As a kid, I never saw a bird guide or even knew one existed. Instead, we had our own names for birds.
Most everyone who grew up around here knows the name "spatzie," German for "sparrow," the locally common name for house sparrow. Unfortunately, we weren't very precise, so we called any little brown bird a spatzie, including song sparrows and chipping sparrows. But then on occasion, my dad would announce that stripedy-headed spatzies were back.
We didn't know why we hadn't seen any for a while, nor did we know where they'd gone. In fact, I don't remember even wondering. It was just noteworthy that some were back again. Only when I was older did I learn that white-throated sparrows visited for the winter after having nested coast to coast across central Canadian boreal forests.
We also noticed the usual red birds (northern cardinals), bluebirds (eastern bluebirds), all-blue bluebirds (indigo buntings), and wild canaries (American goldfinches). Those were easy names that, again, everyone local recognized.
In winter, we also enjoyed snowbirds, our name for dark-eyed juncos. From my youthful point of view, the birds were surely so named because their white (snow-dusted?) bellies contrasted against their charcoal backs, heads, and chests. But Grandma countered no, they were called snowbirds because they brought snow with them when they came. And they did, these winter migrants that ventured here from as far north as the Arctic Circle, hanging out with us from October through March.
Of course, we enjoyed doves and blue jays. And we also relished the call of the rain crow. Grandma said when the rain crow called, we could--finally!--expect rain. Somehow, we never heard the rain crow in late fall or winter. Only much later in life did I understand that yellow-billed cuckoos migrated here in summer when caterpillars were abundant, only because cuckoos thrived on those tasty wiggly morsels. Little did I know the rain crows we heard (but never saw) spent their winters in South America, perhaps in Bolivia or Paraguay, having flown the length of Central America on their way. Had someone told me, I doubt I would have believed them.
Yes, we loved woodpeckers, mockingbirds and meadowlarks. I've no idea how we knew the name "meadowlark," but surely someone told us.
Then there was the drippy-faucet bird. We never saw this bird either, but we heard it spring and early summer, always from among the trees where it seemed to hide. Or maybe we saw it but didn't know what we were seeing. Brown-headed cowbirds aren't at all uncommon, and they readily come to yards. It was such an unmistakable song, though, that we were sure it couldn't be anything drab. Wrong!
And then there was the bird that crashed into the garage door and broke its neck. Stunningly golden-brown and silky smooth, it wrenched my little-kid heart to see it dead. I cried. Mom and I gently tucked the limp little body in a cloth-lined box and took our precious parcel to the museum. Knowing personnel there identified the cedar waxwing.
In spite of our not knowing their names, the birds never seemed to care. And now? Well, they're not the least bit impressed that finally I've learned their proper identities.
For more information about birds and bird habitat, see Sharon Sorenson's books Birds in the Yard Month by Month and Planting Native to Attract Birds to Your Yard. Check her website at birdsintheyard.com, follow daily bird activity on Facebook at SharonSorensonBirdLady, or email her at chshsoren@gmail.com.
"bird" - Google News
January 18, 2020 at 08:00AM
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For the Birds: What's in a bird's name? - Courier & Press
"bird" - Google News
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