I'd like to tell you a little story about a young boy and a raven pair, George and Gracie. They got those names because I was an avid and devoted listener to the Burns and Allen Show which aired on radio during the time period of this story.

It was the school year of 1946/7 and I was attending a one room school about 2 miles west of our farm while expansion of the new school was going on in town. I won't burden you with the details of that old school business other than to say that I walked to and from school regardless of the weather. I didn't think I'd be happy to see snow until I'd walked in the rain through slimy Oregon red clay, the stickiest substance known to man.

Mom was proud of her cornbread and it found its way into my lunch every damned day. I hated the stuff back then. Love a good cornbread with butter today. Anyway, after finding that nasty stuff in my lunch one time too many, I believe that was the third day, I'd throw it out in the drainage ditch alongside the road where I had to cross to get to the schoolhouse.

One day I was met by a raven nearly as big as I and undoubtedly heavier. He stood in the ditch, just staring at me. After a minute, maybe less, he hopped around in a circle, shook his wings and squawked at me, staring again. I took out the cornbread and dropped it in the snow near him. A peace offering, I thought. He cranked his head so much I thought he would break his neck, all the while maintaining his stare punctuated with flicks of that creamy white eye cover they have.

He made a couple of squawks and clicks and another raven, a little bit smaller, joined him. The Mrs. Together, with a bit of effort, they broke the cornbread in two and each flew off with their piece. Mom's cornbread was pretty solid in those days. Probably why I hated it. That became a ritual that played out through that winter and the following one.

When I transferred to the big school in town, I was sad because I'd be riding the bus and thought I'd be letting George and Gracie down -- and not seeing them again. It hurt, you know?

The hurt was compounded because the next school year I was still finding cornbread, but had nothing to do with it but put it in the trash. The other kids turned their noses up at it, so I was left with no choice.

Then, in the second week of school, I climbed the fire escape slide to the top of the second floor landing. The very top of the school. I sat down on the landing and opened my lunch. There came a squawk from above me, then some excited clicking. Perched on the edge of the roof were George and Gracie. They wanted their cornbread. I ... I was incredibly happy.

I tell you this little story so that the next time you meet up with a raven or any of their relatives, treat them with respect, courtesy, and kindness. They are smart, and they don't forget. They also like dry, dense cornbread.