A couple of years ago, while driving his two sons to school from their South Burlington home, Ethan Fechter-Leggett made a wrong turn that changed his life. He found himself on Falls Road in Shelburne, where he — or was it one of the boys? — spotted what seemed to be a gathering of crows on the front lawn of an otherwise ordinary house.
Closer examination revealed they weren’t real crows but lifelike replicas, except … they were wearing hats and shirts. The boys were fascinated, as was their dad. So they continued to make the detour every school day to see what getup the model murder of crows was wearing.
“We would always just laugh about it and say how clever that was,” Fechter-Leggett said of the oft-changing display.
Himself a twitcher — aka bird watcher — he sought more information on the faux crows, but none could he find. Reluctant to doorstep the owner, Fechter-Leggett wisely did the next best thing: He reached out to the WTF desk at Seven Days and asked the paper to deploy its vast resources to assuage his curiosity.
Reader, the game was afoot.
Throwing propriety to the winds, WTF boldly rang the bell at the Falls Road address. The door opened, and there was the Crowmeister himself, Rodney C. Hill, holding his pug, Lucy. He said he was accustomed to, and welcomed, neighbors dropping by and taking pictures of the changing display. Lots of folks eagerly anticipate the seasonal changes of his carefully curated crow creations, he added.
Neighbors eagerly anticipate the seasonal changes of Hill’s carefully curated crow creations.
A retired carpenter, the 76-year-old Hill is a familiar figure in Shelburne, often seen wearing snappy old-school-style suspenders while taking his three daily walks with Lucy. He explained that Abby, the elder of his two daughters, kicked off the crow show in 1999.
At the time, Hill was a regular at the now-closed Shelburne location of Close to Home, then a kind of joint hardware/general store known for giving away snack-size Hershey bars. “I was there a lot,” Rod said, laughing.
He noticed the scores of life-size plastic crows around the store — mainly bought by hunters for use as decoys, he learned. Abby, who still lives nearby, knew of his fascination with the birds and purchased a pair of them as gifts, one each for her father and her mother, Priscilla. Rod put the crow couple on his front lawn, moving them as needed when the grass needed cutting.
As Christmas approached, Rod and Priscilla thought it would be cute to pair the crows with two snowmen made from plastic ice cubes. Spurred on by positive comments from neighbors, the Hills acquired four more crows over the next several years and found tiny red-and-white elf hats for them to wear during the winter holidays. Dressing the crows became a passion project, and the Hills began changing crow configurations several times a month and around major holidays.
Lawn ornaments, of course, are common in Vermont. Pink flamingos are popular but not as emblematic as refrigerators with the door removed, rusted-out mowers, tires and other flotsam of living. Regardless, it would be hard to match the Hills’ diligence and creativity.
Over ensuing Christmases, elf-hatted crows subbed in for reindeer pulling Santa’s sleigh. Skeleton crows appeared for Halloween and soldier crows for Memorial Day. Labor Day brought a crew of crow highway workers repairing a Shelburne culvert. Opening Day of the Major League Baseball season is a huge hit with passersby. Rod collected some of the miniature helmets that ballparks use to sell ice cream. “They’re a little big, but you can pack them with stuff to make a better fit,” he said.
When the Hills could not find the tiny regalia they required in shops or online, they made it themselves. Rod’s favorite among his many crowations? “The last one I did,” he said. In the spring, he hopes to craft a lemonade stand and a crow crosswalk stroll, Abbey Road-style.
Always alert to the dark side, WTF asked whether the birds had ever been mistreated, perhaps subjected to crow tipping?
“Actually, we had what I call reverse vandalism,” Rod replied. Walking home with Lucy last winter, he spotted a woman bending over his flock. “I thought she was taking pictures,” he said. “But when I got here, I found she had added two more crows.” Now there are eight.
Priscilla died in 2023, after 46 years of marriage. She’s buried in the town cemetery, just about 200 yards down the road. “She has her own crow at the cemetery,” Rod said. “I change it every week.”
Fechter-Leggett said he’s talked to his kids about sending a thank-you note to the Crowmeister. “We’ve even discussed some ideas for other crow setups,” he said. “But we thought it might be weird.”
WTF recommends writing the letter. Better yet, knock on Rod’s door. Wait for his smile. ➆
“Whiskey Tango Foxtrot” is an occasional series that aims to answer puzzling questions about life in Vermont. Got a head-scratcher we should look into? Send it to wtf@sevendaysvt.com.
This article appears in September 9 • 2026.
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