This past Sunday, I was among those offering blessings at the baptism of a friend’s baby. In preparation, I paged through several anthologies and lists of Armenian proverbs that I have collected over the years and made and arranged the selection below.
Let’s sit crooked and talk straight.
The sun will rise whether the rooster crows or not.
Spring comes on the wings of the nightingale.
Birds fly with their wings, people with their kin.
Measure ten times, cut once.
Say it once, listen a thousand times.
Education is a golden bracelet.
You are as many people as the languages you know.
It is better to carry stones with a wise man than to eat pilaf with a fool.
A good tree is better than a bad person.
A lone walnut cannot make noise in a sack.
From heart to heart there is a path.
Tell me who your friend is and I will tell you who you are.
Be neither sweet and swallowed, nor sour and spurned.
Let it be one and fine.
A mother’s blessing will lift the curse of seven priests.
Birds fly with their wings, people with their kin. ~ Armenian proverb
Photo by Kendrick Fowler
The other day as I was driving along a country road to my volunteer job at the used bookstore that raises funds for our local public library upstate, I listened to the news on NPR. By the time I arrived at my destination, after hearing story after story about violence, cruelty, and corruption, my nerves were jangling. In the shop, the manager, who was sorting through donations, handed me a ten-year-old non-fiction book about characters in American history who had been devoted to the ideas of democracy and decency. She said, “Do you think anyone will buy this or should we get rid of it?” I answered, “It’s about people trying not to do bad things, which could be instructive at this moment.”
Another thing that I find helpful in this troubling time is being out in the natural world among wildflowers, mushrooms, red newts, frogs, butterflies, and birds. And during spring migration, the birds are especially diverting.
On May 8th I joined staff members of the Hawthorne Valley Farmscape Ecology Program (FEP) for a bird walk on their 900-acre farm in Columbia County, New York. The highlight of the walk was an open field where we saw six male Bobolinks in their spectacular black, white, and yellow breeding plumage. Bobolinks, who spend the winter in South America, have a 6,000-mile journey to return to their spring breeding grounds in North America. They make their nests on the ground in open fields and grasslands, and modern hay mowing practices have contributed to their annual 2% decline since 1966 in the U.S. Hawthorne Valley delays mowing in one large field to give the Bobolinks an opportunity to successfully breed.
Last week, at the height of spring migration, I went on three bird walks in Central Park: one with my friend and bird guide Gabriel Willow starting at the 81st Street and Central Park West entrance, one with New York City Bird Alliance’s Tod Winston in the North Woods, and the third with The Linnaean Society of New York, also in the North Woods. Central Park is one of New York City’s top birding locations, particularly during spring migration when over 25 million birds fly over the city on their routes north. Many of them pause for a day or two in our area. As Tod told the Upper West Side Rag, “During migration, birds kind of funnel into New York City parks in this really high concentration, which is what makes New York City a world-renowned birding spot…” On Thursday with Tod, we saw 62 species of birds, including 5 Scarlet Tanagers, and an array of warblers, among them Blackburnian, Chestnut-Sided, Blackpoll, Magnolia, Hooded, Canada, Nashville, Tennessee, and Cape May.
How’s that for diversion?
Yours in struggle,
Nancy Kricorian
READ and LISTEN
I have been mentoring a young writer from Gaza named Sahar Rabah, who is currently enrolled in the creative writing master’s program at Trinity Dublin (she is one of 50+ students the Gaza Scholarship Initiative assisted with university applications that resulted in their evacuations to Ireland in August/September 2025). Earlier this month it was announced that Sahar had won the Calibre Essay Prize from the Australian Book Review. Her elegant, powerful, and devastating essay entitled “Between Reality and Dreams” is behind a paywall and if you would like me to send you a PDF, please let me know.
My novel THE BURNING HEART OF THE WORLD was featured in this list of works celebrating Armenian mothers and grandmothers.
On this episode of his podcast WHY IS THIS HAPPENING? Chris Hayes interviews cognitive scientist and UC Berkeley professor Alison Gopnik about intelligence, AI, and learning. Gopnik argues that a typical two-year-old routinely outsmarts the most advanced AI models.
I just finished reading and highly recommend Zayd Ayers Dohrn’s new book Dangerous, Dirty, Violent, & Young: A Fugitive Family in the Revolutionary Underground. It is a fascinating combination of family and social history about Dohrn’s parents Bernadine Dohrn and Bill Ayers, members of the radical revolutionary group The Weather Underground, and their lives and times. It expands on themes and materials that he used in his riveting 2022 podcast series MOTHER COUNTRY RADICALS.
Last month I went on a two-week journey to Colombia, the highlight of which was a nine-day birding trip that departed from Barranquilla and went through the Sierra Madre Mountains and to the Guajira Peninsula. In the cloud forest and on the Caribbean coast we got up before dawn to go in search of rare and endemic birds, including the Sapphire-bellied Hummingbird and the critically endangered Blue-Billed Curassow. In addition to hundreds of species of birds, we also saw Howler Monkeys, Cotton-Topped Tamarins, a vast array of wildflowers, and dozens of butterflies. I knew that Colombia was one of the most biodiverse places on earth, but to see the variety of flora and fauna was an absolute delight and a welcome distraction.
When I arrived home on February 3, a sense of dread overtook me. Now each time that I look at the headlines about the rampage of the horsemen of the apocalypse, I think of all the suffering they are unleashing, and my heart is torn to shreds. I feel like a tiny piece of flotsam in a raging sea and want to sink to the ocean floor. Then I take a deep, slow breath and think, I can’t let them paralyze me with grief and rage. That’s what they want. They want us to feel powerless in the face of their cruel, venal wrecking machine. But we have an obligation to ourselves and to each other to take meaningful action.
Daily I repeat the mottos that help me keep me afloat in these turbulent times.
The only recognizable feature of hope is action.
~ Grace Paley
Choose your lane, find your people.
~ Mariam Kaba
Freedom is a constant struggle.
~ Angela Davis
The voice of the people is louder than the roar of the cannon.
On a recent Substack post entitled You’re Not a Superhero, Joshua P. Hill of New Means put it beautifully:
You don’t need to save the world, you can’t save the world, but together we can move in that direction. It takes thousands and millions of us doing what we can taking the steps in front of us, reaching out to connect with others and to expand the actions we can collectively take and the power we can collectively wield.
In recent podcast interview (see below for link), the ACLU’s Chase Strangio said in a similar vein, If I could have listeners remember one thing, it is that our power grows when we are in solidarity with each other. Right now, there is a sense of collective exhaustion, fear, and not knowing where to turn. But the single thing we can do is build power with one another. And then my action item is to go take a risk for somebody who has less power than you do.
My literary mentee and friend Sahar in Gaza, who has been struggling with despair herself, reacted to my angst about the sociopaths at the helm of the U.S. government by sending me this message:
They won’t be able to steal our hope and our strength. We will weaken and grieve at times, but we will always get back up, right?
Yes, my dear wise Sahar. We will always get back up.
Yours in struggle,
Nancy Kricorian
RECOMMENDED READING
I received a lovely prepublication review of THE BURNING HEART OF THE WORLD by Eleanor Bader on New Pages. The official publication date is April 1, and you can preorder the book here.
Check out this investigative piece from The Intercept about a WhatsApp group started by some members of Columbia Alumni for Israel and their efforts to get students who protested against the genocide in Gaza arrested and/or deported.
RECOMMENDED LISTENING
This Makdisi Street podcast interview with Aslı Bâli, Professor of Law at Yale Law School and President of the Middle East Studies Association, is absolutely brilliant.
Listen to the ACLU’s Chase Strangio in conversation with W. Kamau Bell discussing the current state of LGBTQIA+ rights across the country.
Listen to a beautiful new song from Lebanese singer-songwriter Yasmine Hamdan.
It’s unsettling to carry on with daily rituals and activities while Israel’s genocidal assault on Gaza rages on. Each morning, I check to see what horror unfolded while I was asleep, looking for mentions of the areas where my mentees and their families are sheltering. Each day I communicate with Haya, Sahar, and Nadera about their various writing and educational projects. I continue my involvement with Writers Against the War on Gaza, and use my social media platforms to amplify the reports coming out of Gaza and the West Bank. None of it feels like enough. To keep myself from an unending cycle of despair, anxiety, and rage, I have been spending time in the woods and the meadow as a kind of walking meditation.
The other morning after a night of pouring rain, I went for a walk on the trails behind our house. There were so many Red Efts on the path, that I had to watch my feet so I wouldn’t step on them. I started counting them as I walked, and quickly reached two dozen. I have been fascinated with these creatures since I was in sixth grade and a boy in our class brought in a terrarium with three that he was keeping as pets.
I think of the Red Eft as the teenager form of the Eastern Newt, which is a type of salamander that lives in this region. When they first hatch in the vernal pond, they are aquatic larvae or tadpoles that breathe underwater. In their next phase, they become Red Efts, which are orange with two rows of red dots circled in black down their backs. At this point, they are terrestrial and breathe air. After two to three years, they change again to their final adult aquatic form, when their coloration shifts to a dull olive green back with a yellow belly. But they still have the black-rimmed spots. An Eastern Newt can live in the wild for up to eight or ten years but have been recorded to live to fifteen.
I’ve also been watching the Ruby-Throated Hummingbirds at the feeder outside my study window. They fly circuits around the yard, sipping nectar from flowers and the feeder.
The only hummingbirds found in the northeastern United States, they are very territorial, and there are lots of buzzy altercations. The adult male has the eponymous iridescent red throat, and its tail feathers are pointed and dark. The adult female and juvenile male and female have white throats and white tips on the outer tail feathers.
Recently, I have also seen twin White-Tailed Deer fawns grazing in the meadow behind the house, their mother always within a few yards. Several years ago, Djuna and I were walking in the woods when we wandered off the trail and discovered a days-old fawn sleeping in a hollow under a fallen tree. Luckily, I had learned that it was fine for a fawn to be left alone for up to twelve hours at a time while its mother foraged for food. In fact, it was safer for a newborn like this to stay on its own because it blended into the forest and hadn’t yet developed an odor that would attract predators. When White-Tailed Deer fawns are born, they have white spots on their sides. These spots disappear when they are between three to six months old and grow in their winter coats. In our area, the spots are generally gone by October.
It’s been raining all week, and the other day during a blustery downpour, I looked out the bedroom window to see two dozen House Finches perched under the eaves of our front porch. That made me wonder what all the other birds were doing in the foul weather brought to our region by Hurricane Debbie. Birds that nest in cavities, such as Chickadees, can take shelter there. Birds that roost on branches, such as Blue Jays, perch on a thick branch next to the tree’s trunk during a storm.
What’s the difference between a frog and a toad? Frogs have smooth, damp skin and toads have dry, bumpy skin. Frogs have longer legs made for jumping and swimming. Toads tend to have shorter legs. Frogs tend to live near a body of water because they need to keep their skin moist, but toads can be found in the forest. Tree frogs need to be near water, but they aren’t great swimmers.
How can you tell the difference between a butterfly and a moth? Butterflies have smooth, club-like antennae and moths have feathered or branched antennae with no rounded club shape at the end. We generally think of butterflies as having large, brightly colored wings, but Skippers are a group of small, chunky butterflies, and several species are drab gray or brown.
And now on a few other topics…
My friends at the International Armenian Literary Alliance (IALA) posted about the upcoming publication of my novel THE BURNING HEART OF THE WORLD. If you pre-order the book through this link, IALA receives a small portion of the proceeds.
For Tempest Magazine, our daughter Djuna wrote a clear-eyed and disturbing piece about Israel’s use of artificial intelligence to generate “kill lists” in Gaza.
My new We Are Not Numbers Mentee (WANN) Nadera wrote a poem called “The Child and the Olive Tree.” My former WANN mentee Hossam managed to evacuate to Cairo a few months ago, but he and his siblings are now in need of financial support because they can’t get work permits in Egypt.
Everything feels rather dire right now, from the awful clown show of American politics, to the terror of a burning planet, so I’ve again been finding solace in the natural world. I saw a Scarlet Tanager flitting through the tree canopy the other day, and after hearing its eerie, echoing song at the top of the ridge, I finally caught a glimpse of a Hermit Thrush. We have been eating oyster mushrooms and chanterelles that I foraged in the woods, as well as copious greens from our garden. And sunsets by the pond have been spectacular.
I just handed in the copy edited manuscript of my novel, The Burning Heart of the World, which will be published on April 1, 2025 by Red Hen Press, and can now be pre-ordered from Bookshop.org. A publisher decides how many copies to print in part based on the number of preorders, so ordering the book ahead is a good way to support an author, including yours truly. I have started scheduling events for April in Los Angeles, New York, and Detroit. If you want me to come to a bookstore (or a community center) near you, let me know. I will also be available for in-person and virtual reading group visits.
Also on the literary front, I was disappointed to read a terrible story about much admired and lauded fiction writer Alice Munro, but I loved this interview in Mizna with poet Chase Berggrun.
Last month my elder child Noah’s debut feature film, Summer Solstice, opened for limited runs in New York and Los Angeles. It received a rave review and was a Critic’s Pick in the New York Times. The Los Angeles Times review was also excellent. Noah did a number of interviews, among them one in Variety, one in Filmmaker, and another in Film Stage.
As Israel’s genocidal campaign in Gaza grinds into its tenth month, a small bright spot was the fact that Armenia recognized the Palestinian state. Mary Turfah’s piece Running Amok, about the horrific images Israeli soldiers are posting from Gaza and what they mean about Zionism past and present, was a tough read in the Baffler. Israeli historian Ilan Pappe wrote a bracing piece about The Collapse of Zionism in the New Left Review. Some of my new organizer friends were involved in a Gaza protest during New York City’s Pride parade. I have started working with a new mentee in Gaza through We Are Not Numbers—a collaboration made difficult by the intermittent and poor Internet access Nadera has in Shujaya. I hope to be able to share one of her essays soon.
As a child I went to a Pioneer Girls Christian camp starting in the summer after fifth grade through the summer after my senior year in high school. The now defunct New England Camp Cherith was on Lake Bunganut in Alfred, Maine. It was on the camp’s 130 wooded acres that I had my first experiences with hiking and camping and was taught how to build a campfire and to cook a tin foil dinner. When I was a counselor in training, we were required to learn the names of five trees, five wildflowers, five birds, five rocks, and five constellations. In the Nature Cabin, I pored over field guides, and at night the other C.I.T.s and I would lie on our backs on the mown hill staring up at the stars. I had always loved our large yard and garden in Watertown, turning up the marble steppingstones to look at the insects underneath or resting my cheek on the soft moss between the peach tree and the hedge of lilacs. Now I came to love the broader canvas of the camp’s forest, lakeshore, and rolling hills.
When I was a student in Columbia’s Graduate Writing Division in the 1980’s, Arizona poet Richard Shelton, who passed at the end of last year, came to deliver a Master Class. He had a warm and relaxed charm, and he read us a few of his poems that were full of details about the Sonoran Desert. He told us, “If you don’t know the name of a thing, you can’t fully see it.” He described the way that people unfamiliar with the desert would experience it as an empty space, but if you studied it the way he had, learning the names of the plants, the animals, the insects, and even the stones, you would understand its fullness. These words have reverberated in my head for decades now, and when I walk through the forest behind our Columbia County house, I recite the names of what I recognize—the wildflowers, the trees, the birds, and mushrooms. But I feel overwhelmed wondering about the names I don’t yet know for the ferns, the mosses, lichens, and grasses on the forest floor. As the poet Maxine Kumin put it, “Our ground time here will be brief,” and I wish I had begun this concerted study much earlier.
For the conclusion of my Beirut novel (no news yet—I promise as soon as there is anything to tell, I’ll send out a flare), I wrote a folk tale called “The Girl Who Talked with Birds.” I started birdwatching ten years ago as part of the research for this novel, which has avian imagery woven throughout the narrative, but also as an extension of my engagement with the natural world. The protagonist of the folk tale, a girl named Sosi, thinks to herself:
Sosi understood that each living thing had a name, and she wanted to learn what to call each flower, grass, and insect. Her mother knew many of the names, and her grandmother knew even more, but neither of them knew them all. In response to Sosi’s incessant questions, her grandmother said, ‘The Creator made them, and only the Creator knows the name of each and every one.’
Writing a novel is a way of creating a world, and, because of my interest in history and need for historical accuracy, of recreating a world, filling it with people, places, events, sounds, textures, and smells that are at once invented and rooted in lived reality. I want the reader to open the book and to be transported into the world that the characters inhabit. And the more I know about this beautiful, resilient, and fragile planet on which we live and the people and other creatures who roam its precincts, the truer this fictional world can be.
P.S. Our adult child Noah Schamus has a film premiering at the Provincetown Film Festival this weekend. Watch the trailer here. This nuanced, funny, and moving film is mom approved (I’m the mom, of course, but I’m relatively objective, having told Noah in elementary school that they gave the second-best performance in the school production of Romeo and Juliet). I’ll send out news about where you can see Summer Solstice when it’s made more widely available.
My mood has been a little down lately—family health struggles, no news yet on the book front, rising fascism in this country and around the world, and other calamities I don’t have the heart to enumerate—so I haven’t much felt like composing one of these notes. But there have been some bright spots—things to watch and read and see—that I’ve been collecting to share. And here they are.
Watch JURY DUTY on Amazon FreeVee. This is the best TV I’ve watched in a very long time, and I have recommended it to a dozen friends all of whom have loved it. It’s funny and deeply kind.
Check out this piece about Armenia’s vibrant new fine wine and dining scene in Food & Wine.
Read about Harout Bastajian, a Lebanese-Armenian artist renowned for painting domes in mosques around the world. He volunteered to paint a mosque in Dearborn, Michigan, and years later when he fell on hard times in Beirut, the local community helped him relocate to Michigan.
Read about Arno Yeretzian and Abril Books of Glendale, California, both national treasures, and then order some books from Abril to support their work.
Also, we made it through the winter. It’s Spring! Get outside and look at the flowers, the migrating and nesting birds, and the mushrooms that are starting to pop up.
I have just returned to the city after ten days in the country during peak fall foliage season. The hills have been ablaze with color. This summer’s drought has given way to autumn rains, and mushrooms have been appearing on the forest floor. Each day, I walked the trails wearing my binoculars and carrying a canvas bag with my mushroom collecting tools. I selected one or two unfamiliar mushrooms during each foray to bring back to the house for identification. Exciting finds of the past week were the Indigo Milk Cap and the Lobster Mushroom. I saw a Barred Owl gliding through the forest canopy to land on a high branch, and I have been hearing the toot of the Red-breasted Nuthatch and the laugh of the Pileated Woodpecker. My walks in the woods help keep me balanced in this off-kilter world.
In the middle of September, when Azerbaijan launched a military attack on Armenia, I was an emotional wreck. Apparently, Azerbaijan’s territorial ambitions are not confined to Nagorno-Karabagh–it has designs on land within the internationally recognized borders of the Republic of Armenia. The genocidal rhetoric of Azerbaijan’s Aliyev is well documented. A video circulated on social media showing Azerbaijani forces murdering surrendered Armenian soldiers was authenticated by numerous outlets, and this war crime was condemned by Human Rights Watch. As Russia is up to its neck with its bloody war against Ukraine, Armenia has been mostly alone facing a brutal petro-dictatorship aligned with Turkey’s Erdogan. Azerbaijan recently signed a lucrative gas deal with the European Union, which has muted the response from European leaders. Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi led a Congressional Delegation to Armenia last month, and another U.S. Congressional Delegation is in the planning stages. At this point, Armenia needs all the friends it can get, including the U.S., Russia, Iran, and France. A ceasefire is mostly holding, and negotiations between the Armenian and Azerbaijani governments are ongoing, but the situation along the border is volatile and potentially explosive.
I’ve been volunteering with the Josh Riley campaign in New York’s 19th Congressional District. Please make sure you are registered to vote. We can’t let the Red Wave drown us–mainstream Democrats are an uninspired lot, but the fascist alternative is terrifying.
As we enter the third year of the pandemic, this winter feels dark and long, and the spring seems far away. As usual, I look for solace in the natural world and also in my continuing study of the Armenian language. Below is a short piece that I wrote about a recent snowy morning. My Western Armenian teacher Sosy Mishoyan corrected my mistakes, but as time goes by I’m making fewer of them.
Անցեալ գիշեր ձիւն տեղաց, իսկ այս առտուն ճերմակ վերմակը ամբողջ մարգը կը ծածկէ։ Վերարկուս ու կօշիկներս կը հագնիմ եւ գլխարկս ու ձեռնոցներս կը դնեմ։ Շատ պաղ է, բայց` շատ գեղեցիկ։
Լճակին շուրջ կը պտտիմ։ Երկինքին մէջ երկու բազէ կը սաւառնի, իսկ մացառին մէջ պզտիկ թռչուններ սերմ ու հատապտուղ կը փնտռեն։ Յանկարծ ոտքերուս մօտէն դաշտամուկ մը կը վազէ ու կը մտնէ պզտիկ ձիւնէ փապուղիին մէջ։
Ձիւնը նորէն կը սկսի թափիլ։ Աշխարհը ճերմակ եւ լուռ է։
The strange mutability of time during this pandemic year makes it hard to gauge exactly what happened when, but a glance at the calendar indicates that it’s been eight months since I have posted here. This winter seems dark and long, and there are moments when it’s hard to believe that it will ever end. But rather than being consumed by the struggles, suffering, and violence that are swirling around us, I have tried to build a daily routine of work, exercise, and pastimes to stave off melancholy and loneliness. It works most of the time. As Mariame Kaba puts it, “Hope is a discipline.”
In addition to making steady progress on the second draft of my novel, I am knitting a sweater, studying Spanish and Armenian, reviewing French, reading for my three monthly book clubs, volunteering in the New Sanctuary Coalition Remote Pro Se Clinic, taking Zoom Iyengar yoga classes, trying recipes from my four Armenian cookbooks, and watching the songbirds at the feeders outside and the raptors cruising over the meadow.
This morning as I took our small dog for the first walk of the day around the pond, I heard the high-pitched “seee” calls of Cedar Waxwings, a call that I have learned recently on the Larkwire game app that I started using a few weeks ago. I looked up and saw a small flock perched atop the hundred-year old cherry tree. I heard the drumming of a Pileated Woodpecker at the edge of the forest, and the “peter-peter-peter” of a Tufted Titmouse. I surveyed the rolling hills, the light in the farmhouse across the valley, and the layers of clouds stretching to the south and east. What a beautiful world.
P.S. If you would like to learn more about the history of the White Power Movement, its adherents most recently on display rampaging through the Capitol, I highly recommend Kathleen Belew’s excellent and riveting book BRING THE WAR HOME. I also recommend this virtual exhibit of Armenian embroidery from the Armenian Museum of America’s collection. And check out Liana Aghajanian’s beautiful piece about quince jam, war, and resilience.
