Photography And Half-Thoughts By Mitchell Hegman

...because some of it is pretty and some of it is not.

Wednesday, July 23, 2025

The Squawkfields

While poking around outside the cabin, I met the Squawkfield family.

Three things:

I’m only guessing they were an actual family. I gave them the name Squawkfield. And I’m talking about a mess of ravens.

Technically, a group of ravens can be called a conspiracy, a treachery, a rave, an unkindness, or, more generically, a flock. But for the purposes of this blog, we’re sticking with mess. It fits.

They were loud. And relentless. For hours, they squawked from all directions—left, right, above, behind—almost always high up in the firs and pines. It was like being surrounded by feathery hecklers.

I soon surmised the ravens were likely a mix of relatives and neighborhood busybodies watching over and encouraging a batch of fledglings that had left the nest and were taking wobbly test flights. Ravens are known to be particularly boisterous when watching juveniles fledge.

This is a big time for these birds. Perhaps they even fancy all that squawking is pleasant.

From my perspective, it’s mostly annoying.

—Mitchell Hegman

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