Spring Equinox, Magpies and Wooden Rabbits
Encountering conventicles of corvids at the turn of the season.
Yesterday marked the first day of spring. I woke, as usual, to Ghost sitting on my chest - not a spectre, but instead my six month old rescue puppy, who came into my life somewhat on a whim last December and has woken me up by licking my face at 7am ever since. This will be her first ever spring. She was probably born around August, or September, meaning she has only known the tail end of summertime, leaves turning brown and crisp, the air becoming icy, being swaddled in fleece blankets or wrapped up inside my coat. On our walks recently I’ve started to notice flowers popping up through what was hard, frozen ground, and I wonder if this will be the first time she’s ever smelt daffodils.
I often try and mark the seasons changing, ideally through the practice of (very beginner) green witchcraft and kitchen magic. So much of the passing of time through the year is dictated to us through the sight, smell, and taste of things in nature, and so it makes sense to me to reflect that in how I celebrate at home. Baking always feels like an appropriate ritual, making new from old, the changing of form from one thing to another. I chose yesterday to make banana bread, a new staple for me as I always have bananas to use and it’s something all of my partners can eat (which is not always easy to find). It felt good to share with my immediate circle, fresh out of the oven, all gone except the end pieces in less than twenty minutes. It’s a small ritual but a fruitful one.
Today on my walk with Ghost, the bright sun lit up the pavements and resulted in my eye catching a small wooden rabbit dropped on the floor. It felt like a strange, tiny springtime trinket from the universe and I couldn’t help but instinctively pick it up and put it into the big pocket on my cargo pants reserved for interesting finds. I am a little too much like a magpie when it comes to collecting, and interestingly as we continued on our walk we encountered significantly more of them than usual; it always starts with one, but if you wait (after the customary salute, of course) you can often see more, thanks to corvids habit of sticking together in groups. Unlike most creatures, there seems to be a point of contention over what a group of magpies is called. Some sources say a ‘conventical,’ others a ‘mischief’ or a ‘gulp.’ I personally think ‘conventical’ is the most fitting, giving it’s meaning:
noun. 1 : an assembly of an irregular or unlawful character / 2 : an assembly for religious worship; especially : a meeting for worship not sanctioned by law / 3 : meetinghouse.
With the heavy shroud of superstition that follows them like a shadow, this idea of an irregular or unlawful assembly feels just right for magpies - unlawful religious worship even more so. It feels relatable, walking through nearby parkland surrounded by unfathomably expensive houses with gates and drives, rich couples wearing gilets and walking poodle crossbreeds. Myself and Ghost couldn’t have stood out more if we tried, two oddities taking part in our own private ritual between us and the changing season. I stopped pick a daisy from the grass, adding it to my pocket with the wooden rabbit, and we continued on our way.
Now home, in our strange old house with it’s mismatch of occupants and rescue dogs, I plan to finish what remains of the banana bread with coffee, working on what feels like endless projects at this point. Ghost is sound asleep, stretched out on the sofa next to me while I work, and I feel excited about the rest of the year. I’m looking forward to what things blossom and grow from the work I’ve been doing, but also in my relationship with her, this tiny friend who I hope I will get to grow up alongside. I hope you all have beautiful springtimes!
Eerie x