They go about their business each day, seemingly unaffected by the most adverse conditions. Blinding snow and winds carrying wind chills of 40 below zero seem not to affect them as they fly nonchalantly to their destinations. Crows seem to take winter in stride, each day finding a way to eke out a living. Carcasses of road- killed deer, with little to offer but bones and frozen skin seem to now be of feast- quality for the black scavengers. Few opportunities for food seem to go unnoticed by the bone pickers as they relentlessly pursue daily life on the windswept white desert.
Perhaps there is a lesson of sorts in the winter life of crows. It would seem that not being too fussy can help foster contentment. Great intelligence is also a big part of the crows’ arsenal. Only a Raven, the largest of the crow family, could consistently speak to Edgar Allen Poe’s various laments in the poem “The Raven” with the consistent response of ‘nevermore.’
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 someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
‘ ‘Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more.’ From “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe
Yes, if winter gets really severe
We just may hear
A tapping on our door
A crow needs just a little more.
Smart enough to us implore,
Yet the crows will starve—‘nevermore.’