Crow central

We've been chasing crows from our yard ever since we moved here. They hack at the suet, taking 50-cent chunks whenever they can. They snarf up any peanuts we put out. They yak it up early in the morning.

Now I wish we'd been more tolerant. That's because I have a new interest in these birds, thanks in part to a book I'm reading: "In the Company of Crows and Ravens."

According to authors John Marzluff and Tony Angell, the crows that make a nuisance of themselves in our yard aren't our grandfather's crows.

City folk offer crows unbounded feeding opportunities. Garbage is good and roadkill is frequent. Plus, urban crows have fewer predators than their country cousins. So, with our help, these birds have changed their culture from rural to urban. Corn is out. French fries are in.

In addition to being adaptable, the book details just how smart crows are. Apparently, they can converse, count and add as well as make and use tools. Sure, I've been seeing crows, but now I want to really watch them.

Social sleepers

The five crows that visit our yard routinely -- a family, I think -- come here to dine. I don't know where they've nested. I don't know where they sleep. But I do know that crows are social creatures and like the company of other crows. They come together in the evening to roost for the night at a selected place. You can find hundreds or thousands of them at those sites. In fact, there are records of a single roost that contained 2 million crows.

Since it's the end of the day, I've always assumed the birds were going to roost. But I never knew where.

One evening in late February, I decided to find out.

Following crows flying through in downtown Minneapolis during rush hour isn't a great idea, but I do it anyway.

Routing out a roost

I catch glimpses of crows flying between apartment buildings and houses, but they're not easy to follow. They fly diagonally across the grid of streets. I finally track down roosting birds along both sides of Interstate 94. They seem to crown all the trees along the freeway. Even more settle in, cawing as they arrive.

In their book, Marzluff and Angell write that these birds use dozens of different vocalizations. While the authors caution against anthropomorphism, they suggest that crows communicate vocally -- talk -- in a sophisticated way. The crows I heard that evening might have been complaining about traffic or discussing a new place to eat. Or they might have been recommending the suet feeders in my back yard.

Downtown Minneapolis harbors thousands of crows each night, at least in late winter. They seem to arrive only from the northwest. I assume crows with daytime jobs in other parts of the metro area have other roosting sites. All of these roosts will thin when the birds establish nesting territories this spring.

I didn't stay downtown long enough to hear the crows say goodnight, to tuck bill into shoulder feathers and be quiet. But I'll bet people who live in that neighborhood wait eagerly for that moment.