By Helen Downing, UNH Cooperative Extension Master Gardener volunteer

"Nice job, Helen," whispered my husband. I had raised my coffee cup and inadvertently startled three crows we were observing out a kitchen window. As they flew off, I watched carefully and noticed the crow I called Hopalong. Pointing this out to my spouse, he too acknowledged noticing this particular individual as he worked in the yard a week or so before.

Hopalong hopped on one strong foot to find food in our alternately wet, snowy, icy, muddy backyard, and kept his other foot close to his body. Spring was coming in lurches and stutter- steps, and the hopping crow continued to return daily.

A few days later, I watched again as Hopalong and two other crows found much to eat in the combined snow, ice, and mud below one of our birdfeeders. Suddenly, one took off as if to fly away, but instead flew at Hopalong, and they did a split-second barrel roll before the aggressor flew off with Hopalong in pursuit.

What was that about, I wondered? Later, I learned that crows often show their interest in raising a family together in just this manner. Could Hopalong be a Herpalong?

Unfortunately, that was the last I saw of the hopping crow. Summer arrived and crows dropped in fairly often to raid the corn we spread for our flock of chickens, to dig up the newly emerging corn seedlings in the garden rows, and to dig in the muddier spots for grubs to feed their young. Often we heard young crows and their odd yelping attempts to "crow" like their parents. I hoped one of those parents was Hopalong.

One fall evening, as I headed out to close up the chicken coop, dark clouds lowering and raindrops sprinkling from a retreating nor'easter, a murder of crows dropped from the cloud cover and proceeded to fly in tight, back-and-forth formations, in search of a place to roost. It was probably the largest gathering I had ever seen--¬40 to 50 would be no exaggeration.

Crows roost in numbers in the fall and winter. In cold, harsh winters they may migrate short distances south of their summer homes during daylight hours to find shelter and food.

As the crows settled into a nearby well-forested ravine, I noticed that they weren't the only birds arriving in my backyard: tiny red-breasted nuthatches and slate-gray juncos blended in with the grass of our backyard popped up suddenly, only to quickly fly away as daylight waned. If I had come out just a few minutes later, I would never have known how busy the migrant bird traffic had been!
Although my intentions were good, I didn't emerge early enough in the morning to see the crows leave. That must have been a raucous departure.


Not so many days after, I began filling a birdfeeder with black-oil sunflower seeds, a favorite choice of chickadees, nuthatches, and juncos, when I came face to face with another arrival from the north. The first hint I got was a song, musical and trilling, that reminded me of a purple finch, but not quite. I then looked more carefully into the lilac bush that holds the feeder: the chest had a pale pink blush, the beak long and thin, a dark streak through the eye, and finally, a bit of red on the head and tail. The hint of red in the head feathers gave this finch a name: Mr. Red Poll.

As winter has progressed with more and more inches of powdery, fluffy snow, the suet I added to supplement the sunflowers seeds placed in feeders earlier has been a big seller especially among the woodpeckers, downy and hairy. They chatter at me peevishly when their stores get low and wait nearby while I refill their wire suet holders.

Nearby the chickadees call and whistle to remind me to hurry and get out of their way. They want sunflower seeds. NOW! Patiently the goldfinches, nuthatches, white and red-breasted, and the red polls line up nearby to return as soon as I leave. Noisily, the blue jays move in and prowl the ground for dropped seeds and nuggets of suet. Once more, I have had to resort to snowshoes as the snowdrifts become too deep to wade.

As the February sun gets warmer and the evening darkness comes later, I am reminded of Hopalong Crow, and wonder how long it will be before, and if, she will return.

Photo credit:

  by  decodrama visual