Earthâs animals are fed up with humanityâs mindless damage to our common home. Will a young girl and her family heed their call?
Ten-year-old Luz sets out on an overnight camping trip, accompanied by her spiritual mentor. Peering through a canopy of California redwoods, Luz witnesses a council of animals confronting the menace of climate change. Led by a lustrousâand talkativeâcrow named Koro, the animals weigh their options. Some, like Koro, want to collaborate with humans. Others doubt humanityâs good intentions. The conversation compels young Luz, innately in tune with the natural world, to fight passionately in its defense.
At once a work of fact-based activism and a moving coming-of-age, Crows
Calling immerses the reader in a richly drawn family and community who, despite their differences, decide to dedicate their lives to the care of Grandmother Earth. They are not alone. Rather, they are accompanied by a colorful cast of savvy planimalsâtrees, coyotes, chickens, and even lichensâwith long memories and ancient ways of healing.
Some damage cannot be undone. Natural disasters, public apathy, and greed threaten everything that Luz and her friends are working for. Can the cross-species alliance find unity and resolve the climate crisis?
Earthâs animals are fed up with humanityâs mindless damage to our common home. Will a young girl and her family heed their call?
Ten-year-old Luz sets out on an overnight camping trip, accompanied by her spiritual mentor. Peering through a canopy of California redwoods, Luz witnesses a council of animals confronting the menace of climate change. Led by a lustrousâand talkativeâcrow named Koro, the animals weigh their options. Some, like Koro, want to collaborate with humans. Others doubt humanityâs good intentions. The conversation compels young Luz, innately in tune with the natural world, to fight passionately in its defense.
At once a work of fact-based activism and a moving coming-of-age, Crows
Calling immerses the reader in a richly drawn family and community who, despite their differences, decide to dedicate their lives to the care of Grandmother Earth. They are not alone. Rather, they are accompanied by a colorful cast of savvy planimalsâtrees, coyotes, chickens, and even lichensâwith long memories and ancient ways of healing.
Some damage cannot be undone. Natural disasters, public apathy, and greed threaten everything that Luz and her friends are working for. Can the cross-species alliance find unity and resolve the climate crisis?
BEFORE WE GO ANY FURTHER, I really should introduce myself. I am Koroâa lustrous female American Crow. Surely, when strolling in woods or along an urban lane, you have admired my familyâs elegant, iridescent plumage and thrilled to our melodious song. You know of our prodigious memory, of our cleverness spearing hapless grubs from sodden logs with a favored twig.
The glint you see in my ebony eye is a tear shining for my grandmotherâthe earthly incarnation of generosity, whose bounteous lands and waters make room for every new arrival. Of late, however, one familyârelative newcomersâhas been pushing her limits, leaving their garbage everywhere and abusing the other guests. They run their noisy engines at all hours. Noxious smoke belches from their cooking fires. Every day, more and more of them come, crowding into other familiesâ spaces, destroying the homes of many of my friends.
Recognizing our Crow persistence, Grandmother Earth called us to help her get those inconsiderate tenants to clean up their act. Personally, Iâd prefer to stick around home, where the view across the forest canopy down to the sea opens my heart. I love the crash of distant breakers,the cry of a wayward gull, the barks of sea lions porpoising in the swells, the squeaks of ground squirrels warning of sly Coyoteâall mingling with the damp, woody redolence rising on the sunâs currents carrying ripe notes of fruit and flesh. This harmonious cornucopia is ornamented with the bright calling of my kin, the hum of high-tension wires, and the stubborn whine of a semi, downshifting on Highway 1.
Peering into the chasm of the coming Meltdown, I am proud to be on precious Grandmotherâs team. My cawcus is responsible for majestic Northern California, including fertile Monterey Bay and its deep canyon, the âSerengeti of the Sea.â The land we cover is a patchwork sprawl of asphalt and forest, garlic and strawberries, oranges and avocados, cattle and sheep raised sustainably and otherwise, bears guttering in their occult tongue, sweet jasmine brandishing her shameless perfume, and sixteen million busy humans.
Through wildfires, drought, floods, extreme heat, even earthquakes, Grandmother is pleading directly with humans. Some hear her message. Take Makah Andrews, professor of International Environmental Policy at Monterey University. That has got to be one tough job, given humans donât seem to have a coherent policy, only practices, continually enhanced by technology. Extractive practicesâeating the Earthâas if occupying the land bestowed only rights and privileges. Makahâs one of the good ones, trying to use the system to turn itself around. Thatâs the aim of âTeam Grandmotherââa successful turnaround.
Whatâs that I hear? Ah, please allow me to introduce my most trusted teammate, Ursula. Hey! Up here!
Koro? I canât see you through the branches, but my furry ears were tuned to your dulcet tones.
Iâm talking with some of our human relatives who are listening to our story. Everyone, this is my friend Ursula, a beautiful California Black Bear who lives around here. Tell the people about your fine self, dear.
Hello, dear humans. Itâs a fine moonlit night. Iâm hungry, eager to go foraging. I am large for a female, which I credit to ten years of enjoyable living in an abundant forest on the outskirts of town. This late spring season is my favoriteâtender shoots, early fruits, the whole world alive around me, and the smell of barbecue reminding me that thereâll be scraps down toward town if things get scarce up here. Mostly, I eat insects and berries, and Iâm helpless before honeyâitâs totally worth the stings. I love birdsongâahh, thereâs nothing more restful than falling asleep to the dawn chorus after a successful feed. My eyes and ears are better than yours, and my noseâwell,letâs just say I can smell you coming a hundred yards away.
Ursula, you and I have something in common. Youâre one of the few of your species who can speak directly to humans.
I received this power from a grizzled elder, who received it from the Bear Spirit. For us Ursines, interacting with people has been a mixed bag. Weâve been hunted for our meat, which they say tastes like pork; for our fat, which they have used as cosmetic cream; and for our fabulous skin and fur. Some take our gallbladders for medicine or make soup from our sensitive paws. There are bear markets, and folks who are bears for punishment. On the other foot, weâre honored in myths. When Zeus fell in love with that athletic young huntress Callisto, she bore him a boy, Arcas. Well, Zeusâs wife Hera was fed up with Zâs dalliances. She turned Callisto and Arcas into Bears and sent them flying. You can still see them pointing north in the night sky. Among the local Indigenous people, we stand for authority, strength, and courage. They regard us as healers and protectors of the people, bringers of good medicine. These gifts we apply on behalf of Grandmother.
Ursula, itâs great being on a team with you. You have gifts I donât. We have different relationships with the Earth.
We Bears are closer to Grandmother than you birds of the air or the fish of the sea. We lie upon her when we rest, enjoy her soft duff and craggy hillsides in our ambles, and sleep long winters in her chambers. Like Crows and humans, we fiercely defend and protect our young. Weâre more solo than either species. We donât congregate in noisy cawcuses or even quiet villages. Cooperationâs not really our thing.
Thatâs one thing humans are good at. Take citiesâthe collective effort of millions of people to conceive of, build, and operate them. But I was about to tell the folks what weâve been hearing from other nonhuman parts of the natural world, from other planimals, as we call ourselves. Our fellow creatures are getting nervous. Some are angry. They worry about what it will take to make real change happen.
Most of us rely on Mark Twainâs adage: âAction speaks louder than words, but not nearly as often.â Humansâ consumption model doesnât support the Earth. Itâs more like a cancerâdestined to destroy the host.
But increasing numbers are trying to do the right thingsâthe big factor is the clock.
Many planimals will die out if humans do not lead the turnaround, so I understand the agitation among our planimal relations. Thatâs why weâve organized a Congressâto get things moving.
We Crows love to talk. Iâve heard tales of such gatherings from Caspian Terns and Savannah Sparrows as they stop through on migrations. Everyone wonders if humans can become part of an expanded Team Grandmother.
We all need to work together, but then, Iâm an old Bear, and I learned that lesson the hard way. My first litter was born one February: two males, Arkto and Orres, and a female, Koltala. When the boys were a year old, I encouraged them to strike out on their own. Koltala still shares my territory with me. It was dry that year and food was scarce. I mated that fall, but I didnât have enough fat on me for new babies. It was a grim time, and hard on my cubs. They were not that healthy going into the winter. Then, the clever one, Orres, discovered a fishing technique by watching a Cougar fool the fish by flicking the tip of its tail on the surface to mimic a waterlogged insect.Not having such a tail, he improvised with a willow branch. The next spring there was enough snowmelt for a good run of spawning Steelhead. But the lad got greedy. I guess his fear of being hungry drove him a little crazy. He caught more fish than he could eat. When a solitary old male came down to the water and saw the fish lying on the bank, he helped himself. Orres charged that big guy, but the match was over in a few blows, leaving him with a torn right arm. Eight now, he barely gets by. I tell this story every year to my new cubs to teach them to take only what they need and leave the rest.
Youâre such a philosopher, dear one. We need more brains than even ours to change the story. Maybe we can get together with our human relations and turn things around.
May it be so, Sister. Blessings to you and to all living beings. The breeze just brought aromas of fresh bearberry. Itâs time for dinner.
This work of fiction incorporates a great deal of passion, facts, Native American lore, and warnings of what will continue to happen to the Earth if people don't believe that humans have a role in global warming. On the one hand, it's scary; on the other, it's steeped in realism that I wish people would listen to and begin to put into practice in their own lives.
Makah and Cody have a ten-year-old daughter (at the beginning, that's her age) Luz, who's intuitive and can communicate with animals and plants. at the beginning, they also have an extraordinary, elderly dog, Skah, whose presence is almost otherworldly, when it comes to knowing--almost predicting--when both bad and good things are about to happen. They meet with a gathering of animals and plants (referred to as "planimals") to get their opinions about how to save Grandmother Earth. As members of various Native American tribes, they work with the planimals to develop the "elephant code," which, if adopted, would help reduce global warming.
The book demonstrates how people and animals can work together to save their respective habitats and slow down damage being done to the earth. However, suggestions need to be adopted by a large percentage of the population, and often Makah, Cody, and Luz feel as if they're considered weird by the population at large because they do things such as cut down their use of red meat, grow their own vegetables, reduce their consumption of new clothing, and other things that are relatively easy to do.
As someone who attended the first Earth Day in 1970 (at least one celebration of the festivities), I know that many things exist that could be helping mitigate global warming. I read this novel knowing that many suggestions made throughout the book would be helpful, but that, under the present political climate in this country, any suggestion of attacking global warming is deemed a "hoax" by the current occupant of the Oval Office. All referrals to alternative energies (e.g., wind and solar) are dismissed as foolish and not effective, and that global warming doesn't exist, and that humans have no role in expanding the problem. Because of that, I was often depressed reading this novel, as the urgency to attack global warming becomes more and more acute as the book progresses. It offers solutions, but will people listen?
The novel is well written and conceived, and I applaud the author for taking on this very important topic by incorporating Native American folklore and passion. However, I wonder how much of an impact this philosophy may have on people who actually need to read it. With federal subsidies that would have encouraged alternative energy sources to be enhanced all but cancelled under the current administration, I am not consoled about the future of our planet. I wish I had the positive outlook that young Luz and her environmental committee friends have throughout the book, but, alas, I don't. This is not a criticism of the book itself, but rather, of the country as a whole.