Here, at the end of the 2nd driest year in history in Sonoma County, rain has finally come as a lingering guest. The previous winter and spring, the storms had rushed in, like a friend in the middle of their busy day, just stopping by to drop something off. But for a few weeks now it has felt like a lucky streak, these possibilities of rain, abundant and luxurious, just enough to be substantial, yet not enough to cause flooding. The goldilocks of a wet season, once taken for granted, now feeling as rare as a lottery win.
The Golden Crowned Sparrows are still here, well familiar with our established routine now and quick to let me know if the feeders need refilling. They’ve taken to perching above my head in the sycamore tree over the back patio, under which I rest and meditate after my pre-dawn workout. As the sun rises, so does their impatience…No hurry, they say, it’s just freezing and we’re starving, but you just take your time trying to tidy that upper playground of yours. It’s a good invitation to come back into the world, to not worry so much about worrying. There are more important things.
The Starlings have returned to their nesting spot in the wall in the corner of our kitchen. With one to two hatchings per year, and the returning of each previous year’s brood, it’s a busy and coveted spot. Multiple males perch in the tree branches or the electrical cable that brings light to our house, and proclaim their joy to the world, while others leap inside the house cavity and make a racket that we can only surmise is renovation. We’ve tried to get in there during their absence, to clean out the layers of detritus, but the nest is so distant, that we actually have no idea where it is. It’s totally possible, with their gorgeous starry plumage and glitchy songs of whistles, clicks and mimicry, that the hole in our wall is just a portal to another dimension where Starlings rule the galaxy. More likely, generations of nests provide the only insulation our tiny converted barn contains.
I have had a secret infatuation with Starlings for over two decades, ever since I first saw them in San Francisco, enchanted by this iridescent and speckled bird. Secret because among birders, especially old timers, the Starling is persona non grata. As the story goes, Starlings were introduced by a foolish, amateur ornithologist named Eugene Schieffelin, with a love of Shakespeare and a misguided desire to “acclimatize” European species in America. He is accredited with releasing 100 individuals of Shakespeare’s favorite bird in Central Park, where they went on to become a noxious species, shoving aside native passerines and becoming an agricultural bane. The Starling is upheld as both a cautionary tale of the unchecked greed seemingly inherent in “invasive” species, as well as the folly endemic to the naive, unlearn-ed citizen. I gleaned early on in conversation with other birders that to proclaim an appreciation of Starlings was akin to wearing a dunce cap. Best to leave opinions to the “experts”.
The natural history of Starlings in America, both regarding their introduction as well as their status as a pest, has been repeated so frequently that it is firmly considered fact, but in truth it is anecdotal folklore…folklore that is still told by conservation organizations and ornithologists alike. The real story is much more complex, and far less dire. In the research paper published by Duke University Press Shakespeare’s Starlings: Literary History and the Fictions of Invasiveness we learn that rather than being illustrative of ecological catastrophe, it turns out that studies have been unable to definitively link descendants to the birds released in Central Park, and most likely had been introduced prior to the incident. Nor have researchers been able to attribute the level of negative impact previously assumed to other cavity dwelling native song birds , and Starlings may in fact be helpful to agriculture, as they target the pests of crops, rather than crops themselves.
Several days ago I hid just out of view in the corner of my kitchen, an ear pressed to where I’d cracked a window, letting in freezing winter air and the warbling of our much maligned friends. Starling songs have four stanzas, and I was listening for the second, in which the Starling weaves together different sounds from its bioregion. In the past eight years, I have consistently heard Frog chorus, the bleating of Sheep and Goats, Robin alarms, Tree crickets, Chicken KABOK bok, Scrub Jay, Towhee, Acorn Woodpecker, Mocking bird (ironic!) and others. This year however, I noticed the crooner had swapped out the Chicken kabok bok, for a familiar refrain of Coyote yipping and howls. In a study at the University of Indiana, where the birds were exposed to the daily activities of the scientists,
“The five birds that had extensive daily contact with people learned to mimic human sounds, recombining simple phrases in odd ways. “Basic research,” one bird would say. “Basic research, it’s true, I guess that’s right.” Another, held while having its claws treated for an infection, screamed, “I have a question!” In addition to human words, the starlings also mimicked the noise of a refrigerator and the hum of a fluorescent light. One bird often whistled the notes, not the words, of the beginning of Swanee River—“Way down upon the Swa...”—without ever feeling inclined to add “...nee River,” even after hearing the whole phrase practiced hundreds of times on the piano.” (source)
I have a question. Is there anything more human? Upon uttering the phrase, usually activity will stop, attention given to the speaker. For a distressed Starling getting a bandage changed, it’s a pretty good tactic. (My partner Jeff quipped that it’s a good thing our neighbor’s dog can’t utilize the phrase, otherwise we’d be getting asked about stick throwing and biscuit giving 24/7). I remember a student film from when I was theater major (Because it was the 90’s!). It featured someone being dragged out of bed and settled into a school desk in their pajamas at the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. As we watched our protagonist from behind, there was only stillness, and then slowly, they raised their hand. I have a question.
I am most comfortable with the cold bones of reality during winter. Everything stripped down to the elemental, the bare branches of trees, the frost bringing all into the same icy template of blues, browns, pink, tenderest green. It is such a relief to cease striving, the curl inward towards the fire in the hearth, the home, the heart. It’s so essential that there be time for this kind of pause in the rhythm of one’s life, where everything can be put to rest, and we are free to wander outside of time. I hunger for it all year. It’s during this pause that The Question doesn’t frighten me, where the fundamental transitory, shakiness of life shimmers as the gift it truly is, rather than the slightly menacing threat that can drive anxiety and striving. I am happy to make friends with it then, at the center of the spiral, Mars glowing in the eastern sky, eclipsed by the full moon, soon reborn on the other side. So too can we all be.
In the evening, after dinner, usually while we are doing the washing up and the sweeping, a whimpering is heard outside our front door. Could it be the Tomte, begging to warm itself by the fire (ok, the space heater)? Or our Lady of the Frost, Frau Holle, coming to check on our spinning and weaving? Well, perhaps, if these beings might be embodied by the farm dog whining for a biscuit and “walkies” (I have a question!). She arrives at 7pm on the dot, full of zoomies and an invitation to play. We walk the perimeter of the ranch, our only illumination the moon, the white tip of her tail a guiding light. The icy gleam of stars would seem coldly impersonal, but like the stark silhouette of the stag’s antlers, as he lifts his head from gleaning the last shriveled apples in the orchard, everything is put into simple relief. At the farthest edge of the property the dog scouts for fox trails and I wonder about my wisdom in lingering in a wildlife corridor where we frequently find Mountain Lion tracks.
By now you’ve probably all heard about the euthanasia of Puma 22, the Mountain Lion of Los Angeles, who not only had health conditions related to his age, but who was also struck by a car. P22’s story and fate illustrates the dire need for the reconnection of wildlife habitats currently fractured by highways and suburban sprawl, and the need for future infrastructure projects to include crossings. It’s encouraging that ground was broken this year on the construction of the Wallis Annenberg Wildlife Crossing, which will be one of the largest crossings in the US. The more data that is obtained on wildlife / vehicle collisions, the easier it will be to build support for the many, many more crossings that are needed. In California, you can report roadkill via this website. Here in Sonoma County, you can help keep the crucial Sonoma Valley Wildlife Corridor open by supporting the work (both legislatively and financially) of the Sonoma Land Trust. The ecological knowledge of Indigenous peoples is crucial for the proper implementation of crossings, as well as being an imperative component of Indigenous sovereignty over tribal territories. This is illustrated in the lovely 8 minute documentary about how “the Salish and Kootenai tribes used Indigenous knowledge provided by tribal wildlife ecologists to design safe highway crossings for wildlife and people”.
(Just one of many reasons to support Land Back). If you are a property owner, check out this brochure by the Sonoma Land Trust on how you can create safe passage, no matter where you live.
On my walks throughout the brief hours of daylight, I take note of what emerges after the rain. It’s a banner year for Farm Nettle, with rain in September and December providing just-right conditions. Folks who have followed me for a while know that I can never make enough Wild Green Pesto, and Urtica urens is my favorite main ingredient. However, I also adore putting lots of fresh Nettle in Winter Sipping Broth for the last 30 minutes of simmering. Several years ago on IG I shared my go-to vegetarian broth for seasonal wellness, and I frequently get requests for the recipe. With the over-saturation of herbalists and wellness experts on social media, I often assume my recipes lack the bells and whistles to not get lost in the milieu, so am surprised when folks remember them. I have two recipes to share with you that you may enjoy this season - one for tea, and one for broth. They are unassuming, but ones that have stood the test of time in our family.
Winter Sipping Broth
Nourishing, with herbal allies that defend against viruses, modulate inflammation and support the respiratory system, this broth can be enjoyed on its own or used as a base for soup.
6 quarts water (It will cook down!)
3 onions, cut into chunks
2 heads garlic, cloves peeled
7 carrots, cut into chunks
5 celery sticks, cut into chunks
1-3 burdock roots (I peel, you do you)
8-14oz fresh mushrooms, like shiitake (or 4-12oz dried) - rough chop if fresh
3-10 strips of Kombu (or 2-3 handfuls of Wakame)
13 slivers of Astragalus (supports immune health)
Big handful fresh Thyme
Medium handful fresh Sage (can be bitter / pungent, so you do you)
3 sprigs Rosemary
Ginger knob to taste, sliced
T Turmeric
1-6 cups of fresh Nettle (or other green annual like Chickweed or Curly Dock)
Black Pepper, Sea Salt and Aminos or Dark Soy Sauce, to taste
How long you simmer your broth is up to you - You can make this in 2 hours or you can go for 8 (I usually go for 3). Just keep an eye on the amount of water - this will make 2-4 quarts depending on how intense you want it. The primary idea is to begin with your onions, garlic, carrots, celery and burdock first (giving them a little saute first in EVOO is nice). Half way through, add your shrooms, seaweed, and Astragalus. In the last hour of cooking add everything but the Nettle. In the last 30 minutes, add the nettle. If you want to strain everything out EXCEPT the nettle, strain your broth, add it back to the pot, bring it back to a simmer and add the nettle for one minute to blanch. (You can also put all your ingredients in a cheesecloth bag so you don’t have to strain). If you want a simpler and faster version, 4 cups water, a few strips of seaweed, a few dried shiitakes or turkey tails, a chunk of burdock and ginger simmered for 20-60 minutes is lovely. Add seasonings to taste and sip for that hygge feeling.
Yuletide Tea
Come December, this is in my tea pot at least once a day. It supports the immune and digestive system, and is just plain yummy.
1 part Peppermint or Spearmint
1/2 part dried Elderberries
1/2 part dried Rosehips
You can make a dried pint of this by using 1 cup mint, 1/2 cup Elderberries and 1/2 cup Rosehips, using 1 - 2 T per cup, or 1/4cup for the tea pot. You can also reduce the “parts” down to tablespoons if you only have a little and just want to blend enough for a cup. The longer you steep the more the elderberries and hips will infuse, but mint can be bitter so it’s up to you.
It is Solstice eve, and at mid-morning it already feels like the light is fading. In the background is playing the playlist I made for Yuletide…and for this newsletter.
The title “Sing Your Heart to All Dark Matter” is a line from one of the included songs “The Lost Words Blessing” by Spell Songs, which always brings tears to my eyes,
And in the dead of night my darling, find the gleaming eye of Starling
Like the little aviator, sing your heart to all dark matter
The day calls me forth, so I send this heart song out to you all, along with my sincere appreciation and love. Thank you for being here. Happy Holidays, dear ones.
P.S. A note on the playlist - you might be familiar with “Suo Gan” from the movie “Empire of the Sun”. But did you know it’s actually a Welsh lullaby? Long before I knew I had Welsh heritage, as a teenager in 1987, this was another song that always brought me tears. To me it is like clear bells ringing out over an icy winter morn. Watch and listen to this treble prodigy if you’d like some full body chills.
Love this Mary! What a deep pleasure to read your words in long form!! <3
I’ve always loved Starlings so much! And I love you. Thank you for sharing your beautiful thoughts and memories and recipes and inspirations. Wishing you coziness and deep dreaming on this Solstice Eve.