And All The World Was In Darkness

Day 237: In both hemispheres of the world, Ravens and Crows appear in similar legends regarding the time before man when all the world was in darkness. The stories begin in a cold, lean age when the other animals could not see to find food and had to huddle together for warmth. They convene to discuss what they might do to improve their situation. This theme is consistent in the oral histories passed down by the indigenous cultures of both the Pacific Northwest and of Australia. It diverges somewhat at this point, but the Hero remains the same: a Corvid.

In Aboriginal myth, the Crow either steals fire from the Seven Sisters (a constellation), or a group of crows band together and use forked sticks to lift the blanket of darkness from the Earth, allowing light to creep in. In Native American lore, Raven is the only animal brave enough to meet the challenge of stealing fire from the Sun. In some local variations, Crow/Raven begins as a white bird and is burned black by the fire/sun. In most versions of the legend, supreme intelligence and cleverness are accorded to the Corvid in question, often with the bird being the originator of the idea of the theft.

The exceptional intelligence which Corvids exhibit has caused many negative feelings toward the species. Humans do not like to think of other creatures being equally or more intelligent than they are themselves, or they refuse to recognize an alternate way of thinking as being a cognitive process, attributing it instead to instinct and selective genetics. Those of us who have lived in the company of Crows and Ravens know better. These are highly intelligent beings if, perhaps, on a different level than our own mental functions.

Mister here and his mate Missus have been coming to my feeding station since they were newlyweds several years ago. I observed their courtship, their bonding, and their displays of affection. They kissed beaks and groomed each other; they threw snowballs at each other; they rolled around in the snow like children making snow angels and then touched wings as if holding hands. Now, with several years of married life behind them, they are more subdued in their romance but still sit closely side by side on the fence to await their breakfast. Mister is the braver of the two (and he cautions her to stand back when I am present). He has lost most of his fear of the camera and will even allow me to walk in the yard while he's sitting on the board. I have yet to see them produce any young, but each year at this time, I start listening for the sounds of baby Ravens, the sounds of children learning to speak single syllables to convey complex concepts, things we humans need lengthy sentences to put across.