Crows at the Creek

There’s a little creek that runs behind our apartment. It’s not much to look at, especially in the colder months when the trees are bare and the water runs low, shallow and brown. But it’s a fixture now, the kind of thing that sneaks its way into your routines without much fuss. I didn’t think much of it at first.

We didn’t pick this apartment for the creek. Honestly, we didn’t do much picking at all. The move up to Duluth came on the heels of a family emergency, and a whole lot of plans we hadn’t wanted to make. It wasn’t the kind of move you daydream about. More like the kind where you pack quick, drive long, and figure it out as you go. But we landed here, and the creek was there, and the birds were there.

And lately, it’s the crows I’ve been noticing.

Every morning, just after sun-up, they start to arrive. Two at first, then four, sometimes seven or eight by the time it’s all said and done. Big, glossy, sharp-eyed birds, the kind that don’t so much fly as stride through the air. They come carrying bread. Little chunks, half-slices, once even what looked like a hamburger bun. And they dunk it in the creek. Hold it there for a few seconds. Pull it out, shake off the water, and eat.

It took me a few days to realize that was what I was seeing. At first I thought maybe they were washing off mud or trying to catch something beneath the surface. But no—they were soaking the bread.

I looked it up, because that’s the kind of person I am. Turns out crows will do this to soften dry food, especially stuff they scavenge from humans. Bread, crackers, even bits of kibble. It makes it easier to eat and helps keep their stomachs from getting upset. Some people call it tool use. Others say it doesn’t quite qualify. But either way, it’s smart. And more than that—it’s something they learn. I’ve watched them show each other how to do it.

There’s a lot I don’t know about crows. But I’ve seen them my whole life. Back in North Carolina, we had them around the woods near the house. In South Dakota, too, though they seemed a little more scattered there. I never saw them do this. I think it’s the city that brings it out in them. The bakery down the road. The tight little stretch of creek that stays ice-free longer than the rest. The other birds, watching, copying. That kind of thing builds up.

It’s one of those behaviors that sticks in your mind. Makes you think.

We talk a lot, these days, about how the world is changing. How the weather is different. How the animals seem off. And it’s true—the climate’s shifting. Species are moving. Habitats are changing. There’s no "normal" to go back to, not really. But right here in this tiny strip of Duluth, between the dumpster and the creek, there’s a group of crows doing what they have to do to make it work.

They didn’t get a say in what happened to the land, or the water, or the food supply. But they figured something out. They watched each other. They learned. Now every morning they come back, bread in beak, and teach a little lesson to anyone who’s paying attention.

I think about that a lot. Not in some big philosophical way—just in a daily way. You pour your coffee, open the curtains, and there they are. Doing what they did yesterday. Figuring it out again.

It reminds me that adaptation isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it’s a piece of bread in a beak, dunked three times, shaken off, swallowed, and done. And sometimes, it’s just making the best of the creek behind your apartment, even if you didn’t ask to end up here.

I know there’s a lot of talk out there about returning to nature. About getting back to something simpler. But I think about these crows, and I wonder if that’s not quite the point. They’re not heading off into the woods to forage roots and berries. They’re not building nests in untouched wilderness. They’re here. In town. Eating what we throw out. Teaching each other how to live with what’s left.

There’s something noble in that. Or maybe not noble, but honest. Real. It’s not about purity, it’s about persistence.

Anyway. Hope they’re not stealing from Johnson’s Bakery. That stuff’s too good to dunk.

But if they are—well. I guess they’ve earned it.