The Crow and the Cost of Gasoline

Signs of hope in an otherwise upside down world

The pump read $4.65 a gallon. On the car radio just minutes before stepping out to fill up, I’d heard an interview with an energy policy expert who said he wouldn’t be surprised if gasoline at the pump was $9.00 a gallon on the west coast by April.

I stood at the side of the car holding the nozzle, the surge of gasoline evident as it moved through the black hose to my car’s tank. When the nozzle clicked off, I sighed. My vehicle is tiny, a little Nissan, and it had never cost me $40 to fill this tank until now.

The cost of gasoline is not determined through an easy equation. That same energy industry expert on the radio had written numerous books on oil, gas, and green energy, too, and had explained that energy policy in Washington has little do to with the cost at the pump. It’s the capitalistic marketplace that determines nearly all of it. Throw in a war in Ukraine and sanctions on Russian oil from countries all over the world, and the equation becomes even more complicated. Blaming Biden, as some have been quick to do in the mess of social media memes is simply misdirected anger. It’s far more complicated than that. Still, the everyday cost is apparent and it is legitimate to want to find blame or at least justification when you can’t afford to drive to the grocery store.

That said, we all should probably put our emotions somewhere else.

The high price of gasoline has been labeled a “First World Problem” for most of us. Yes, there are some for which the price of gasoline can truly trigger a big adjustment in a life—single mothers, the less fortunate, the minimum-wage worker. It will mean a shift in economies, goods and services. But it also means maybe we need to rethink how we live, just a little. Try walking. Try riding a bike. Try not making five trips to the grocery store in a week in the SUV. Plan and make one trip. It’s a matter of rethinking our choices. Considering what Ukraine is facing every day, how can we not.

In place of anger, try a little hope.

On a recent morning walk, I spotted a lone crow high in a tree. It was cawing loudly, incessantly in short bursts as it watched me move underneath. An ominous moment, it seemed. Crows are so much a part of our collective stories of doom, horror, mysticism, the occult, and death. Cultures see the crow as a menacing symbol of bad things to come. And for a moment, with the crow’s sharp caws filling the space above me, it was hard not to see this bird’s presence as a bad omen. The Russian invasion had begun just a day before, and an anxious world was watching. The crow said everything about the dire state of mankind.

But I may have been wrong.

Crows are mysterious and complex birds, an animal that naturalists and biologists are continuously attempting to understand. One discovered behavior is the crow’s ability to communicate. It is a highly intelligent animal with its own language, and sometimes that communication is directed at us. 

Author of The Crow, Jame O’Barr wrote in his wildly popular book, “People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. Bt sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can’t rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes, that crow can bring the soul back to put the wrong things right.”

The crow isn’t always a sign of life’s tragedies. The truth is, especially in some Native American cultures, crows are seen as carriers of something far more welcoming.

“Crows are the true medicine birds of the stars, and true medicine birds know when to laugh, cry, sing, or remain silent,” wrote author Marijo Moore, a Cherokee poet and essayist.

So, instead of a bad omen, the lone crow that morning may have been a sign of hope. We could certainly use it. A pandemic, alarming racism, climate destruction, political division, guns, gangs, and now a war have pushed our souls into a dark place. But look at history. We have overcome much—world wars, natural disasters, 9-11, social and culture upheaval, assassinations, genocide, famine. Hope is what got us through it. Certainly not undamaged or unscarred, but through it still, beyond the pain or the anger or the devastation.

The crow caws for us.

I drove away from the gas station keenly aware that this monetary inconvenience was not the end of the world, was in no way catastrophic. It was necessary, a symbol, a reminder, that we can choose to look at any problem—big and small, as individuals or citizens of the world—as a menacing cawing crow or the benevolent singing bird, trying to reach out. The high price of gasoline could be seen as a tiny way to support the Ukrainian people, not as a deep cut into my personal finances. The cost of gasoline was a ridiculous reason to be upset, a ridiculous reason not to see its better purpose.

I pulled my car onto the highway, knowing I could have easily chosen anger, but instead I decided to choose hope.  

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