55 pages • 1-hour read
Margaret RenklA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Margaret Renkl was born in 1961 in Birmingham, Alabama. A graduate of Auburn University and the University of South Carolina, she has lived for many years in Nashville, Tennessee, where she draws from her local surroundings in her writing. Renkl has become a prominent voice in contemporary American letters through her New York Times opinion columns and a string of acclaimed books, including Late Migrations: A Natural History of Love and Loss (2019), Graceland, at Last: Notes on Hope and Heartache from the American South (2021), and The Comfort of Crows: A Backyard Year (2023). Renkl’s work contributes to the modern tradition of American nature writing. While earlier figures like Henry David Thoreau and John Muir shaped the genre with a focus on wilderness and the solitary, often male, experience in untamed landscapes, Renkl focuses on the wildness within suburbia. Rather than writing about the vast expanse of Yosemite or Walden Pond, she zooms in on a Nashville backyard filled with chickadees, bluebirds, opossums, and crows. In this way, she aligns with a contemporary movement in nature writing that finds meaning in the overlooked, the ordinary, and the proximate.
In The Comfort of Crows, Renkl structures her reflections around a backyard year, week by week, through the seasons, paying homage to the cyclical nature of time. This approach marks her as a spiritual heir to writers like Annie Dillard and Terry Tempest Williams, whose work similarly blurs the line between personal and ecological insight. However, Renkl is distinct in the quiet domesticity of her lens, turning readers’ attention not only to the behavior of birds or the blooming of wildflowers but also to the joys and griefs of parenting, aging, and community life. In this sense, her work bears strong affinities with that of Robin Wall Kimmerer, a Potawatomi botanist and the author of Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants (2013). The two writers share a reverence for the natural world rooted in relationality.
Like Kimmerer, Renkl sees the natural world not as a backdrop to human life but as a community in which humans are but one member. Her essays, while grounded in scientific observation, are informed by a moral imagination that views animals, insects, and plants as kin. In The Comfort of Crows, she urges readers to pay attention not just to charismatic creatures or rare birds but also to squirrels caching nuts, moles tunneling beneath the soil, and vines climbing fence posts. These creatures’ lives remain largely invisible to the public, yet they teem with significance, she suggests. Kimmerer’s influence is evident not only in Renkl’s reverence but also in her storytelling style. Both writers favor short, layered narratives that accumulate insight over time rather than hammer home a single thesis. Renkl’s use of “praise songs” throughout The Comfort of Crows mirrors Kimmerer’s use of Indigenous oral storytelling traditions, in which the act of naming and honoring the world is central to ethically engaging with it. Rather than elegies, these praise songs are celebrations that don’t flinch from loss.
Another crucial figure in Renkl’s literary life is Ann Patchett, a novelist and essayist who, like Renkl, lives in Nashville. Patchett co-owns the independent bookstore Parnassus Books (which Renkl refers to in The Comfort of Crows). Patchett has been an outspoken champion of Renkl’s work and wrote the introduction to Late Migrations. Their relationship is emblematic of a broader movement within contemporary literature toward community-building among women writers, particularly in the South. Though Patchett’s work leans more toward fiction and memoir, she shares Renkl’s fascination with moral complexity, personal memory, and the redemptive power of the domestic and the familiar. What sets Renkl apart from many nature writers is her persistent engagement with contemporary social and political issues. As an opinion columnist for The New York Times, she regularly addresses threats to democracy, climate change, systemic racism, and gun violence, often weaving these topics into her environmental writing.
The Comfort of Crows unfolds almost entirely in Margaret Renkl’s backyard in Nashville, Tennessee. This narrow geographic focus belies the book’s environmental breadth. The local ecosystem surrounding Renkl’s suburban home becomes a microcosm of wider ecological processes, changes, and challenges. As such, understanding the local ecology is an essential part of understanding Renkl’s work. Located in the northern portion of Middle Tennessee, Nashville sits within the Central Basin, an area geologically characterized by rolling hills, limestone bedrock, and rich, fertile soils. The city is part of the temperate deciduous forest biome, which supports a wide variety of plant and animal life. Historically, oak, hickory, maple, and beech trees dominated the area, while beneath them was a dense understory of shrubs, wildflowers, and vines. This ecosystem supported a vibrant array of wildlife: white-tailed deer, eastern cottontail rabbits, opossums, raccoons, skunks, foxes, turtles, toads, and snakes, along with hundreds of species of birds and insects, many of which Renkl mentions.
Despite urbanization, this biodiversity persists in pockets throughout the city and surrounding counties. In The Comfort of Crows, Renkl routinely encounters bluebirds, chickadees, goldfinches, mockingbirds, and crows. She shares her yard with brown thrashers, red-shouldered and Cooper’s hawks, barred owls, red foxes, garter snakes, and the occasional bobcat. Insects such as monarch butterflies, bumblebees, and dragonflies pass through or settle seasonally. Native plants like goldenrod, trillium, pawpaw, and bloodroot still bloom under the right conditions. In describing this urban-wild interface, Renkl doesn’t treat nature as something apart from the built world; she recognizes the wildness that persists in suburbia.
As Renkl notes, Nashville’s ecological character is changing. Climate change, land development, and invasive species are transforming the region’s flora and fauna in ways that are visible even within the scope of a single year in Renkl’s yard. Middle Tennessee is growing hotter, wetter, and more ecologically unstable. Average annual temperatures in the Nashville area have risen over the past decades. Winters have become milder and more erratic, marked by sudden freezes and out-of-season thaws. Springs arrive earlier, sometimes spurring premature blooms that frost later kills.
These shifts in seasonal timing have consequences for both plants and the animals that depend on them. Renkl documents many of these changes. In midwinter, she notes that her daffodils are blooming far too early. Migratory birds arrive out of sync with insect hatches. Cardinals sing courtship songs in February, long before spring has begun. She finds a fox out hunting in broad daylight, and this fox has mange, likely exacerbated by habitat loss and poisoning in other yards. The year in her yard no longer follows the patterns it did during her childhood.
At the same time, invasive species are encroaching upon and outcompeting native plants. Bradford pear trees, Japanese honeysuckle, and vinca dominate many of the green spaces in suburban Nashville. Renkl describes the bittersweet feeling of watching these plants burst into bloom in early spring: They’re beautiful but ecologically destructive. They crowd out native species that support pollinators and birds, creating a more homogenous and less resilient ecosystem. The invasive monocultures don’t provide the same nectar, nesting habitat, or insect life that native plants once did. This, too, is part of the degradation Renkl quietly chronicles. Urbanization compounds the effects of climate change. Forested lots are being cleared for housing subdivisions, and small homes on large, wooded parcels are increasingly replaced by larger homes with manicured, pesticide-treated lawns. Renkl’s choice to stay put and observe closely allows her to document change in a way that charts both the natural history of the place and the quiet unraveling that climate change and other changes bring.
Environmental ethics is a field of philosophy that examines the moral relationship between humans and the natural world. It asks fundamental questions about how humans ought to live in relation to nonhuman life. In the 20th century, thinkers like Aldo Leopold, Arne Naess, and Holmes Rolston III helped shape a discipline that has since expanded to include perspectives from Indigenous worldviews, feminist ethics, and religious traditions. While environmental ethics is often studied in academic settings, its questions arise whenever society makes decisions about how humans treat land, animals, and ecosystems.
While The Comfort of Crows isn’t a treatise on environmental philosophy, it deeply engages with the ethical questions at the core of this philosophy. By describing a year of weekly observations in Renkl’s suburban Nashville backyard, the book offers a quietly insistent argument: How humans live in their immediate environment is a moral matter, and attention, restraint, and care are ethical acts. Renkl’s vision of environmental ethics is local, relational, and rooted in daily practice. She asserts that every small gesture toward the natural world, from feeding birds to letting fallen leaves remain for overwintering insects, is part of a broader moral responsibility.
Renkl’s approach aligns closely with what Leopold called the “land ethic.” Leopold’s 1949 work A Sand County Almanac argues that humans should see themselves not as conquerors of the land but as plain members and citizens of the biotic community. That ethic, Leopold wrote, changes the role of Homo sapiens from conqueror of the land-community to plain member and citizen of it. Renkl echoes this view not through argument but through example. She doesn’t live in the wilderness or on a farm, but in a typical suburban neighborhood. Her yard isn’t pristine or protected; it’s a patch of Earth she shares with neighbors who mow, spray, and remove trees. However, Renkl acts as a caretaker for this modest space. She doesn’t impose control over nature but seeks to live among its processes.
One of the clearest ways that The Comfort of Crows engages with environmental ethics is through Renkl’s deliberate refusal to tidy her yard. She lets leaves accumulate, brush piles remain, and dead stems stand through the winter, despite neighbors’ protests. These choices aren’t about aesthetics but about sustaining life: Leaf litter shelters insects and amphibians, brush provides cover for small mammals and birds, and dead stalks harbor dormant pollinators. Renkl’s approach challenges conventional gardening norms that equate order with beauty and cleanliness with virtue. She argues, implicitly, that ecological health matters more than human standards of neatness and that reshaping those standards is an ethical imperative in a time of ecological crisis. Renkl’s ethics aren’t based on grand declarations or ideological purity. She doesn’t present herself as flawless or heroic. She occasionally feeds wildlife, knowing full well the dangers of habituating animals to humans. She struggles with whether to intervene when predators target songbird nests. Such tensions are central to her worldview. Rather than denying the moral complexity of nature, Renkl embraces it. Her writing affirms the value of empathy toward ecosystems and their inherent, often brutal processes.
Drawing on traditions that resonate with Indigenous philosophies and writers like Robin Wall Kimmerer, Renkl treats the beings in her yard as relatives. She describes mourning the death of a redbird, worrying over a sick fox, and admiring the care that crows show for one another. These connections aren’t sentimental; they assert that emotional bonds with other species can be a foundation for ethical regard. In this way, Renkl subverts the anthropocentric tendency to see animals merely as objects of study or resources to be managed. Instead, she suggests that ethics begin with seeing others—animal, plant, or insect—as subjects in their own right.



Unlock all 55 pages of this Study Guide
Get in-depth, chapter-by-chapter summaries and analysis from our literary experts.