A lot of people make New Year’s resolutions on January 1. And most of those resolutions have been broken by January 15. Perhaps this is why I never bother: you can’t break ’em if you never make ’em! That’s a tried-and-true formula for avoiding self-loathing, friends.
That doesn’t mean I don’t have goals. While playing cards on New Year’s Eve, Tara and I were reminiscing over our favorite moments of 2023 and discussing things we’d like to do in 2024. We’ll never match the thrill of buying a house this year, but also, we won’t have to deal with the physical toll of moving into a house this year. I still have nightmares about paint brushes occasionally.
Tara mentioned all the gardening projects she’ll be tackling this spring. When she asked if I had any goals, I didn’t even hesitate.
“I’d like to befriend crows,” I replied.
This marks quite an evolution for yours truly, because once upon a time, I hated crows. So much that I devoted an entire blog post to this topic 11 years ago. 2013 Mark wrote that crows were noisy and creepy and ugly and evil. He talked about yelling at them to “Shut up!” whenever they made a racket outside his window — a tactic that never worked, by the way — and gleefully admitted to multiple attempts at running them over in his SUV whenever they were innocently scrounging for food on the side of the road. Which I guess would constitute a premeditated murder of crows.
God, 2013 Mark was kind of a dick.
But 2024 Mark is a kinder, gentler, enlightened soul who admires and respects crows thanks to an end-of-the-year epiphany. I hold them in very high esteem these days.
A few months ago, I stumbled upon a Reddit thread in which people were recounting some truly amazing crow experiences. Crows are among the smartest animals in the world, possessing an intelligence similar to chimpanzees and seven-year-old children. I knew that (and quite frankly, found it a little terrifying). But I did not realize that crows recognize human faces, “talk” about people to other crows, and remember things we do. And if those happen to be bad things (like, oh I don’t know, just spit-balling here…trying to run them over with an SUV, maybe?), crows hold grudges — which they pass along to their offspring. Piss off a crow, and that crow’s kids and grandkids are going to hate you.
WTF? That’s some real Hatfield and McCoy shit.
On the flip side, treat a crow with kindness, and you’ll have a trusted friend who’s got your back. Redditors who were nice to them shared tales of crows gifting them with shiny objects, watching over their property, and protecting them, chasing after bullies and intruders. Other commenters who had wronged crows talked about being dive-bombed, screeched at, and shat on. Some of them were harassed daily.
Upon reading that, much like the fabled Grinch, my heart grew three sizes that day. I realized how wrong I was to dislike such magnificent creatures. My interest piqued, I did some more research, branching out from a mere social media platform (albeit the best) to respectable periodicals like Smithsonian Magazine and Scientific American. Did you know that crows create and use tools? Jesus, I still mix up Phillips-Head and Flat-Head screwdrivers and once assembled a kettle grill with the feet pointing up.
Crows are capable of abstract reasoning, complex problem-solving, and group decision-making. Oh, and they also understand numbers. Maybe they can figure out this whole 1051, 1501 thing.
So, my goal for 2024 is to befriend crows. I bought a big ol’ bag of peanuts over the weekend and will attempt to feed the crows that congregate in our backyard. This will take patience and effort, and I’ll have to be strategic about it so I’m not just feeding all the damn squirrels that already treat our bird feeders like their own personal all-you-can-eat buffet. But if it works, I’ll feel secure knowing they have my back.
And if I end up with a jar full of beads and coins and rocks and keys, all the better.
Mark My Words 
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