Minimalist Adventure with Scrub Sparrows.

Escapism? Or are we Celebrating the Opposite?

We stewards spend our years partly in the tropics and partly on the arctic tundra, without a lot of travel time or petrochemical expense.  

 

Our secret? When we see the rough-legged hawk, a visitor from the high arctic, hunting voles over Somme Prairie, we are transported. The prolific voles and the vole-regulating raptors are there because of our work.

Physically, we’re in Northbrook, Illinois. We volunteer as stewards in tallgrass prairie, savanna, woods, and wetlands. We do deeds and think thoughts informed by Henry Thoreau, May Watts, Aldo Leopold, and Rachel Carson. But our text for today is from Emily Dickinson?

 

There’s no airplane like Internet

To take us lands away.

 

Well actually, she wrote:

 

There is no Frigate like a Book

To take us Lands away …

This Traverse may the poorest take

Without oppress of Toll – 

How frugal is the Chariot

That bears the Human Soul – 

 

Our consciousness travels. Every fall, some of “our” birds migrate to the Amazon, and others from the tundra migrate south to here. Our minds travel with them and we feel profound connection with (and have a helpful impact on) the lands they’re coming from and going to. Scarlet tanagers that nest in Somme Woods winter in Central America and the Amazon. In winter we restore their breeding habitat and read about and study them. How do we cut brush rightly to improve their lives here?  Our summer Somme Prairie dickcissels winter in the savannas of Venezuela and Columbia. As we Google those places, we know that the South American winter ecosystem depends in part on our work here, as the Somme summer ecosystem's balance depends on the conservation by others, caring for those birds' winter habitats. We feel united and are united.

 

Most people don’t know that scrub sparrow (or tundra sparrow) exists. We should change that, to everyone’s benefit. Among the few who know them, they’re sometimes called “LBJs” – little brown jobs – lumping them with other species into dullness. (For some details, see Endnote 1.)

 

Tundra or scrub sparrows thrill me. Here comes a still photo … then I introduce a drama from a few days ago … and its video: 

 

Photo taken at Montrose Bird Thicket by Kyoji Nakano

As the drama commenced, two of us stood still while fifteen tundra sparrows performed closer and closer, until one was at our feet. They secure the grain from the tops of the tall grasses in a clever way. It's especially impressive when they're feeding on Indiangrass: they fly up, grab hold near the top of the stem, ride it down to the ground, then eat. As birds and grass go up and down, the flock looks like popping popcorn. No other birds have been visible in the savanna today. For a while (before I took the video), the tundra sparrows were so tame and trusting that they were closer to my feet than my feet are to my head. My colleague Eriko and I talk quietly.

S: It's as if we weren't here.

E: Maybe they've never seen a person before.

S: They think we're something like caribou.

E: This is one of my life's richest bird experiences. 

S: It's an honor. We planted the seed of the grasses they're eating. 

E: They'll bring some of this sustenance back to raise their chicks in northern Canada.

The tundra sparrow is a precious thing in many ways. This flock has been at Somme all winter. They are the only bird that lives in the Somme grasslands this time of year. (See Endnote 2.)

If you can watch this perhaps obscure video in a peaceful setting on a large screen, 

you may get some taste of the magic. 

Otherwise, you’re invited to step out into the winter ecosystem and experience it firsthand.

[This video doesn't work on some people's computers. 

If that happens to you, you can also try the Facebook version.]

Yes, winter is a relatively good time for being inside, reading, playing music, writing, researching, and getting ready for spring (as fall gives the pleasure of anticipating a great Winter. 

 

Yes, I enjoy more inside time in winter than any other season. I collaborate on scientific papers, write these posts, read, and do such normal inside stuff. But I’m out working the wilderness every afternoon. I used to ski, but now hardly ever do. My time being steward and partner with the ecosystem is just too pleasurable and rewarding. I cut brush, broadcast rare seeds on snow, enjoy laughs and insights with friends, and eat bacon and eggs cooked in a skillet on the bonfire; I need the energy and love the taste. (It’s the only bacon I ever get these days.)

 

Tundra sparrow with young. I found few photos of tundra (or "tree") sparrow nests and none showing their nesting landscape. (See painting and other tundra bird habitat photos in Endnote 1.) It would be wonderful to visit the tundra, although I understand it is flat, endless, and not easy to walk on. The ground is often spongy with deep lichens, mosses, sedges, wildflowers and shrubs (that are typically six inches or a foot high, max). It's said to be insanely mosquito-filled.  I'm happy to delight in these birds here over the winter and study their habitat on the Internet.  

Working together, we stewards say “let there be light” – with our brush cutting. “May the diversity of life return!” we say – as it was created and as it evolved in such abundance. Too, we prophesy that spring will bring good, as we focus on the moment, now, tallgrass winter.

 

Endnotes

Endnote 1

What this post calls the "scrub" or “tundra" sparrow is called in most books the “tree sparrow.” Many birds are misnamed, but this one ridiculously so. We find them feeding and spending the night mostly well out in the tall grasses. In spring they'll return to breed in "open shrubby vegetation on tundra, which is illustrated below in Sibley's Guide to Bird Life and Behavior: 

The birds that nest with them in that habitat are listed by Sibley as the redpoll, parasitic jaeger, willow ptarmigan, and “shorebirds.” A lot of the so-called shorebirds are also questionably named, as they don't need shores; they need open spaces; and beaches are often all that’s left as they migrate past us. For much of their histories as species, many of them migrated north every spring, feeding on burned prairies. Talk about "open." Many nest well away from water, out on the tundra. Examples include: red knots, ruddy turnstones, golden plovers, yellowlegs, and Hudsonian godwits.

A nesting associate of our tundra sparrow, this Hudsonian godwit stands here in tundra habitat. It winters in southern Argentina and Chile, making its living there on mudflats and wet grasslands. 

Red knot - another "shorebird" on its nest in the tundra. 

Parasitic jaeger on nest. Once again, we don't see a lot of trees in this "tree sparrow" habitat. But it's a pleasure to see the landscape our sparrow friends will return to. It would be great to go there, but perhaps a lot of work. 

Endnote 2

The winter bird species of the Somme preserves are actually mostly permanent residents: chickadees, cardinals, mourning doves, goldfinches, blue jays, nuthatches. But most of these “permanent residents” spend most of their winter freeloading at back-yard bird-feeders, so we don't see them. The species we most see in the preserves are four or five species of woodpeckers.  Migrants from the north are mostly juncos (in the woods) and tundra sparrows (in the grasslands). Tundra sparrows are typically the most abundant winter bird in Somme Prairie Grove. They’ll be replaced in the summer by song and field sparrows. Until the restoration matures, winter walks in the now fully open Somme Prairie reveal few birds, except possibly a hawk hunting voles. Four Somme raptors are permanent residents, red-tailed and Cooper’s hawks plus great-horned and screech owls. (The Cooper’s hawks also spend most of their time around bird feeders. But they’re not eating seeds and suet.)  

 

Endnote 3

Is winter the least fun of our six seasons? I suppose I’d say “yes” to that – if you asked me in May or September. But truly, my favorite season is always the one I’m in. We relish true winter only in January and February. March and April are Early Spring. Then we note some birds start singing their spring songs, the return of early migrants and the opening of buds, while we enjoy what's left of the winter that was. 

 

You call this "work"? Our "free aerobics" improve the planet. 

Additional Acknowledgements

Rough-legged hawk photo by Sandra Rust

Hudsonial godwit photo by Francesco Veronesi/Wikimedia Commons

Red knot photo thanks to Nature Picture Library

Parasitic jaeger photo by J. Del Hojo/Lynx

Thanks to Eriko Kojima for proofing and edits.