Stephen O’Connell studied literature as an undergraduate many years ago but received his graduate training in applied linguistics and has worked in the language learning and language assessment fields for the last two decades. As a result, writing (albeit mostly of the Stephen O’Connell studied literature as an undergraduate many years ago but received his graduate training in applied linguistics and has worked in the language learning and language assessment fields for the last two decades. As a result, writing (albeit mostly of the academic sort) and language has been a constant for him, and after a recent move to Ireland (where his parents were born) from New York (where he was born), he has returned to writing creatively, both of the fiction and non-fiction sort.

Préacháin

I recently made an offhand comment to a friend that the crows in Ireland were “more impressive” than the ones in the United States. This friend, who is positioned well on the inquisitive end of the inquisitive/uninquisitive spectrum, promptly messaged back “more impressive?? How?” I admitted that I had no ready answer, and I would need to reflect on it.

II.

Though I should also admit that I was quick to say that I would reflect on it because a few months prior, meaning only a few months into my relocation to Ireland, I had created a Word document on my laptop and named it “crows of Ireland.” My offhand comment wasn’t that offhand.

Ascribing the word ‘impressive’ to Irish crows started with seeing them strut about the front garden of my Claregalway residence, poking at the grass in groups of threes, fives, and sevens. I was working from home most days and had two big windows to look out at the comings and goings of the birds and other creatures. One morning I was compelled to go out to see if there was anything noticeable in the grass that was attracting them. I learned nothing, but that speaks more to my lack of ornithological knowledge than anything else.

My sense of the crows being impressive—or at the very least, extremely interesting—went up a notch one blustery March afternoon while I was washing the dishes and looking out a different window. A pair of crows made repeated visits to the thin white birch trees planted along the boreen, landing on the leafless branches to snap off strips of other branches for their nest-making somewhere across the fields. Their trips back and forth were rhythmic and I had time to go out to the yard with my phone and record them. But when I watched the video later, it didn’t seem to quite capture their impressiveness and I ended up deleting it.

III.

As spring emerged from winter and the days were slightly less likely to unfold in waves of bruising rain and wind, I would take note of the crows as I cycled in and out of town or meandered around south and central Galway. Crows are physically striking. Whether you add “impressive,” “ominous,” or “brutish” to that description depends on the observer, but there is no denying the probing black shine of their alert eyes. Their beaks, which have an occasional scimitar-esque curl, are not something you’d want coming at an unprotected part of your body. Their hoarse cawing, as they throng in their dozens in treetops or on the roofs of sheds, let one and all know of their presence. The dark imprint of their shapes on the landscape is a constant.

IV.

The cast of characters in the company that crows keep seems more noteworthy in Ireland. The jackdaws and magpies that one sees among them are just as daring and curious and intelligent as the crows themselves. There is a sense of complementary camaraderie to their intermingling. When I think back on my time in the U.S., I can think of no counterpart to crows in New York. In Wisconsin, I might put the raven in that category. But putting crows alongside the North American raven—with its prominent place in indigenous folklore, its greater size and strength, its literary immortalization by Edgar Allen Poe—seems to diminish their impressiveness.

So, I’m still not sure I can say with any precision why I find the crows in Ireland to be an impressive strain of the species. They are clearly integral to the ecosystem, and perhaps I am simply more in tune with this ecosystem where my forebears coexisted with crows for millennia. Chasing them away from their few small patches of corn and cursing them when they descended on the barley. Or to be less sentimental and more Occam’s Razor, perhaps it’s simply a side effect of spending time in close rural proximity to many crows, day in and out. Noticing how observant they are and trying to reciprocate it. Keeping my eyes on them as surely as they are keeping their eyes on me.