OUR SHOREBIRDS

Royal Terns - photo courtesy Sharon Milligan
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There is a gathering of shorebirds and seabirds along our beaches which begins late in July and daily grows in numbers and species all through August and into the fall. Sandpipers, plovers, gulls and terns in mixed assemblage occupy the sand spits left by an ebbing tide, interrupting the horizontal line where sea and sand are joined.

Sanderlings run to and fro like wind-up toys after each receding wave, probing amidst the flotsam and jetsam for the riches of sea borne bounty. Plovers, appearing more nonchalant, idly pick and choose from the smorgasbord laid out along the sand flats. Every piling becomes a pedestal where pose the gulls and terns, living statues, more beautiful than any sculptured form.

They beckon us to come and explore the romance between birds and the sea, a provocative and fascinating exploration that rewards us with only brief glimpses of truths long sought.

From where do they come? Where are they going? What little understood forces of nature guide the flight of gull and tern over endless oceans, fog shrouded mercilessly by storms at sea.

Did the plovers and sandpipers nest somewhere in the mid-west, or along the Atlantic coast? They present us now with their young, mottled, speckled, nondescript editions of themselves.

And how went their nesting season? Did they find the simple requisites to successfully reproduce, or did they wander aimless and confused by landscapes that are ever-changing and less inviting? Did the terns find any deserted beaches, and if so, did some cruel frivolity of nature cause the tides to rise and cover and devastate entire colonies? Did unceasing rains pound upon them while they gathered their downy young beneath their sheltering bodies? Did Nature’s predators take a heavy toll of their numbers? Did the black skimmers abandon once again the shallow nests scooped in sand, where man’s curiosity afforded them so little of the privacy they needed?

Whatever happenstance that may have affected their attempts to reproduce, those who were successful and those who met with failure, come now to sojourn through the remaining days of summer, or perhaps to spend the winter on the coasts, spread out along countless miles of beaches from Florida to Texas.

So many of our shorebirds seem confusing, lacking the bright colors that make identification easy. But, if you begin at this time of year to acquaint yourself with the differences between gull and tern, sandpiper and plover, you can get to know them, one by one. The list of “possibles” is an enticement to any birder: Short-billed Dowitcher, Willet, Kildeer, Greater and Lesser Yellowlegs, Ruddy Turnstone, Piping Plover, Black-bellied Plover, Wilson's and semipalmated plovers, Dunlin, Sanderling, Least Sandpiper, Ring-billed Gull, Bonaparte’s Gull, and the terns, Caspian, Royal, Black, Gull-billed, Sandwich, Common, Forster’s, to name just a few.

Perhaps you will, as we did last August (editor’s note – this refers to 1975) be a fortunate witness to the rare sight of Noddy Terns on the United States Mainland, and become a lifetime devotee to the sport of birding.

This article was published in July 1976

BACKYARD BIRD LIFE HAS GONE HOLLYWOOD. HOUSE FINCH IS A SPLASHY SONGBIRD

Male House Finch - photo courtesy Sharon Milligan

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   This article was first published in July 2003.

 Locally, one of the most frequent subjects of inquiry is a small sparrow-like bird known as the House Finch (Carpodacus mexicanus, which averages about 5 1/2 inches in size and closely resembles the Purple Finch.

    Females and young birds are nondescript in brownish tones, but heavily streaked with blurred darker browns; without optical aids, they make little impression on the backyard birder. At this time of year, following what looks like a prolific nesting season, young are very numerous at feeding stations, where they quickly learn the ropes.

    Males are quite pretty, wearing patches of bright rosy-red on their faces and breasts and rumps but otherwise having the same browns and blurry streaks that mark the female. Shades of yellow or orange may replace the male's red coloration but it is not often seen here (it is much more common in the west). Bear in mind that in summer, the colorful males are totally outnumbered by females and their offspring.

    In habits, our locally breeding House Finches are likely to be found nesting in hanging pots, vines, and dense brush. The males have very melodious warbling songs, which, given our mild climate, can be heard throughout the year.

    The House Finch has an interesting history. Until the last half of the 20th century, it was resident throughout much of the west, from British Columbia southward to California and eastward to western Nebraska and Oklahoma and had never been recorded in the eastern part of the continent.

    Because the males sing their gay little songs so incessantly, and because they are dashingly splashed with red, they became a favorite victim of the illegal cage bird trade, to be captured on their home grounds in the west and transported east, where they were touted as "Hollywood Finches" to unsophisticated buyers, unaware of the illegalities involved. My own dear mother was so inveigled, and I remember a Hollywood Finch residing with us in Massachusetts in the early 1940s, when I was more interested in boys than in birds.

    As the story goes, agents of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, having been clued into the illegal traffic in House Finches, were cracking down on dealers, who were flagrantly violating the Migratory Bird Treaty Act. Rather than be caught with the goods, some dealers released their birds into the wild. That sort of thing was said to have happened in parts of New York and Pennsylvania.

    The surprising thing is that some of these pampered birds actually survived in the wild; a pair was found breeding at Long Island in 1943, and, by 1958 the species had become established, making homes in rooftop gardens in New York City and outlying areas. By the early '70s, this new eastern population of the House Finch had spread north to the Canadian border and south to South Carolina.

    Mississippi's first House Finch records were from a feeding station in Starkville, in January 1980, from Forrest County in February 1980, and, amazingly, in Hancock County in November of that year. Breeding was not noted in the northern counties until 1986 and our own familiarity with the House Finch as a nesting bird began in 1990.

    The House Finch is now a common permanent resident in Mississippi; though we think of it as a "backyard regular" it could be seen far from any source of a handout of seed.

    There is now little or no gap between western and eastern House Finches; they have become established in most of the contiguous United States and made inroads into Canada. Some contend that the House Finch explosion is part of the reason for declining numbers of Purple Finches, especially in the northeast. Here, the Purple Finch is a sometimes common and sometimes very rare winter resident, dependent upon food supplies on its northern breeding grounds. Competition would be at feeding stations, for both "dig" sunflower seeds.

    Next time you focus on a House Finch, you might think of the remarkable resourcefulness and sense of survival that brought it from an unknown to a familiar species in just a little more than two decades.

GET HUMMINGBIRD SAVVY

Ruby-throated Hummingbird - photo courtesy Sharon Milligan
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  Reader interest in hummingbirds always comes to the fore in July. From about mid-month until November, those who garden or maintain nectar feeders with hummers in mind often are generously rewarded, although sometimes the wait for that seems interminable.

   Frequent phone calls indicate that most readers don't understand hummingbird movements. They hosted hummers throughout March and April, numbers were reduced in May, and there has been very little activity since. Over much of the coastal area, that's normal. Here's where a little hummingbird savvy will help. East of the Great Plains, the only breeding hummer is the Ruby-throated Hummingbird, a Neotropical migrant. It arrives here on the north Gulf Coast from its winter quarters (Mexico, Costa Rica, Panama, etc.) in very late February at the earliest. It departs our area by early November. As with many other migrant species, adult males arrive here first followed by adult females. In fall, adult males leave the area first followed by the adult females and then by hosts of immature birds.

   This species breeds as far north as Eastern Canada, and the timing of its far-northward migration generally is later in spring and fall. Often in spring, a May cold front will provide us with a rush of hummers heading north; they linger no longer than necessary and move on as weather improves.

   Very few Ruby-throated Hummingbirds winter in the coastal counties. The words that we would use to describe its status here are these: "Fairly common breeding summer resident; may winter in small numbers."

   Why do most of us note a paucity of Ruby-throats during the nesting season? For one thing, they are not as garden- or feeder-dependent during this time, there being an abundant supply of insects as well as flowering shrubs and vines in the wild. For another, they tend to nest in riparian woodlands, often in places at a distance from the immediate coast. In the coastal counties, one might loosely interpret "riparian woodlands" as mature mixed deciduous-coniferous woodlands, as in Southern swamps. The hummingbirder who lives near proper habitat and perhaps a little bit inland does not experience the slump that, to those not so blessed, seems to extend into mid-July or even later.

   But joy! We are on the down side of the hummingbird drought!

   From late July, through August, September and October, hummingbird activity on the home front is a literal light show of jewel tones --- mostly reds, greens, oranges and golds depending on the angle between observer, the feather and the light source --- a phenomenon of feather structure rather than color pigment, accounting for unsuppressed oohs and aahs as well as mounting confusion, for in bad light, hummers appear dull green, brown or gray.

   By now our female hummingbirds are off the hook. After the mating game, she has done it all without help: built the nest, laid and incubated the (usually) two eggs, brooded and fed the young. It's a five-week or so process during which she might raise a second or even a third brood. She is finally on a vacation of sorts before preparations for fall migration begin in earnest. Likewise the handsome male, released from the hormonal urges that have fueled his search for as many willing females as time allows, is free to exploit the easy pickings of our gardens and feeders.

   But why do we see so many hummers in fall, when in spring the activity was sporadic, and hummers were relatively scarce? If we think about it, the answer comes easily. There are more birds (of virtually all species) on the fly in late summer. The majority of them are youngsters. Consider that if one adult female succeeds in raising just two young, it will double the number of hummers that made the spring migration. The young are new to the migration game, new to finding a food source. They take their cues from one another, and the easy offerings of a garden or feeding station are very attractive. Fall migration is typically leisurely, and hummers of any age are likely to remain attached to our gardens and feeders for much longer time periods.

   Depending on the efforts a particular homeowner puts forth, there could be swarms of hummingbirds visiting gardens and feeders. While adult males are easy to recognize, with their dark throat patches visible even in bad light, adult females and immatures are not so easy. They are similar, greenish above and drab white below, and that is why even experienced birders often list them as "adult female or immature" or "probably adult female." There is no shame in that, and there is good reason to do so, and I will address that next week in a related column.

   Hummingbirds move fast. Their wings move as many as 80 times a second in a motion like a sideways figure eight. They are capable of flying backwards, sideways, up, down or a virtual hover. That take energy --- translate that to the fuel they procure from flowers and nectar feeders --- and we can easily understand the lure of our gardens. In periods of rain or on very cold nights, a hummingbird conserves energy by entering into a torpid state, which lowers its body temperature and slows its heartbeat and breathing. Sometimes I hear from a caller that a particular bird is just sitting on a branch not moving. Chances are its in a torpid state.

   People wonder how many hummers they are actually seeing at any given time; there are wild guesses, but the best count I ever got was of well over 100 birds at the feeders of Dot and Egon Freese in Biloxi. Dot had more than 40 nectar feeders going. They hung about 10 inches apart from the roof overhang. I didn't believe her without seeing for myself. With about four ports on each feeder, all of which were occupied, as well as a dozen birds hovering above the feeders, my estimate was very conservative, and I would not have been surprised if the actual number had been more like 300 or 400. It is said that for every hummer one sees at a feeder, another three or four are up in the trees waiting their turns.

   These are very aggressive birds, and they don't like to share, especially since their lives depend on a good and more-or-less private food source, whether it's a feeder filled with sugar water or a particular shrub or flowering vine. But at times, especially during inclement weather or just before nightfall and at sunrise, there may be a stunning display of non-aggressive sharing.

   To assure your position as chief cook and bottle-washer to your own horde of hummers, you must be generous. One feeder is not enough. the more the better. Hang them out of direct sunlight, and if they are positioned in and around flowering shrubs, they won't interrupt the flow of one's garden. On the other hand, they may be hung in the open --- two, three or four from one multi-armed hanger or from the roof overhang or from hooks. Whatever works. Naturally you will want to place feeders where you can watch them from your own comfortable perch.

   Generally speaking, the tackier the feeder, the more attractive it is to a hungry hummingbird. Glass and plastic, adorned with red, work magic. Works of art, such as blown glass or pottery, are less than ideal. For one thing, they usually have only one feeding port.

   Keep feeders very clean, and keep the nectar fresh. Cleaning should be done at a minimum of twice a week, and unclaimed nectar should be replaced at least that often. Sugar water is easy to make. Remember the ratio of one cup of sugar to four cups of water, bring it to a boil to break down the sugar (I do mine in the microwave), and cool before filling the feeder. You may opt to buy packets of nectar which looks like Kool-Aid, and you just add water, but that can get expensive. (Editor's note - Judy was emphatic that you DO NOT add red food coloring to your hummingbird food.)

   While nectar feeders and great gardens work well in tandem, nectar feeders alone are sufficient, so don't let your brown thumb dissuade you from attracting hummingbirds.

Much of what has been written here applies not only to the Ruby-throated Hummingbird but to other North American hummers as well. In a few weeks we will explore a very exciting aspect of Southeastern hummingbirding, the possibility that another of the 11 species which have been documented in Mississippi in winter will choose to light up your garden --- and your life.

This article was published in July 2000

SIGNS OF TRANSITION ARE ALL AROUND US

Photo of mystery birds - courtesy - Morgan Rigby  (Biloxi)
Identification to be announced!
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July is a month of transition for local birds and is thus of great interest to those who watch them. Before summer has reached the halfway point that humans have long recognized, we can recognize that, for most birds, the time for egg-laying is ending, the post-breeding dispersal of certain species is underway, and the southward movement that marks fall migration has begun.

Although a few of our permanent residents, such as Mourning Doves, will lay eggs in any month, most birds put some sort of seasonal parameters to what they do and when they do it. Even those permanent residents that are double- or even triple-brooded, like chickadees and titmice, generally call a halt to the egg-laying in early July.

The successful raising of young is what a bird's year is all about, and time is often of the essence. Migratory land bird species (the song birds we know as summer residents) have a finite time period in which to bring forth young; most of them will raise only one brood a year, but there are exceptions (the Prothonotary Warbler is known to double-up in our warmer climate, but not so at its northern breeding limits).

In a migratory species such as the Least Tern, the incubation period is about 21 days and the period of dependency is about 30 days. Given that the Least Tern departs this area in late August and early September, it doesn't take a mathematician to determine why they are single-brooded. In a season that's been rife with early disasters (storms, flooding, intrusions, fireworks), there may be some stubborn attempts at nesting after the first week of July. But generally, success or failure of a pair, and even of a population, is determined before that.

In addition to the neighborhood birds we've been watching on a daily basis, we should now be watching for local summer resident flycatchers, warblers, vireos, tanagers, etc. which have been off nesting in the bottomlands. Once young have fledged and learned their own set of ropes, they show up almost anywhere.

The most anticipated representative of the bottomland and woodland contingent is the Ruby-throated Hummingbird, which fools many people into believing that it is a transient species. Actually, it is a widespread breeding species in southern Mississippi. Birds arriving from the tropics in spring make stops at feeding stations but seldom stay more than a few days. They then go off to nest.

It is in July that we begin to see them again at feeders over longer periods of time. At this time, we should note that immatures outnumber adults (females and youngsters look much alike), and that adult males are loners with no sense of family ties.

The time for hummingbird hordes, and therefore the time when attention to feeders brings rewards, is between late July and early October; it begins with local breeders in July and grows spectacular with surges of southbound migrants from the eastern half of the continent, most making their way to the tropics via the Texas coast.

Locally breeding swallows, such as Barn and Cliff Swallows and Purple Martins, will be assembling over marshes, swarming under bridges, and forming huge concentrations before moving southward. We should be watching for such transitional signs.

July also brings us a hint of how herons and egrets, gulls and terns, and other (mostly) colonial nesters have fared over the summer. Most nest where we don't see them --- on islands or in remote woodlands --- but post-breeding dispersal seems to deposit them back into shallow ponds, on beachfronts, and along highway medians. My particular favorite is generally confined to the beaches; look for the Reddish Egret and its crowd-pleasing behavior. Beginning now!

It's a great time to look skyward, hoping for a show of kites, either Mississippi or Swallow-tailed, which tend to gather in fairly large kettles over open areas.

Adult plovers, sandpipers, and other shorebirds that have nested in the far north don't stay there any longer than necessary; many are on their way south in early July, and some species will become numerous late in the month or at least by early August. That Semipalmated Plover that appears on the beach in late July might well have nested where full-grown trees are inches tall, far beyond the Arctic Circle.

Some very early transient song-birds will soon be back in our midst. The Yellow Warbler is the most numerous and conspicuous among them, but be looking for an early Golden-winged or Cerulean Warbler to add some far greater excitement to the month.

This article was published in July 2003

Editor's note:

JAY MORRIS 1958 -2016.

The first of July,  2016 brought some sad news.

Jay Morris was a great man, and one of Judy’s favorite students. According to him, his life was changed forever because of her. She taught him how to be a bird watcher, and he took it to another level. Not only did he listen to every lesson she taught, he then went on to write about it. Judy frequently invited Jay to be a guest columnist and she predicted “he will pen my article one day”. She was right. Jay has been writing the Sun Herald’s birding column for the last 18 months and had a dedicated following. 

He was a history major, and a musician with a great voice. These attributes enabled him to remember every date on which he saw his “first bird”, with whom he saw it, and how the bird sounded. Kim Anderson described him as ‘a big man with a big heart’. And that was Jay. In his last year of failing health, he was quietly helping others  - providing food for friends in need (we hope the rib recipe has been written down). And making us laugh. Jay was funny, and he made birding fun, as did Judy.  We miss you both. “Nothing gold can stay”

Jay co-edited September's articles for "A Year With Judy Toups". At some point (to be announced) a celebration of his life will be held at Clower Thornton nature reserve in Gulfport. He was passionate about this place, surveyed it regularly, and was instrumental in many improvements to the trails.