The most famous person buried in Julie's hometown cemetery is Canadian painter Emily Carr. Visitors will make pilgrimages to adorn her grave with tokens of affection: pinecones, feathers, painted stones. Sometimes little jars of wildflowers, or handwritten poems. Julie likes to stop by the grave every now and then, inspect the recent tributes, and listen to the crows. She'll empty out her pockets, leaving behind pebbles and sea glass.
Emily's grave is where Julie first got the idea to leave food out for the crows. See if they'd bring her an offering: a curly twig, or some shiny bauble. It only took an hour for the crows, a mated pair, to snatch those first peanuts on the deck. Each morning thereafter, Julie would sprinkle a few nuts, and the crows would appear out of nowhere to gobble up the goods.
It took all summer to build trust, but one morning, there it was: a small red button. Julie was deliriously happy. From that day forward, their reciprocal exchange was affirmed. She'd leave out seeds, cashews, corn; the crows would bring her petals, feathers, ferns. One time they left a paintbrush, which Julie thought was odd. She used it to paint two crows on a smooth rock, then placed it at Emily Carr's grave.
The next time Julie made a pilgrimage, the painted rock was missing. Her heart sank a little. Who would steal a sacred offering? But then she heard two crows cawing back and forth in a daisied patch of grass, an empty plot nearby. Between them was Julie's painted rock. She reached into her pockets, tossed a few peanuts in the air. The crows snatched them, flew away, and the exchange was reaffirmed. They've been decorating Julie's grave ever since.
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