The wind was howling and at times the snow looked like a glistening white tornado. I was surprised that the Dark-Eyed Juncos were at the feeder. I wondered if the birds have a heightened instinct to feed when a storm is blowing, or about to blow—the same instinct that drives us humans to rush out in determined droves to get our bread and milk.
Have you ever held a bird? They are remarkably light! You might remember that they have hollow bones. But the Juncos didn’t stop feeding when the wind picked up, or when the flakes came down thicker. Nor were they blown off course. They seemed unperturbed, even happy, perhaps, to be in the snow and partaking of the seeds. I mused as I watched, noting how their design must-despite its fragile appearance-allow them to coexist with the wind, even master it.
Dark-Eyed Juncos don’t grab my eye the way Red-Bellied Woodpeckers and Cardinals do. But they have grown on me. I puzzle over their name (aren’t most birds dark-eyed?) while I admire the males’ “two-toned” appearance (dark grey and white). The females’ coloring is more subdued, dunnier, as is the case with many bird species. They sit in the shrubs surrounding the deck and take polite turns at the feeder. They are the birds that I see most in the yard, and I wonder how I had managed to miss them in my childhood yard on Long Island—I wasn’t aware of them until fairly recently!
As I watched the birds ride out the snow with uncommon grace, I was reminded of a friend’s favorite new T-shirt, which reads: “Nevertheless she persisted.” I only learned today that this is a reference to Elizabeth Warren’s recent speech that was cut short. The political world is far removed from the feeder, but I like the ring of these words. They were described by the Washington Post as a “battle cry” when it comes to Warren’s supporters, but the words take on a softer tone when I apply them to the Juncos in the snow. Nevertheless, they stayed near the feeder. Nevertheless, they dined heartily. Nevertheless, they are there to greet me daily. I have come to appreciate their steadfastness.
This morning at 3 AM, I was a bit vexed by a too-long foray into social media when I couldn’t sleep. But something good did come of it. My friend Melissa Gaskill, lover of (and writer about) sea turtles, reposted a reminder about how damaging all of our plastic use is—our straws, our bags, our cups, etc, are taking over, and that isn’t an exaggeration. Here are a few lines from the Sea Turtle Conservancy that sum it up:
Over 100 million marine animals are killed each year due to plastic debris in the ocean. Currently, it is estimated that there are 100 million tons of plastic in oceans around the world. It is expected that another 60 billion pounds will be produced this year alone. In some areas, the buildup of plastics is estimated to span 5 million square miles.
I’ve been working on my plastic consumption slowly, in fits and starts. I bought metal straws last summer, and I have canvas bags in the car. Do I always remember to bring them with me? No. But today I felt more determined, and while I was out for a long walk I decided to buy a commuter mug along with my coffee (am I the only one that is constantly searching for lids to go with the mugs I already own?).
I asked the young lady at Dunkin to rinse my new mug out before she filled it, and she couldn’t get it open at first. It then dawned on me that my “mug” was a small thermos, complete with a screw-off cup a bit bigger than a shot glass and a button-activated mechanism that lets me unscrew a rubber cork. To drink my coffee as I walked, I had to unscrew the cup, pop open the inner seal, and try to take a sip (only to burn my tongue, since the thermos did an outstanding job of keeping the drink piping hot). Eventually I decided to pour my coffee at intervals into the little “shot glass,” and I must have looked especially comical when I tried to answer a phone call from my sister, adding another item to my “juggling act” while walking. I dripped coffee down my top and finally stopped to lean on a high stone wall, temporarily giving in to my frustration.
Nevertheless, I have persisted, in my own quiet and clumsy way, with a sincere attempt to take better care of this earth and its seas. My thermos might not be the best choice for sipping while walking, but I’ve been downing shots of warm decaf since I got to my creative office, which has no coffee pot. I see hope for my metal thermos and straws and canvas bags, realizing that I can create a plan for using them in just the same way I make sure my teeth get brushed each morning (speaking of, the article recommends bamboo toothbrushes. The plastic kind never, EVER, disintegrate! How many must be in our landfills and waterways!).
From juncos to Elizabeth Warren to thermoses and toothbrushes—you would think that thermos must have had some actual caffeine within to have me bouncing around like this! Actually, though, these connections make sense when you stop to think about it–birds persisting, Warren persisting, attempts at helping the world persisting, my clumsiness persisting. John Muir, said it well, and his words grace the first pages of my book:
When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world.
To me, there rises a whole new layer of hope when I am conscious of this simple but inevitable fact.It is best to keep the quiet persistence of the Juncos close to me, even as I venture out and buy coffee and consider the larger world.