Field Notes—

Feeder Wars, Where Size And Attitude Matter

By Dottie Evans

Cold weather has its benefits if you are a person who likes to watch birds. Thanks to below-freezing temperatures and a light snowfall this week, things have really picked up in my backyard, specifically at the hanging suet cage, the dangling sunflower tube, and the millet tray.

Steam rises spalike from the heated birdbath where the mourning doves love to sit in a circle facing out with their tails pointed inward. I think this allows them to reap the greatest benefit where it matters most. Startle mourning doves, and they all fly off together, but all in different directions. I read somewhere that this is a survival tactic they have developed to surprise and foil a hawk or some other predator.

It’s not that I have so many birds coming to my yard. Just the usual suspects like chickadees and finches and sparrows. But I enjoy watching how the family groups behave together, and how the pecking order among different species gets sorted out.

I suspect that my small band of juncos spends every night in the yew bushes under the kitchen window. They are among the first birds to show up as the cold dawn breaks. In the half-darkness while I’m brewing coffee, I see them hopping around on the ground looking for millet and cracked corn.

Next come the chickadees and titmice who snatch sunflowers and then take them to nearby branches where they can pry them open and eat in peace.

The single song sparrow isn’t singing these days. That’s because he spends all his energy scraping the ground with his feet in the company of a few white-throated sparrows. I recognize him by his habit of jumping backwards through the leaves and litter to expose whatever seeds lie hidden underneath.

House finches arrive in a noisy clump and leave the same way. They stick together, chirping in a very social manner while munching on sunflower seeds. Just looking at them, there’s no way to know why certain ones are entitled to boss other ones around. Probably something to do with birth order, strength, and self-esteem.

The house finches with the greatest status always get first crack at the limited number of tube feeder perches, and they will fend off all comers with threatening stance and thrusting beak. Meanwhile the lesser ones wait on the clothesline for a spot to open up. Sometimes a youngster gets a little pushy and is subjected to a little midair skirmishing to put him in his place.

All house finch bravado vanishes, however, when the blue jay arrives. He knows he’s got more muscle and he lands with a mighty flourish on the feeder tray causing it to swing and dump seeds all over the ground.

The male and female cardinal waiting down below appreciate this because they relish sunflower seeds. They aren’t afraid of the blue jay, though they grant him his space. Usually, I never see more than one male cardinal at a time. Except once after a terrible snowstorm, I had three males eating shoulder to shoulder with nary a bared beak. Being really cold and really hungry erases all barriers.

Only the red-bellied woodpecker trumps the blue jay. He flies into the yard with a dipping, swooping motion and lands vertically, clinging to the trunk of the crab apple where the suet hangs. Any downies already at the table are quick to exit when the red-belly shows up.

He’s a handsome fellow with zebra stripes across his back and wings, and he has a brilliant red-orange cap. There isn’t much of a red belly, actually, and I always wonder why he was given such a seemingly inaccurate name. But if you look carefully, you can see a small splash of pinkish orange under the male’s chest, so I guess that explains it.

 This beautiful woodpecker has been extending its range north and is now common along most of the eastern United States. No other bird is going to tell the red belly to move over and make room. Except maybe the pileated woodpecker –– and I live too close to town and too far away from woods to have one of those visit my yard.

There is always the hope that something new will turn up, especially during a hard winter.