Story: When the Crows Call – Friendships in the Forest and by the Sea.

It took me a while to realize that the crows don’t just come for snacks. In the beginning, I thought it was all about peanuts and a bit of fun. But over time, I discovered something much deeper: they come for connection, safety, and maybe even friendship.

When I walk through the forest toward the beach, the crows usually spot me right away. I hear the first calls from high in the treetops—like they’re both greeting me and alerting their flock. And soon, more and more crows begin to appear.

Some fly behind me, others from the sides. It feels like being followed by a swirling, black-and-grey cloud of intelligence and life. They greet me with different sounds—some cheerful and chatty, others more calm and subtle.

A few of them swoop down over my head, so close I can feel the air from their wings. At first, it seemed a bit threatening. But eventually, I came to understand that it was their way of saying hello. A kind of airborne hug.

Some of the crows fly ahead to scout the path. They call out if there are dogs, children, or people they don’t like. I’ve learned to listen to their warnings—or at least try to understand.

It’s taken me years to even begin to grasp the meaning of some of their calls. But I think I’m starting to get it, based on what happens before and after they sound them. I’ve also had moments that were clearly about more than food.

Once, a young crow flew straight to me, calling loudly and urgently. It kept flying a bit ahead, then turning back as if asking me to follow. I did—and found an injured crow hiding in the grass. The young one stayed close, clearly worried. I gently helped the injured bird and took care of it for a while feeding and bringing water. After some time, it recovered. Both crows returned again and again, as if they remembered the help I gave.

Twice, a crow led me to a spot where one of their own had been killed by a dog. When I arrived, several crows were already gathered around the body—in silence, as if they were mourning. It reminded me of a human funeral. The crows were saying goodbye.

There are also days when they come just to be near me. They bring small gifts—berries, shiny objects, or sometimes even a dead crab. Maybe they want to trade, maybe they just want to say thank you.

I feed them, but not like tossing crumbs to pigeons in a park. I know them—and they know me. Some of them have become close “friends”, especially those I’ve helped or who’ve seen me protect them.

On warm days, they sit close to me—a few of then has even sat on my lap or my arm. We sit there together in the middle of nature, sharing silence. Or sounds. Or just the feeling of being.

This isn’t just about birds. It’s about trust. About friendship. About being something to each other—across species. Not many people truly understand this—or what I’m doing. They don’t see how these birds have helped me in ways no human treatment ever could.

Their friendship has, in many ways, saved my life. They’ve helped me cope with PTSD, battle depression, and even lose weight.

I will always be deeply grateful for that.

Thank you for watching.

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