Last week it was still January. In Minnesota. But, on Tuesday the wind wasn’t cold enough to hurt, which inspired me to take Ruth-the-dog out for a good walk. My kids were in school and there weren’t many people out in Silverwood Park, so I “went” to my happy place via a pair of sorta-charged AirPods; the Ologies podcast with Alie Ward.

No one needs to read more from parents during the pandemic. Because, as it’s already been stated, being a parent during the pandemic is a unique kind of misery. A germaphobic, spirit-breaking, drowning-in-anxiety, simultaneous swamp of too-much-togetherness and desolate desert of isolation, black-hole of plan-crushing and identity-smashing, scary misery. 

I needed the peace of a sunny walk and Alie Ward. But…

But, there was a woman on the path ahead who was clearly insisting on talking to everyone walking past. From far away she looked a bit like a Minnesotan Mary Poppins: Multiple layers of colorful clothes. A fashionable vintage winter cap. Good sturdy snow boots. And a lot of bright blue eyeshadow- the kind my mom wore in the ‘80s. 

I debated taking a different path. I considered leaning into my Millennial-ness and not making eye contact while walking right past her. But I’m a nice midwestern girl so I took a deep breath, paused my podcast about bighorn sheep concussions, and prepared to stop for a chat. 

“Good morning!” I said. 

“Good morning. What a nice dog you have,” she said back, adjusting her cap. 

“Thank you. She’s loving being outside today.”

Then she talked about her neighbor’s dog for a while. Or maybe it was her daughter’s neighbor’s dog? I really was trying to be attentive- clearly there’s room for improvement.

And then she said, “The bluebirds are out today. I came to see them.”

You know when Jane and Michael Banks watch Mary Poppins magically slide up the banister, their mouths dropping open seeing physics crumble? I felt that same wonder, standing next to this dazzling Herald of the Bluebirds. 

There are three kinds of bluebirds in North America; Eastern, Western, and Mountain. Only Eastern Bluebirds venture into Minnesota. And they normally are only here in the summer. My family’s handy Birds of North America field guide (Kaufman, 2000) paints Minnesota red in the bluebird’s migratory map, solidly in the summer range- not even close to the purple regions down south where they reside all year round and farther yet from their blue wintering region. 

Bluebirds should not be in Minnesota in January. But sure enough, Minnesota’s Mary Poppins was right. Down the path a bit farther, while I was again deeply entrenched in bovine neuropathology, a bird landed on a bare tree off to my left. It was a songbird, a little smaller than a robin but much bigger than all our other winter songbirds (like chickadees, juncos, and sparrows). It wasn’t crested like a cardinal or jay. It was absolutely a female Eastern Bluebird, braving the deep, northern winter. 

I stared at her, noticing her white and rust-colored belly and her brown back with a touch of blue shining through. The bird kindly stayed on the branch, unopposed to my wonder. I slowly took my phone out of my pocket and snapped a (terrible) picture. 

Mary Poppins, about 30 yards away, saw me take the photo and rushed over, trying to find what I had found. 

“Is that, there- on the tree. Is that your bluebird?” I asked, pointing. 

She gasped, “Yes. There she is.” 

We stood there together on the sidewalk, the wind not hurting our faces,  silently watching the bluebird watch us. 

“I’d heard some of them stayed this winter,” Mary Poppins said. “But I hadn’t seen them yet. I’m glad you got her picture.” 

We watched the bluebird for a minute more until she flew away. Mary Poppins petted my dog one last time. We wished each other a good day. And then walked on in opposite directions. 

A lot of birds are shifting north. (Though, the American Bird Conservancy estimates 3 million birds have been lost since 1970.) Species new to Minnesota are starting to show up in the summers. Some of the birds who used to fly south are sticking around during winter, like the Eastern Bluebirds in Silverwood Park. The naturalist there (Hi, David!) thinks that the bluebirds are shifting their diets during Minnesota’s winters, from insects to seeds and fruits probably sourced from our backyard bird feeders. 

This mass shifting of birds is ominous, no doubt. So much is at stake for them and for us while the world warms. But we are no strangers to high stakes. I know this as I send my kids into their elementary school armed with facemasks and vaccines. Together, we shift for the pandemic, for the climate crisis, for the sake of equity, and for a thousand more unobserved reasons. And always, the implications of shifting can feel massive. Like the birds, we have no choice but to shift too. 

Yet knowing this, I can’t hide my delight at spending some quality time with winter’s bluebird. And perhaps we can follow her lead: Brave the winter. Do not oppose wonder. In a monochrome world, be bold. 

Take courage in shifting. The stakes are high and every bluebird counts.