Crows I have known

It’s still winter out there: the snow is blowing around over the frozen ground. But somewhere nearby there must be open water, because the fish crows are back. I heard the call this morning: the distinctive “uh-uh”, like a three-year-old refusing to put on shoes. I love that nasal call. I had come to the land of the fish crows. When we first moved to this city on the southern edge of the Adirondacks, I wondered why there were trees full of juvenile crows all hanging out together. They sounded to me like juveniles at least, nasal and squawky; and they were smaller than the average crow. They flocked together, taking off from one tree and descending on another with loud commotion. Was this a roving band of city juveniles? I’d never seen this behavior before. Where were their parents? I soon found out they were a different kind of crow altogether. I had come to the land of the fish crows. And they were everywhere, till November, when they suddenly took off. Where did they go? I looked it