair. Really I can be ridiculous at times even my dog had already headed home by now. But once free of the first line of briars the trail opened up a bit so I could skirt the overgrown bog and get closer to the action. There in a large dead Maple was the reason for the racket.

A Red tail hawk, with its back to me, was holding something dark and furry in its talons, and it was the reason the crows were going ballistic. The hawk had found itself a worthy breakfast and it appeared the crows felt there was plenty to share. I imagine the dives and calls were an attempt to have the hawk drop its prize. But good for you hawk, hang on, you can take a little verbal abuse. A large hawk like you must need all the nutrition you can find on a cold winter’s morning.

It eventually swooped off the large branch it was on and flew lower into the tangle and out of sight so I didn’t get a clear look at what prey it had come by, but my impression was that of something larger than a rabbit. It flew low like it carried something of weight and I wonder if it had succeeded in taking a raccoon. That would have been my guess but it is just a guess.

“All quiet on the western front” then, ended not as quietly as it began. Once again, I have these rambunctious crows to thank for leading me to this intersection with nature. Should you hear such a commotion yourself, please allow yourself to be curious. Although I don’t recommend plowing through a briar patch to get a better view, do your best to see what all the fuss is about. More times than not you will be rewarded with something interesting. January is the month that owls will begin finding their mates and starting their nests, which is another trigger for crows to go a little nuts. And their racket is one, I might add, that can be easily heard even through layers of ear-muffs and hats and scarves! A local birder on the Cape always ends his column with “Keep your eyes to the sky”, and I would add, “and you ears too”.