Why This Deep Fascination with Crows?

My name is Claus, but most people know me as The Crowman.
The funny thing is: I never cared about birds.
I didn’t watch them. Didn’t feed them. Didn’t seek them out.
I knew absolutely nothing about them.

Until the day the crows found me.

When the Crows Stepped Into My Life

It happened about four years ago, right in the middle of one of the hardest periods of my life — a time when severe PTSD had taken over everything.
My mind was full of noise, the world felt far away, and I was grasping for anything that could give even a moment of calm.

And then it happened.

Three crows approached me.

They didn’t fly past.
They didn’t keep their distance.
They walked toward me — quiet, curious, as if they could see through every word I had never been able to say out loud.

There was something in their eyes, something that felt like recognition.
As if they saw the things I was trying to hide from everyone else.

They didn’t judge me.
They didn’t demand anything.
They were simply there.
And somehow, that was enough.

People often say:
“He only has those birds following him because he feeds them.”
But that’s not the whole truth.

My closest crows follow me whether I bring snacks or not.
They come because there’s a bond — because something genuine exists between us.

I learned fast that every crow has its own personality, its own upbringing, its own creativity.
Their intelligence is astonishing, their humor subtle and playful, and their ability to read humans is almost frighteningly accurate.

Why the Crows Found Me

All my life, I’ve felt like the black sheep —
as a child, as a teenager, as an adult.

Ironic, isn’t it?
That I ended up among the black-feathered ones who reflect both my story and my heart.

I’ve spent most of my life helping others:
building projects, networks and communities that helped thousands of people out of loneliness and back into life.
I’ve been honored for that work by professionals, organizations and the municipality.

But the feeling of not belonging —
of standing outside, looking in —
never completely disappeared.

My childhood was tough.
I ended up in youth institutions and watched friends go through things no child should ever witness.
Later came knee injuries, mental illness, accidents, and a long fight with PTSD that nearly broke me.

I walked along beaches and through forests to rehabilitate my knees and clear my mind.
But it was the crows who gave me both.

From Strangers to Family

I began recognizing them — by their faces, their voices, the way they walked.
And they recognized me.

I became friends with several flocks.
Some spot me from 50–60 kilometers away from my usual crow area — often from Moesgård Beach, Egå, all the way to Ajstrup.
Even at my home in Aarhus N, old crow friends sometimes show up — likely the ones I first met by the sea.

They brought me gifts:
a mussel shell, a piece of glass, a berry, a crab claw.
Small signs of trust — and friendship.

Crows didn’t just give me physical strength back.
They gave me mental strength.
They gave me purpose, calm — and a sense of belonging.

Crow Therapy – My Path Back to Life

I’m not “cured.”
PTSD doesn’t disappear.
I still have days where everything collapses.

But this “crow therapy” made life worth living again.
The crows taught me patience, presence, and a type of peace no medication has ever been able to give me.

And when thousands of crows gather on the winter beach around 4 p.m., turning the sky into a living, black, wavelike blanket —
that’s when I feel at home.

The Legend That Mirrors My Life

There’s an old story that crows were once the most colorful birds in the world.
Their feathers shimmered in all the colors of the rainbow.
They danced around sacred fires where human souls gathered before their final journey.

But one night, the crows flew too close to the flames.
Their colors burned away, their voices grew rough, and their feathers turned black as night.
Still, they rose with pride.

They had sacrificed their beauty for us.

Since then, they’ve carried the colors of courage, transformation and survival.

In many ways, that legend mirrors my own story:
losing colors, rising again — and finding strength in the darkness you carry with you.

Who Am I When I’m Not With the Crows?

I’m Claus.
A man in his late forties who built his life around helping others, creating communities, and painting his story — both on walls and within himself.

I started doing graffiti at age 11 or 12 and painted under several names for decades.
After severe knee injuries, I had to stop the large pieces, but I hope to return one day when the strength fully comes back — thanks to the long walks the crows have led me on.

I survived a serious accident and battled PTSD, old traumas and pain.
I searched for peace by the sea — without medication — and found it on a bench overlooking the waves.

A black crow landed beside me.
I shared a piece of my sandwich.
And that was it.

That moment was the beginning of everything that now makes people call me The Crowman.

A New Family — Born From the Wild

Today, I visit several crow families regularly.
They know me.
I know them.

Some fly beside me.
Some follow me through the forest.
Some meet me on the beach.
A few sit on my arm or legs as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

They gave me something I thought I had lost forever:

A sense of belonging.
A reason to keep going.
A family — born from nature itself.

That’s why people call me The Crowman.
Because I listened when they called.
And because they gave me my life back.