Lessons from the birds: solitude, sanctuary and the art of flying together

By Janet Marugg | FāVS News Columnist

The only thing better than society, is solitude. And vice versa. In his book “The Outermost House,” Henry Beston (available free on Project Gutenberg) writes of four seasons spent in solitude on Cape Cod. I let his words drift my mind through the shape of sand and the sound of waves, through grassy marshes where it takes up company with great flocks of shorebirds, marsh birds and seabirds.

Beston wrote a good sanctuary setting. He knew his nature and wrote it down to share with a distant looker like me. He did not anthropomorphize, but I do. I make personal the silence interrupted by Nor’easters, soft changes in light turning to deep shadows and the shifting of dunes.

Beston and I struggle to know birds beyond those with obvious markings but find comfort in knowing the birds are blessed for matching the brown of a background. Barely observable winged beings chasing waves or flitting through botanical spaces cannot be kept as close friends because sooner before later, the light changes and signals a move to a distant sanctuary.

Beston’s book has me obsessed with the birds at my place, a micro-sanctuary in the middle of a street. “Squatters,” we call them, tongue, cheek and all. Every year, earlier than you’d think, industrious robins mess the porch and patio with debris that missed the mudding into a bowl-shaped nest for the brood. Robins will claim almost any edge and freely colonize a porch light, a wreath on the door, a postbox.

More than once we’ve observed gopher snakes tongue-sniffing the deck rafters to the panic screams and swoops of parents. “Better than television,” we say, and Beston would agree.

Mourning doves nest beyond the porch and patio, but freely fornicate on the deck rail. Not better than television. One year in the dozen we’ve lived here, Brewer’s blackbirds nested around and tormented the dog until she took refuge under the clothesline.

House sparrows, house, and lesser goldfinch nest top to bottom in trees and shrubs and quail can surprise me with a brood out from under a squash plant or raspberry patch. Pheasants wander through sometimes, acting more serious than their flashy coloring conveys.

Falcons come and go, but never go hungry. A hawk or two welcomes itself on occasion, and the feeling is mutual. I have seen and heard owls — two or three different kinds — and once, just once, I saw a pair of turkey vultures and have since wondered about their social life. It’s hard for a buzzard to mingle at the bird baths looking like that.

Besides the trees and shrubs we tend for nesting, there are six birdbaths in our yard. Beyond my generous plantings of wildflowers, berried trees and shrubs, and the perennially popular sunflowers, I do not feed the birds.

At my little bird sanctuary, birds are too abundant to feed store-bought. The largest feeders go empty more than once a day, and the lift-off from a sizable flock when I step outside startles a woman who likes a quieter sanctuary.

This lift-off of birds also caught Henry Beston’s interest, and across space and time we share a wondering for the emergence of a single being (a bird) that turns in an instant, into a multitudinous being (birds together, moving in space as one). As the flock moves, there is no individual bird that we can see that takes lead; no individual bird can claim to follow. With no leaders or followers, birds combine into something else when they fly together.

Documentarians in the United Kingdom have filmed for national pride the “murmurations” of great flocks of European starlings. Together in flight, birds become a sublime demonstration of a singular cooperative being. This nature art is done as individuals stretch the edges and contract to fold the middle like a single brush stroke on the canvas of the sky.

Birds are cultural religious icons representing a connection to a spiritual world. Swiss psychologist and symbologist, Carl Jung offered the idea that birds represent messages, thoughts and the ability to transcend limitations. Different birds, like doves or ravens, can symbolize transformation, shadow work or spiritual guidance.

Human beings are group animals with an instinct to cooperate in exchange for the safety of our group. But we wingless mere humans stuck on the ground to wallow in refuse could learn a thing or two from birds. Until we learn to fly, we need to cooperate and not mess our own earthbound nest, to care for our group.

We need people at the edges to stretch our human group toward health and beauty. We need people to move the brush of humanity, like those on the edge of avian murmurations, to a safe and peaceable place.

The views expressed in this opinion column are those of the author. They do not necessarily reflect the views of FāVS News. FāVS News values diverse perspectives and thoughtful analysis on matters of faith and spirituality.

Never miss a story. Get the top headlines, breaking news, commentaries, and handpicked favorites delivered straight to your inbox every morning. Subscribe to our quick, free and informative Favs News Daily Newsletter.