Looking for a Sign

Birds & Trees Show Us How to Protest and Rise Up

Out my window, a sudden silence. Where have all the birds gone? I’ve grown used to writing to the jumbled tumble of bird notes—juncos, goldfinches, chickadees, and finches at our feeders. I look up. A Sharp-shinned Hawk perches on a lilac branch. I can see the yellow pencil legs, the long banded tail, and slim build of this accipiter—hunter of songbirds.

(Photo above of Sharp-shinned Hawk in my yard, by Marina Richie)

I’ve been looking for a sign all afternoon. The hawk flaps a few strokes on rounded wings to land on our mason bee house ( a haven for native pollinator bees) and then vanishes under a manzanita bush where the Dark-headed Juncos are hiding. No luck. Watching the raptor with red eyes and curved beak fly and glide into the pines with that long banded tail, I’m relieved for the juncos and sorry for the hawk.

Both birds have to live—and in the 150 million years of bird evolution on our planet, a dynamic balance long assured a flourishing of 10,000 species. But when I was twelve years old in 1970, I lived with three billion more birds in North America than today. The loss is on us. This is our fault—all that spraying of toxins, paving roads, digging up native grasslands, logging wild forests, and spewing fossil fuels as if there’s no tomorrow.

We’re such newcomers here. Homo sapiens appeared less than 300,000 years ago. How did some humans get so out of whack, so cruel and addicted to greed, taking, and killing? How did we get in this terrible place right now in America? How do we rise up for a new way —one the birds have known for so very long?

Far from listening to the “canary in the coal mine,” this deadly combo of Musk and Trump and Maga-Republicans controlling the House and Senate are bent on accelerating burning fossil fuels, deforestation, mining, and ending all good will toward our country —wiping out sixty years of US A.I.D. legacy. and firing upstanding staff committed to bettering humanity. As a result of cutting US A.I.D, thousands of people in Africa and other countries will die and soon. Farmers will be left destitute with crops intended to help feed starving people.

Last night, I learned Trump has fired hundreds of employees at NOAA—his retribution to anyone who dare contradict his view that climate change is a hoax. Why does that matter beside the personal harm to dedicated scientists and their families?

Andrew Rosenberg, former deputy director of Noaa’s National Marine Fisheries Service, said Thursday was a “sad day”.

“There is no plan or thought into how to continue to deliver science or service on weather, severe storms and events, conservation and management of our coasts and ocean life and much more,” he said. “Let’s not pretend this is about efficiency, quality of work or cost savings because none of those false justifications are remotely true.” (‘Cruel and thoughtless’: Trump fires hundreds at US climate agency NOAA”—The Guardian)

(photo above—boats at Charleston harbor in Oregon—who will keep those who fish for a living safe from storms without NOAA? Who will protect our precious ocean ecosystems? Who will continue the critical work of climate scientists?)

I’ve been looking for a sign. On my walk on a gusty brisk sunny day among patches of snow and mud, I watched five ravens—bold glossy black birds in playful chase, veering, and twisting above the pines. With the wind at their backs, they shot forward. I listened to their raven talk—so much more than a squawk or a “Nevermore.” They are smart, savvy, and never cower. When it’s blizzarding, who will be out flying? The ravens.

(above photo, Raven, by Marina Richie—time to be bold)

Isn’t it time for us who care so much to embrace our raven selves? Be bold. Speak up.—loudly. Don’t let a little bad weather keep us down. Last Sunday, I joined 150 people in Bend, Oregon, in a rainstorm waving flags and cheering to show our support for Ukraine. Blues, yellows, and sunflowers flowed from the Peace Corner downtown. Later, I found out that one brave man with the largest Ukraine flag arrived an hour early to get ready for the protest when a drunk man in a car threatened him with a gun. It’s shocking. I’m not saying it’s always going to be safe out there. But we won’t stand for it. We will be in solidarity against threats and violence.

Safety in numbers. The birds can show us how. The songbirds have slowly filtered back in after the hawk flew away. My husband has gently scooted the mule deer out the gate that was left open. A native western gray squirrel with a raised fluffy long tail holds a sunflower seed between paws and nibbles while always alert. Tiny ears up. Big liquid eyes looking. Quick bites. Don’t let your guard down.

The songbirds alerted each other to the incoming hawk. They know how to cooperate for a common good. Handy tip for a protest, right? Who will give the alarm when there’s danger? Work together. Find our flock. Embrace diversity. Sometimes it’s good to be the hawk, too. Strong. We might need to find our inner raptor to stand up to the bullies. And yes—be safe!

In the nearby forest, I often visit the Grandmother Tree—a centuries-old ponderosa pine. She is wide, tall, and columnar with roots extending below the edge of a 7000-year-old lava flow. When there, I lean in close, stretch out my arms, touch her puzzle bark and look skyward through her spiraling limbs.

“Please tell me what I can do?” The wind combs through her long green needles in bunches of threes and shimmering silver in the sun. She is an elder. She is wise.

The older trees like Grandmother ponderosa have the most character; their tops are wide, spreading, and sometimes askew—all the better for more needles to sip sunlight. Learn from our elders—for they know how to tap their roots deep into the aquifer and bring up water in drought for the thirsty young trees. They know that when a top breaks off in the wind to grow a new spire. And in the soil? There’s that mycelial network of roots linking, sharing nutrients, and messages—so secret and out of sight and so very powerful.

I’m still looking for signs. Listen! Red Crossbills are giving their single-note flight calls from the treetops. I cannot see these special kinds of finches, but high in the canopy they are finding cones to pry open with their crossed bills to eat the seeds. So perfectly adapted. The right beak for the task. In nature, there are many niches to fill—so many ways birds and animals can inhabit the same place without destruction.

So much I’ve gathered from the natural world—like a basket overflowing with vegetables and fruit. The signs? They are everywhere. And yet…the birds depend on us to be their voice in this moment.

We cannot angst every moment. We cannot shut the blinds and pay no attention. But we can open the door wherever we live and breathe the air, find a local park, listen to birds, and notice all they have to teach us. When I listen to the searing sweet notes of the Lesser Goldfinches in our yard and glimpse their sunflower-yellow bodies and dapper black caps, I’m filled with an irrational joy—-and no one is going to take that away.

(Lesser Goldfinch, by Marina Richie)

I turn to Mary Oliver’s poem so many of us know and love. I feel feathers enfolding all who are suffering. I want them to know how deeply I care. I wish I could rescue every person harmed by the Maga-Republicans controlling Congress, the unelected Musk, and the brutal Trump. I’m one person—but our flock is a kaleidoscopic wonder of people who are good, kind, caring, and are coming together at town halls across the country. We’re holding hands in our underground network. New leaders are rising up.

Wild Geese | Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.