Tales of the Wild: Where Nature and Story Meet
Ravens mark the skies in Silver City, New Mexico. And the roads, and the sidewalks, and certainly the trees, the fields, the canyons and the hills.
You don’t have to hunt to find ravens here. At any moment one or more can fly over, or you’ll find one sitting in the middle of the street, eating, well, what ravens eat, or there’ll be a conspiracy of them strutting through your park. And you can hear them call from the wilderness that borders Silver, either the traditional calls and croaks that everyone can identify, or the cackle that sounds very much like a turkey’s wattle, and not at all like a raven should sound.
There are two species of raven – Common and Chihuahuan, but even the Cornell University eBird site says they’re difficult to distinguish. Which fits perfectly with my experience, as I can’t tell them apart at all, particularly since they’re not obliging enough to show off the white patch at the nape of the neck that seems the easiest way to differentiate between them. Names matter to humans, and adds to our knowledge, but I have a hunch that the birds in question might consider them simply human foolishness, a distraction that they don’t pay any attention to. Our two species have very different ways of living in the world, and understanding it – which is, I suppose, as it should be.
And yet, for all their seemingly mundane existence, ravens are strange, and mysterious, and magical. They carry legends with them, whether it’s the Trickster stories of the Native Americans, or the tale that they companioned the Norse God Odin. There’s a certain awe that runs through me when their large shadows sweep over me walking the street, and the strong ‘whoosh, whoosh, whoosh’ of their wings is loud in my ears. I never hear that sound from any other bird, and a thrill runs through me every time, as if the cosmos is suddenly visible in the sky above, pinning me in wonder.
Ravens as Symbols of Wisdom and Trickery
Raven is seen by many Native Americans as the bearer of messages from the cosmos, bringing the chance for transformative change and metamorphosis into our lives. She offers the opportunity for the learning of harmful secrets that we ourselves carry, and the clarity to understand them in relentless relief. Only those deemed worthy and willing will hear her messages, and the wise will take the journey toward health and wholeness.
The Native Americans tell a variety of stories about Raven, some tribes crediting him as the creator of light, bringing the sun, and sometimes the stars, to humankind, while to some he is the mischievous catalyst of change. While Raven is respected, and revered by some, he is also regarded with wariness. Get too close, and the unpredictable can strike. Better to stay your distance. And yet, one thread that runs through many stories is that Raven brings the potential for learning about life with him, and it’s wise to listen.
It’s strange to consider that wherever ravens roam, tales of mystery and magic follow them. In the Highlands, the old tales say it’s considered wise for a child to take his first sip from a raven’s skull, and thereafter prophecy and the gift of wisdom will be his. In England, it was thought that “If the ravens leave the Tower, the Crown will fall and Britain with it.” Interestingly enough, the English today carefully feed and cultivate the presence of ravens at the Tower, naming them and giving scrupulous directions about how they should be respected and attended.
I’m always mindful to greet the ravens I meet, in honor of the magic they carry on their so-black wings. Just in case.
The Mystery of Ravens in Art and Daily Life
Ravens turn up in the art here in Silver, too, making their mark even in a place known for its artistic flavor. On the campus of the Western New Mexico University, there’s a hill facing east, toward sunrise. A raven perches on a pillar, her figure stark against the sky, feathers calm against her back but still ready to fly at any moment. There’s no sense that she sees the humans or the buildings that frame it; her fierce stare focuses on the horizon, looking beyond any observers, into some place that perhaps only ravens can see.
And then there’s the ebony raven figurine on our living room mantel, seated on a small block, carved with such precision that every feather is visible. Ribbed with lifelike roughness, his sharp beak seems it could strike with punishing speed if needed. When we brought him home, he demanded some sparkling items that he could own, and after all, when you bring ravens into your space, it’s best to pay attention to them. Ignoring Raven is like ignoring Coyote – dangerous in the most cosmic sense. For the moment he seems content with our offering of a small purple geode and a polished black rock. I wonder, occasionally, if we need to add to his stash, though.
A raven-emblazoned plate sits on another shelf, braced within an iron holder. Flowers frame the bird from behind, while she perches on a branch, her head cocked as she looks out of the plate, one eye focused on the room beyond, a literal bird’s eye view of our lives. And despite the natural world in which she seemingly sits, there’s still a sense of space behind her, as if the universe is looking into the room too, and she could bring it into our household if she chose. What does she think of this strange human world that she sees with such intimate closeness?
Even the raven feather that sits on our dresser has a presence all its own, plucked from our own yard one morning, glossy black against the green grass, almost shimmering in the early sunlight.
Sometimes I wonder if we invited too many ravens into our home….
Raven Intelligence: What Science Tells Us
They’re smart, too, so smart. Perhaps that’s another reason they catch the eye, particularly when you find their gaze on you – direct, thoughtful, and yet wild. You never know how much they see, or what, if anything, they think about it. And the research certainly indicates that they can think, perhaps much more than almost any other animal.
This was driven home to me one morning as I walked through my neighborhood, halting to watch a raven perched on a fence, with at least four others all in a line in the road facing him, looking for all the world like a panel, or a lecture. I couldn’t help but wonder what the topic was, and wished I could take a seat and listen.
Ravens have the largest brain mass to body volume of any of the corvid family and are rated much higher in intelligence than dogs or cats, comparable to primates such as gorillas and chimps. They are known to call predators such as coyotes or wolves to prey animals, waiting for them to break the carcass down so they can more easily scavenge the remains, and they wait for birds with specialized foraging skills (raptors and herons) to bring down prey, and then cunningly use cooperative tactics to take the prize for themselves.
Laboratory research has shown that they can use numbers and count as high as seven, and they can solve puzzles with ease. A 2020 nature.com article describes them as equivalent in intelligence to the great apes, except in the area of spatial skills (although I wonder how a bird conceptualizes space, and whether a primate like us can truly understand it. Ravens certainly seem to understand their space just fine). That said, the journal states that ravens “are both social and physical intellects,” and one researcher commented that “the success of the intelligence tests in general will be more likely endangered by the person making the experiment than by the animal.” I think ravens would be content with that acclamation, and probably somewhat smug.
They are known to use tools, one writer describing how a raven deliberately set about destroying the microphone he was using to record their calls, and studies indicate that they appear to “consider the visual perspectives of others,” which I take to mean that they know when they’re being watched, a characteristic that certainly resonates to my experiences with ravens here in Silver. It seems that every time I take my phone with me, specifically with the intent to photograph the birds, they’re nowhere in sight. Walk without my phone, and suddenly they appear. I suppose I should have expected that!
Climate change and ravens…. It seems that these birds do well in expanding their range when opportunities bloom, which is another way of saying that they can take advantage of their intelligence to make climate change work for them. The species isn’t threatened in most of the US, and Canadians comment that rewilding areas of their nation, and creating protected parks and refuges has encouraged ravens to reappear in areas that were previously abandoned. With that in mind, this is one animal I’m not worried about in the days to come. I suspect that they’ll handle themselves just fine.
As I write this, I can hear ravens calling from the small park on my quiet street. I’ll take that as an invitation to walk out into this cool morning, watch the sunrise, and perhaps hear a few truths about life from my corvid neighbors. Ravens are, after all, about the stories we tell ourselves, when the mystery of the cosmos stares back at us. Perhaps I should take some time to listen.
If you found this exploration of raven symbolism intriguing, check out New Trails, the first book of my New Trails series, where transformation and mystery are never far away.