With a couple of late-start school days and one whole day off this week; with respectable amounts of lingering snow on the ground; with temperatures far below freezing for more than a week, those of us with Midwest memories deep in our bones sigh in relief. This is a proper January: it’s time to go shovel again, to mop boot tracks off the kitchen floor.
Now this exuberantly positive take on winter is not a universally held opinion though I have noticed that sometimes the worst grumblers and the transplants from warmer climes can get downright cheered up by, first, blaspheming the weather, and, then, heading out to have their cheeks reddened by an icy wind. It’s satisfying and invigorating to stamp snow off your boots in the foyer. What a bulky mess we and our house entrances are in January. Just where did I put those thick wool socks?
OK, even I will admit that this cold has been quite a jolt. Our December was so warm that the birds barely used the feeder. January turned and we all flocked to the store for birdseed. The plunging temps have brought the forest birds calling again. Fewer come than in days of yore but titmice, chickadees, nuthatches, starlings, blue jays, cardinals show up for the banquet. One of the resident Cooper’s hawks circles.
The tough sparrows of several sorts that flock together get credit for their resilience. They outnumber the others by far. The woodpeckers come too, the downies and hairys and the red-bellies. Now and again the elusive pileated comes over from the woods too, usually when the CHS grounds are very quiet.
I can’t help remembering, though, that when I walked out to my office to write our end-of-the year letter on Dec. 30, it was warmish, the grass shone a dull green and I heard a robin singing a spring song in one of our redbud trees. Later that same afternoon I saw a whole flock of robins alight near our pollinator garden. That was eerie; I shuddered for them. It’s head-spinning to imagine how the birds can predict where to go and what to do when the tilt a-whirl weather behaves like this.
Of all the birds the juncos seem to be the most winter-confident. At the first hint of snow, in they swoop, their slate-gray backs contrasting with their whitish bellies. As they land, their white tail feathers flash. James Audubon, our pioneer American ornithologist, called the junco “the little snow bird.” Looking out my wide office window onto the snowy, toppled stalks and dried leaves and flower heads of our pollinator bed, I saw dark movement. There they were, about a dozen juncos, busy working their beaks into old seedheads and gathering up seed they’d knocked free onto the snow.
All the other bird species including many other juncos were at “the feed trough,” aka the bird feeder, around the corner and out of my sight. Not these guys. There they were with their intent, bright eyes, dressed in their stylish tuxedos, practicing the ancient craft of thriving in winter. Unlike the “herd” rushing the birdfeeder, these birds were not just swilling calories like cattle in a feedlot. Juncos are “acrobatic, energetic, vigilant, and clever.” I looked upon and admired their Olympic excellence.
The slate-gray dark-eyed juncos that are our residents, especially in winter, are always ground foragers. They’re “double-scratchers,” using both feet at the same time to take up both insects and grains, depending on the season. Juncos even nest near the ground. Their markings are as crisp as their beings. They do come to feeders but much prefer wild edge spots between woodland and fields so our pollinator garden with its dozens of seed types is a treasure trove. Our local juncos summer in Canada. If you want to make juncos happy, plant some prairie dropseed, a native grass that produces tufted seed heads that are a winter-time favorite.
Just like our human Olympic athletes, juncos do have some internecine politics to deal with so let’s not romance them too much. Within their own clans, the males are fiercely territorial and while they’ll defend a female and her nest, they can dangerously dominate females in the winter — even preventing the mothers of their children from getting enough food. I am pleased to report that female juncos have wised up across the millennia: in a great evolutionary #Me Too Movement, the females migrate mostly in separate flocks. Let’s hear it for sisterhood!
Females, for their shared safety, also push southward for warmer and safer (male-free) havens during the winter. Come spring, the girl flocks mosey up to Canada for insect-eating, mating and nest-building after the males are established and calmed down a bit.
In our era, of course, male and female juncos, like birds of all species, need help. If your space allows, plant more native tree cover. This is not only a boon to the birds but essential to maintaining our natural, temperate climate.
Here’s hoping your indoor climate is temperate.
In honor of the juncos, here’s a sketch for how to make delicious winter salad with green, grainy food. You’re creating a Kale, Quinoa Salad. Here goes: put a cup of quinoa on to cook (follow package directions); cut the stems out of a bunch of kale and scissor it into bite-size pieces while the quinoa is cooking. Put all that green kale in a big bowl. Sprinkle c. half teaspoon of salt into it and then add a little olive oil. Now it’s time to massage the kale with your hands — just a little bit until it turns dark, dark green. This makes this superfood instantly yummy.
Finely chop a little bit of red onion (¼ cup), grate a half a carrot, measure out 1/2 cup nuts (sliced almonds are good), and the same amount dried fruit (currants, raisins, craisins); add a 1/2 cup of crumbly white cheese if you’d like (though juncos wouldn’t go for that). Maybe add a sprinkle of sunflower or pumpkin seeds. Once the quinoa is cooked and cooled, mix all these ingredients together with the kale. Dress with a simple vinaigrette, either bottled, or, make your own with vinegar and oil, a clove of garlic, and maybe a little lemon zest, salt and pepper.
So go ahead and eat like the birds. Your body will say thanks. I don’t know about you but I need to balance out all the high caloric comfort foods that cold weather urges me to eat. See you in a warmer season. Yes, Virginia, there will be a Farmers’ Market come spring.
Dr. Helen Hudson contributes her column Real Food to the Journal Review.
