The birds of “Discovery”—Common Raven

This is the sixth in a series of posts focused on the birds featured in my new novel, Discovery. Look for another one each week.

One of the names for a group of Common Ravens is “unkindness.” I suppose that’s better than a “murder” of Crows, the Raven’s smaller relatives. It might already have been assigned to these large birds when they gather, but I think a “nevermore” of ravens has a nice ring, as in “Quoth the raven, ‘Nevermore,” from Edgar Allan Poe’s famous poem, “The Raven.”

Anyway, all that aside, Ravens have a mixed history with humans. In some Native American cultures, they’re seen as tricksters, possibly because they’re aerial acrobats, even flying upside down for considerable distances. Or maybe it’s their propensity for pulling dogs’ and cats’ tails. Other cultures think of Ravens as symbols, seeing in them a physical emblem of wisdom, for example. For some Christians, though, Ravens are portents of bad things to come.

Like crows, who have learned to use available materials as tools, Ravens put the lie to the concept of birdbrains. They’re pretty smart. For instance, they team up to hunt, one Raven drawing the attention of parent birds to pull them away from nests while another steals eggs or chicks. At allaboutbirds.org, they’re described as able to put two and two together, even when the solution to the equation is a bit obscure. For instance, they’ve figured out that a gunshot could lead to a dead animal to feed on. But they ignore other sounds that are just as loud.

Ravens range over much of the North American Continent, although we don’t see them in Missouri. They like the woods and will eat just about anything, from roadkill to berries to wasted food left lying around by humans. Their large size and dark color lends them an austere look that their rather playful behavior contradicts. Like other species in their family, Ravens live without a pretty voice, settling instead for a wide variety of honks, rattles, caws, croaks and hiccups.

To watch a Raven soar, barrel-roll and somersault in flight, not to mention fly upside down, is to experience what must be a real joy in just being alive. I’ll never get the chance to ask one whether it ever gets tired of performing, but I expect it would have a one-word reply: “Nevermore.”