The Extraordinary Everyday - July 5, 2026

There are moments in life when your body makes decisions your mind never would.

For me, that moment came after surgery.

Recovery has a way of slowing everything down. Tasks that normally took minutes suddenly required planning. Long walks became short walks. Even spending time outdoors meant finding a bench instead of a trail.

At first, I hated it.

I'm someone who likes to be moving, exploring, and photographing wildlife. Sitting still felt more like giving up than recovering.

One afternoon, needing a change of scenery more than anything else, I drove to a nearby park. There was no plan beyond finding a little sunshine and some fresh air. I settled onto a bench overlooking a small waterfall and simply... sat.

For what felt like the first time in months, I had nowhere else I needed to be.

That's when the crows found me.

Like many people, I had always thought of crows as common birds. They're everywhere—perched on telephone poles, wandering through parking lots, calling from the tops of trees. I admired their intelligence, but I don't know that I'd ever really looked at one before.

When you're forced to slow down, though, you begin noticing details you normally walk right past.

One crow landed on a log only a few metres away and calmly surveyed the pond. Another hopped cautiously along the shoreline, stopping every few seconds as if carefully inspecting the ground. A third seemed completely absorbed in whatever business occupied its afternoon.

Before long, I realized I wasn't watching "crows."

I was watching individuals.

Each had its own personality.

Then one crow wandered into the shallow water beneath the little waterfall.

At first it simply stood there.

Then it crouched lower.

A splash.

Another splash.

It dipped one wing, then the other, fluffing every feather until droplets flew in every direction. It looked less like a bird bathing and more like someone thoroughly enjoying a relaxing afternoon at the spa.

Another crow stood nearby, patiently waiting its turn.

I couldn't help but laugh.

Wildlife documentaries often focus on dramatic moments, predators hunting prey or epic migrations across continents. But sitting on that park bench reminded me that much of nature is wonderfully ordinary.

Sometimes birds simply enjoy a bath.

Did You Know?

You might think birds bathe simply to get clean, but there's much more going on.

Crows regularly bathe to keep their feathers in top condition. Water helps remove dirt, dust, loose feathers, and tiny parasites that can damage their plumage. After bathing, crows spend time preening, carefully arranging and waterproofing each feather with oils produced by a gland near the base of their tail.

A healthy set of feathers is essential for insulation, waterproofing, and flight.

You may also notice crows fluffing their feathers, dipping one wing at a time, or repeatedly splashing in shallow water. It's all part of making sure every feather gets a thorough rinse.

And yes... sometimes it simply looks like they're having fun!

Not every crow was interested in the water.

Some seemed much more interested in conversation.

One called from across the pond.

Another answered from a nearby branch.

Several made soft raspy sounds while foraging, almost as though they were quietly narrating their day.

I had no idea what they were saying, but there was no mistaking that they were communicating with one another.

Watching them made the park feel less like a collection of individual birds and more like a small community carrying on with its daily routines.

The longer I watched, the more another detail caught my attention.

Crows aren't really black.

At least, not entirely.

When the afternoon sunlight struck their feathers just right, deep blues emerged. Then flashes of violet. Hints of emerald green shimmered across their wings before disappearing again as they shifted position.

It was like discovering a secret hidden in plain sight.

We describe crows as black because that's all we see when we're rushing by.

Slow down, and suddenly an entirely different bird appears.

By the time I packed up my camera, I realized something had changed.

I hadn't traveled anywhere extraordinary.

I hadn't photographed a rare species.

I hadn't hiked into a remote wilderness.

I'd spent an afternoon on a park bench with one of the most common birds in North America.

And yet it felt like I'd discovered something completely new.

Maybe the crows hadn't changed at all.

Maybe I had.

Recovery forced me to move slower than I wanted.

Ironically, slowing down allowed me to notice more than I ever had while rushing through life.

It's easy to think that meaningful encounters with nature only happen in spectacular places.

National parks. Ancient forests. Remote mountain ranges.

But sometimes nature doesn't ask us to travel very far. Sometimes it simply asks us to stop. To sit quietly on a park bench. To watch. To listen. To notice.

The extraordinary isn't always hidden in distant places.

Sometimes it's waiting in the most ordinary corner of your local park, wearing iridescent feathers and carrying on a conversation you've never taken the time to hear.