How scarecrows went from ancient magic to fall horror fodder

For most Americans, scarecrows are synonymous with autumn. They pop up in corn mazes and crop fields at harvest festivals, on hay bales in grocery store displays, and as set dressing or (increasingly) as villains in fall-flavored horror films. But for all their ubiquity, agricultural scientist Rebecca Brown reflects, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a commercial farm that used a scarecrow with the intent of scaring birds. If they’ve got one, it’s as seasonal decoration.” 

If scarecrows were used to ward off birds, adds James P. Leary, a historian and folklorist focused on rural Midwestern life, “they would be constructed in spring and serve their purpose through summer.” A fact that makes the scarecrow’s association with autumn a bit odd.    

Were scarecrows ever an effective bird-scaring tool? If so, when and why did they fall out of use? And how did they go from agricultural tech to essential autumnal decor? 

The ancient, global origins of scarecrows

It’s surprisingly hard to find answers to these questions. “There has not been a lot of research on these figures,” Leary explains. “I don’t know of anyone who is an authority on scarecrows.” 

But we do know that seed- and grub-eating birds have always been a nuisance for farmers. In America alone, birds still cause well over $100 million in crop damage every year. 

Across the globe, from as far back as ancient Egypt to the modern day, records suggest that farmers have put children to work stalking the fields with sticks to scare away these avian pests. “They seem to have more fun than any [financial] return from work,” writes Egyptologist Walaa Mohamed Abdelhakim in a recent review of ancient Egyptian artwork depicting “bird scarers.” “Generally, children enjoy making noise and running,” so the task of scaring and chasing birds fell neatly in their purview.

But an ample supply of kids wasn’t always available for the task. So farming communities from Europe to New Guinea seemingly independently developed traditions of erecting scarecrow-like figures in their fields as well. Some were humanoid and some were abstract. From prehistory to the modern era, they were almost all made out of simple materials such as wood, cloth, and scraps, like old hay or animal bones—and they all were meant to ward off those pesky birds. 

Many early scarecrows seem to represent fertility deities (like the super-phallic wooden statues of the Greco-Roman fertility god Priapus) or scary spirits (like the tattered wood-and-cloth goblin effigies set up in medieval Germanic communities). So these figures may reflect local beliefs in and invocation of protective supernatural powers. 

But most of these proto-scarecrows were clearly also meant to mimic humans, scaring birds away with their presence and occasional signs of motion, as their loose limbs or tattered clothing blew in the wind. As folk belief in supernatural protection slowly faded over the centuries, this physical protection slowly became the scarecrow’s main utility. Still, some older names for scarecrows, like bogle (also the name for a folkloric Scots spirit) or bootzamon (also the name of a Germanic boogeyman), reflect their roots in folk magic and spirit belief. 

Why scarecrows rarely work for long

Birds probably don’t look at scarecrows and think, oh crap, a human! But most are wary of new things, says avian behavior expert Susan G. Friedman. Which is why many species will keep their distance from a newly-erected scarecrow. However, they’ll only avoid a few acres around that scarecrow, and quickly learn that the new floppy field fixture isn’t actually a threat. The time to that revelation varies from a few weeks to just a few days depending on the species involved, as well as the savvy of individual birds. 

“A bird that has a lifetime of experience with novelty will probably desensitize to a scarecrow faster,” Friedman explains. “Often, it only takes one bold bird to pave the way for the others to follow in the discovery that scarecrows are a unique source of [environmental] enrichment,” she says, “not a threat.” 

As far back as the 1930s, American farmers tried hooking speakers up to their scarecrows to add scarier, more unpredictable stimuli. Towards the end of the 20th century, agricultural scientists also experimented with propulsion systems that made scarecrows pop up and down randomly. “Movement and noise can increase effectiveness,” says bird behavior specialist Julia Ponder. But even the most inventive scarecrow solutions only seem to buy a few extra bird-free days. 

Scarecrows get replaced with fancier tech

With the rise of industrial farming in the mid-20th century, farmers slowly turned their focus towards high-tech approaches that seemed to offer better protection for ever-larger fields, like chemical deterrents or netting barriers. In her agricultural research, Brown works on laser beam turrets, which she calls “laser scarecrows.” These turrets seem to do a good job deterring light-sensitive birds from crop fields. 

But these tools cost anywhere from a few hundred bucks to upwards of $10,000 for a big laser rig. (Brown’s focused on developing smaller, cheaper alternatives to the expensive machines currently on the market.) 

Conversely, scarecrows, often built from fabric scarps, are functionally free. That low cost and tradition explain why some small farmers in resource-poor areas still use scarecrows. But in America at least, even hobby farmers and home gardeners have largely shifted away from scarecrows to more bird behavior-informed tactics—like hanging lines of old, dangling CDs or wavy mylar tape to bounce rays of light at wary birds. 

Leary, who tracks folk practices in his hometown of Rice Lake, Wisconsin, has noted this shift. When he was young, he says, some local farmers and garden keepers still used scarecrows. “But over the years, it’s become rare to see one. Recycled aluminum pie plates strung together and suspended have become much more common.” 

Why scarecrows are associated with fall and horror

While farmers gradually lost faith in the utility of scarecrows, a long history of cultural traditions and folk rituals meant communities were loath to discard these figures entirely. So they transitioned from farming tools to fall decor. 

The modern scarecrow-as-autumnal-avatar does not stem from any particular ritual, explains Leary. It’s “a mashup-slash-conflation of various distinct agrarian traditions.” These include diffuse European practices of burning scarecrows or other effigies at or around harvest time.

“The straw-wicker handmade aesthetic means scarecrows sit very well with the idea of ‘folk,’” adds British folklorist Robert Edgar. “Something of the past which is brought to the present.”

Edgar also suspects that the old connection between scarecrows and creatures like goblins created a link between these field guardians and the spooky season. Their uncanny, quasi-human appearance fits eerie horror movie aesthetics as well, he points out. 

“They play on urbanites’ ignorance and angst regarding communities in rural areas,” Leary adds, on the subject of spooky scarecrows. “As well as on the trope of transforming an erstwhile benign figure into an evil, bloodthirsty being.”

But the connection between scarecrows and horror aesthetics is fairly recent, both men point out. Their role as a broad symbol of agrarian heritage and harvest tradition is far more widespread and culturally entrenched. 

Several communities in America and the United Kingdom have even created festivals devoted to purely wholesome, artistic scarecrows, crafted not to spook birds (or humans) or decorate farms, but simply to connect communities to the effigies’ long history.

For instance, the Chappell Hill Scarecrow Festival in Texas “has been a cherished tradition in our community for over 40 years,” says country store owner and festival organizer William Atwood. “Local businesses and organizations take part by designing and building their own unique scarecrows, each one reflecting creativity, humor, and a nod to old farming methods.” 

“It’s not only a celebration of the season,” Atwood explains. “It’s also a way for neighbors, businesses, and visitors to come together and share in a tradition.” 

 

Shop Amazon’s Prime Day sale

We’ve hand-picked dozens of PopSci-approved deals on tools, electronics, and more. Grab them before they’re gone.