Chapter Thirty-Seven

AT 6:45 A.M. THE NEXT SATURDAY morning, I find myself parked next to an icy, wet field, preparing to interview men who are dressed in camouflage and carrying loaded weapons. It is 34 degrees outside, and I’m wondering precisely what life choices I’ve made that led me here.

My crow column can’t leave out the first crow hunt. I sent an email to Dr. Cornell, my bird expert, earlier this week, asking about another town that had a crow problem. They used a series of crow hunts, but it looks like they weren’t very effective. I wanted to ask what chance Auburn has of handling the crows on its own.

Dr. Cornell said that it might make people feel better to do something about it, but with the crows in such high numbers—his latest estimate was nearing fifty thousand birds—a crow shoot or two won’t have any discernible impact on the population or their migration habits.

So, a pointless crow hunt.

In my research, I found another crow town that didn’t try hunts or traps or flares or noise to drive the crows out of their town. Instead, when they realized the crows kept coming back year after year, they started a new town tradition: the festival of crows.

They turned their little town into a tourist attraction, selling visitors on the festival and the wonderment of a hundred thousand birds choosing the town as their temporary home.

“You know my dad wanted me to do this hunt with him?” Liam asks from beside me. He has football practice early today and offered to drop me off here for interviews. But right now his head is tilted to the side, watching the trucks pull in and neon-vested hunters climb out. He’s studying them the way I’ve studied the crows. Like I’m trying to decode some great mystery.

“Really? I didn’t know he hunts.”

“Not often. He’s too busy with the practice. But he used to hunt with his dad, and it’s really not my thing. Sometimes I think he expected us to have the same experience he did growing up here. Which just wasn’t gonna happen.”

“Is he pushy about it?”

“Nah, nothing like that. He’s just trying to, like, bond. And he totally understands and supports the things I am passionate about. He cares so much. But yeah, I have no interest in shooting crows out of the sky. I think I even like them.”

“Me too.” I say, my stomach dropping at the thought of the crows being shot. I think of Joe. Juniper was so worried about him.

“So who are you going to interview?” Liam asks.

“Whoever wants to talk crows,” I say. There are a bunch of hunters gathered outside now, walking around their trucks, guns bent in half awaiting shells.

“Leighton,” Liam says, and whistles, passing his hand in front of my face. “You in there?”

“Sorry.” I turn to him, trying to shake the feeling.

“Hey, wait. What’s going on?” Liam goes from lighthearted to serious in an instant, reading my body language, or maybe the look on my face, I don’t know.

But he knows. His hand moves to my arm, a soft gesture. A comforting one.

I force a smile.

“I’m great. I’m going to be . . .” I cannot make the word fine leave my lips. I keep thinking about Joe, and hoping he didn’t follow me here like he did to visit my grandmother.

“It’s nothing. Really. I just, uh, don’t like guns.”

“Wait.” He leans back, then pauses as my words fall into place. “Does he have—”

“You should go,” I say, pulling my arm from under the soft weight of his hand. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Liam stares at me for a moment, then shakes his head. It’s not the time to get into it. We both have places to be.

“Be careful,” he says. “Stay with the trucks.”

“Of course,” I say, and lean over to kiss his cheek.

Most of the hunters are happy to answer a few questions. None of them seem to actually care much about the crows invading Auburn, and none of them are fooled that this bird hunt will have an impact. They just enjoy it.

I lean against one of the trucks, reading my notes at first, but when the gunshots start, I’m too on edge. I end up just listening to the hunt, thinking about how much better a festival of crows would be. Auburn born, Auburn proud. But the crows weren’t born here, and they’re too good for this place. And I was born here, and I’m not proud.

Right now I wish I could fold the entire town into one of Juniper’s notes and leave it for the crows to take.

I wonder what gift they’d give me in exchange for that.