Black Crow

My mom has an Air B&B called “The Black Crow Inn” for folks visiting Glacier National Park. I hope she hangs up in there. :)

Long ago, when the People camped along the river bottoms and the mountains still sang with the wind, there was a crow unlike the rest.

He was larger, his feathers darker than night, and his eyes glowed red like coals. Every evening, when the campfires burned low and the dogs settled, he perched on the tallest bare tree above the lodges. The children whispered to one another, “The Moon Crow sees everything.”

The elders told his story. They said he had once been a man, one of the first hunters of the tribe, but pride led him astray. He chased a buffalo calf too far into the hills and forgot to give thanks for its life. For that, the spirits took his voice and gave him wings, so he might learn humility while seeing the world from above.

But it wasn’t meant as punishment alone. The Creator gave him a duty: to keep watch over the lodges at night and guard the dreams of the People. If danger crept close—whether enemy, wandering spirit, or ill fortune—the Crow would call out three times, his harsh cry slicing through the dark like stone on stone.

One night, while the Moon Crow sat in his tree, raiders crept from the hills. They moved silently, thinking to steal horses and strike fear into the camp. But the Crow saw them. His eyes caught the fire of the moon, and he let out three cries, sharp and full of warning.

The lodges stirred. Warriors rose with bows in hand, mothers pulled their children close, and the firelight leapt high again. The raiders, seeing the camp awake and ready, slipped back into the night.

From that time forward, the People honored the Crow not just as a trickster but as a watcher, a protector, and a spirit guide. And still, when the moon is bright and the land quiet, some say he perches above the lodges, eyes glowing like embers, guarding the thin space between this world and the spirit road.