Recent events in Regina, my present place of residence, have reminded me of my life-long association with Raven – a bird that is both favoured and decried, depending on one’s experience with this highly intelligent, curious, creative, quirky, amusing and sometimes annoying circumglobal creature.
Ravens have made a return to the prairies in recent years and here in Regina they spend their winter days in the glamorous surroundings of the city landfill. Most recently they would fly to the abandoned Taylor Field football stadium to spend a restful night. But wait! The stadium was demolished last fall so the ravens, being a selective bird, simply flew next door to the flashy new stadium for their evening respite.
This was not welcomed by those in charge so a noise cannon was installed to frighten the birds away. Rumour has it that the ravens thought – and they do think – that the cannon fire indicated that the Saskatchewan Roughriders had scored a touchdown and they thus immediately flew over the field cawing and croaking away in excited salute.
The other Regina Raven issue comes right from Regina’s towering City Hall where another flock took up residence – plighting the mayor’s and city manager’s penthouse windows with you-know-what. No respect! Rumour has it that these ravens were contracted by a group of overtaxed citizens to conduct this smear campaign. More cannon fire!
But enough of the present. Let’s flashback to my early teen years at our little house-on-the-side-ofa-rock on Church Street in Flin Flon. It would be an early Saturday winter morning when I would be awakened from a typical teen zoned-out sleep by the sound of raucous screeching sounds coming from the back lane adjacent to my bedroom window. All accompanied by a series of thumps on the snow-covered roof.
Jeez! Dad is at it again. He’s got another supply of hunks of beef suet from the Co-op butcher shop and is feeding the ravens.
Dad would stand in the lane and give his croaking raven call. The great birds that were mooching around at the mine site and Main Street garbage bins would hear the invitation and in no time there’d be a fair sized flock doing touch-and-go manoeuvres over my bedroom as they picked up the small hunks of suet Dad threw onto the roof. Thump! Caw. Croak. Thump! Such is life in the wilds!
Ravens are members of the corvid family that includes crows, jackdaws, jays and magpies. Fossil records indicate evidence of corvids connections dating back 17 million years. Corvids in the wild are part of the cycle of life. They, along with other creatures, help to clean the wilds of the residue of natural or traumatic death. Sure, people complain about how these birds rip open garbage bags. The solution is to put the bags in a securely closed container! Simple!
I respect Raven. Raven is my “spirit bird.” Go to Google and search the many cultures that have Raven as the centre of their iconography and, along with Coyote, appear as the trickster in many cultural legends.
Ravens are confident, inquisitive birds that have an extensive natural vocabulary and can mimic the sounds of horns, bells, dog barks and other human-related experiences. They are playful. Just hang around the cliffs at Hapnot Lake and watch the young birds catch the updraft as they swoop down and then soar above the lake.
Watch the ravens in flight “dump” air from a wing as they glide and swirl and pivot through the air. Watch as a raven outwits other creatures in the search for food. I watched a raven patiently wait as two gulls fought over a discarded hamburger bun and then swoop down to steal a meal while the gulls were distracted.
As for quirky raven tales, the classic comes from Yellowknife where a young woman, a recent arrival from down east, expressed her concern that a flock of ravens followed her as she walked to work each day. A fellow employee pointed out to her that she shouldn’t wear her orange coloured winter coat as the ravens probably thought she was a mobile garbage bag. She changed coats and – no more ravens. True story!
Raven, I salute you. Croak!
