The Gardens Gazette

Crow or Raven?

4/23/2017

Update May 29, 2017
You might see a young crow on the ground May-July.
Read about fledgling crows at Audubon Society.

Crows and ravens can appear the same to the casual observer but once you know their differences they will be easily distinguished from each other.

Feature	Crow	Raven
Feathers	Less shiny, may have lighter markings	Shiny and wet sheen
Wings in Sun	Purple with green-tinted wings	Shiny with a blue or purple tint
Bill	Smaller and flat. There is no tuft of hair atop the bill.	Bigger, more powerful and curved. There is a tuft of hair atop the bill.
Size	Smaller; the size of a pigeon; 17 inches long (approx.); weight around 20 oz	Larger; almost the size of Red-tailed Hawks; 24-27 inches long; Weight around 40 oz
Wings	Blunt and splayed; wingspan 32 to 40 inches	Pointed wings; wingspan 46 to 54 inches
Life span	8 years	30 years
Adaptive skills	Like being in human populated areas; more social and audacious	Drawn to carrion cattle and sheep; less social, more cautious
Vocalization	Caw- Caw; nasal, high pitched call	Gronk-Gronk, croooaaak; low and hoarse
Habitat	Urban landscape	Wilder areas
Tail	Fan-shaped	Wedge-shaped
Flight	Lower elevation, lots of flapping; caws while flying	Higher elevation, soaring; silent
Landings	Fidgetty	Calm and stable

Table source: Crow vs. Raven

An American Crow making its distinctive call.

Source

Raven sounds

A hapless Common Raven (Corvus corax) sits in a Piñon Pine in Sedona, Arizona. He has been "pinned" here by a pair of Phainopeplas (Phainopeplae?), which alternately sit a foot above his head, waiting for him to fly so they can harrass him again. The first three plaintive notes are him begging for mercy, and the final set of "caws" is when he gives up, flying away and making as much noise as possible.
Source

The Raven - Edgar Allen Poe

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--
            Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore--
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
            Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;--
            This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door;--
            Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"--
            Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore--
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
            'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
            Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
            Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door--
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
            With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before--
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
            Then the bird said "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
            Of 'Never—nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
            Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
            She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
            Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!--
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore--
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"
            Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
            Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
            Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
            Shall be lifted—nevermore!

—Edgar Allan Poe

Blog posted by John Walling 424D

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My Pet Talks to Me

1/29/2017

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My Pet Talks to Me
by Joan Gilbert Jan-19-2017

You think I’m kidding?

One evening my husband and I were watching TV when what should appear but our several-months-old kitten, her front paws on my knee and her big green eyes looking up at me. I petted her and offered my lap. No. She scampered off to the next room. I heard a bit of light clanging, perhaps metal against metal, and thought nothing of it. Not a mouse anyway. Too loud.

A few minutes later there she was again: paws on my knees, upturned face. Then she was off. This time the clanging intensified, but stopped abruptly. Eh. Well, the TV show—was--intriguing.

The third time she appeared at my knee I figured I’d better follow her. We had been for weeks showing our kitten various chores. She would watch me water her potted grass, and follow the movement of the pot scrubber over dishes, occasionally finding much better places to store the pot scrubber such as with her toys. Her mother had found her way into the duct work under our house. Who knew what the next generation of felines might be capable of.

The first thing I noticed in the next room was that the floor was wet near the doorwall [1]. Hmmm. I followed a trail of water from the doorwall to under the kitchen table. And just what was her water bowl doing between a chair leg and a table leg when it should be at the other side of the room on her feeding mat!

And then it hit me: our dear kitten had watered her grass by dipping her paw into her water bowl and at some point, gotten the bowl stuck under the table. Well, yes, on reflection her paws did feel a bit wet on my knee. Also on reflection I hope I have become, not a better animal whisperer, but a better animal listener; because the fauna of the earth have a lot to say.

Our kitten is now a cat and traveled in the car with us on our long drive to Washington from Michigan. Her name is Skamper. She is an American domestic short-hair [2], so why wouldn’t we expect her to do dishes and water plants?

Editor:
[1] "Doorwall" is Michigan vernacular for sliding glass door or patio door.
[2] American domestic short-hair is a cat of mixed ancestry. In British English, they are often referred to as "moggies."

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