Crows of the Indiana Dunes in 1916, in Earl Reed's Words and Etchings

Earl Howell Reed was an early Chicago author and artist who often visited Indiana's sand dune country around the turn of the twentieth century. His stories and detailed etchings of Duneland drew other artists to the area and helped conservationists push for its protection: in 1916, at Stephen Mather's hearing on a proposed "Sand Dunes National Park," Reed's etchings lined the courtroom of the Chicago Federal Building.

That year Reed published The Dune Country, a vivid picture of the region at the time. One chapter describes American crows (Corvus brachyrhynchos) — in numbers no longer seen. Crows still live in Indiana Dunes National Park, but coming upon thousands of them is no longer common. They are still recovering from West Nile virus, which reached the United States in 1999: virtually every crow that meets the virus dies within a week, the highest death rate of any North American bird.

"Steadily winging their way to the chosen spot." Etching by Earl Howell Reed. Library of Congress.

The crow as Reed saw it

To Reed, the crow was the most active and conspicuous creature of the dunes, a black shape present in almost every part of the landscape by day. "The prosaic and the philistine," as he put it, were against him, and his enemies were numberless: he raided songbirds' nests, dug up newly planted corn and seed potatoes, and took young chickens and ducks. Owls hunted him at night. But Reed admired his nerve and self-assurance:

"He cannot be considered valuable from a utilitarian point of view, but as a picturesque element he posses many charms."

Crows, he wrote, ran the dunes from before sunrise until dusk, inspecting everything with intense curiosity — wary and cunning, yet careless when curious. An old crow, he claimed, "knows the difference between a cane and a gun," and would let a man with a gun ride much closer on horseback than he could walk.

A society with leaders

Reed was convinced crows had a limited language: different cries had different effects, and older, wiser birds led "the sable hordes" in long processions to and from the feeding grounds and the night roosts. At a leader's loud signal a whole band — often several thousand birds — would wheel and change direction.

"Neighborhood gossip." Etching by Earl Howell Reed. Library of Congress.

Going to roost

Late in the afternoon the scattered groups gathered for the flight to the roost, which Reed described as a ceremony:

1. A single scout flew ahead, inspected the stretch of forest where the flock slept, and flew back.
2. Several more came to check, then twenty or thirty, which surveyed the whole area and returned to the main body.
3. Then "the horizon becomes black with the oncoming phalanxes," circling over the trees in noisy confusion for about half an hour before settling.
4. Sentinels kept watch all night. Sitting motionless on a log among them, Reed was sometimes spotted — and one alarm call set the whole roost screaming and beating its wings. A footfall, a snapping twig or an owl's hoot could empty the woods.

In the morning, groups strutted along the beach, drinking and picking up dead fish and insects washed up by the waves, then scattered over the country before sunrise.

"The course of true love." Etching by Earl Howell Reed. Library of Congress.

Billy

One summer the Reeds kept a pet crow, "Billy," taken as a nestling from an old tree in the woods by a small boy and passed on by a naturalist friend. Raised on bread and milk, hard-boiled eggs and scraps in a large cage, he became one of the family, then was given his freedom — and used it his own way:

• He spent much of the day in a nearby ravine but came to the house, loudly, whenever hungry.
• He followed whoever left the house, flying ahead or riding on heads and shoulders.
• He let the family pick berries for him, then helped himself from the basket.
• He studied the hammock's knots for hours, and came to share a dish with Gip, the black cocker spaniel.
• On sketching trips he stole brushes and pencils and got into the vermilion on Reed's palette, leaving "post-impressionistic pictures" on his breast feathers.

The wild crows did not know what to make of him. When he flew into a treetop they gathered and looked him over, and the verdict was often hostile — Billy was driven off, sometimes badly hurt, as if an outcast who had broken every crow tradition.

"Billy." Etching by Earl Howell Reed. Library of Congress.

Billie

One morning Billy was gone. The next year Reed got close to a crow in the ravine that seemed to half-recognize him; a broken pinion in the left wing, from a fierce fight the autumn before, seemed to confirm it was Billy — who, it turned out, laid three eggs. The family kept the name, spelled "Billie." She and her mate raised a brood in the ravine, driving off red squirrels, owls and hawks until the young could fly; then the family left for the back country. The nest was never used again. Under the tree, Reed found a red pencil.

"A happy home." Etching by Earl Howell Reed. Library of Congress.

Sources

Based on "A Glimpse into Historic Crow Life at Indiana Dunes," Indiana Dunes National Park, National Park Service, a work of the United States government in the public domain, with its excerpt from Earl Howell Reed's The Dune Country (1916), which is in the public domain; Reed's text is summarized, with short quotations. The etchings are from the same book (Library of Congress). The page's modern photograph of two crows, from an iNaturalist user, is not reproduced.