The Day of the Grackle
Orange and pink at first, and then all gray.
One of those days where nothing happens, until it does. At first light it’s 44 and calm, and at 6:39 AM, the first Northern Cardinal starts ticking. An American Robin give its alarm call.
Once again, the Song Sparrow sings, now becoming the main component of a nascent Spring dawn chorus. Starlings, a Carolina Wren, and an American Crow also make an appearance before 7.
Not long after seven, a pair of male Common Mergansers appear, heading west, crossing paths with a cawing crow going the opposite direction. The cardinal has taken to a repetitive and insistent ‘chew’ repeated humorlessly, minute after minute. Titmouse and chickadee respond.
The junkyard raven is late to croak again today. Seven-oh-five; I wonder if this is the start of a new pattern?
The One That Got Away
Around 7:10, what I presume is a raven, or at least it’s raven-y in outline and doing the raven thing, is flapping northeast from out of the Bald Eagle Creek/453 intersection area, away from me, toward the mountain. As it turns to go over and above I-99, I note its brown plumage. By no trick of light is this a raven, but I can’t locate it again as it disappears into the trees above the interstate on Bald Eagle Mountain. Way too big for a Cooper’s, but wings seemed to narrow for a Red-tail. Nevertheless, though that’s probably what it is, I can’t exclude Northern Harrier.
[Update: I’m informed by a colleague that a raven with brown plumage has been seen occasionally around hawk watches and mountains just to the east of here over the last few years (Tussey Mt, Stone Mt, Jacks Mt.]
Meanwhile, two Tufted Titmice and a Black-capped Chickadee are making a racket in the trees along Bald Eagle Creek right in front of me. The chickadee hangs back while the titmice go at it: I’m not sure if fighting or courting; maybe a little of both. They’re been agitated since I first heard them this morning.
Small groups of Common Grackles and Red-winged Blackbirds are about. Over the last week, what started with a pretty large flock (for the hotspot, in February) has been breaking into smaller units and sorting itself by species. They’re also coming closer over town, coming and going, low, high.
And then it happens.
Teotzanatl Returns
At 7:25, a male Common Grackle and two females conquer the top of the sycamore at my 1 o’clock. As they swoop in—the first time they’ve landed here this year—the European Starlings scatter, regrouping lower down and to the left, staying away. The trio stays only about three minutes and then leaves, heading to my left. The starlings gradually re-occupy their preferred treetop, and sing frenetically.
Today, unlike yesterday, the chorus continues after the half hour. Starlings, robins, Carolina Wrens, cardinals, House Finch, Song Sparrow: all are either singing or calling at the same time from somewhere or another. North, beyond the interstate, the local Common Raven pair is in aerial dance mode.
In front of me, the tall, dead ash, often a center of activity for various species, is the scene for a brief tiff between three American Robins. Two are perched placidly, one of which is singing, when a third flies in, sits briefly, then flies at the singer, who rebuffs it. Off it goes.
At 7:45, the male grackle is back, but this time to the top of the other favorite starling perch, the poplar at my 11. It’s currently unoccupied. He is singing now in that creaky way grackles have, and puffing out his feathers. No sunlight yet to show off his iridescence, though. After a few seconds, he flies across in front of me and direct to the sycamore top, once again scattering the starlings, who don’t put up a fight. He picks up where he left off, vocalizing, fluffing.
It’s on.
On Imperial Grackle Edicts
Teotzanatl was the Nahua (Aztec) name for this species’ larger and even more aggressive cousin, the Great-tailed Grackle. If you’ve been to Texas, you’ve probably encountered this bird; it runs rampant, sometime attacking people, in cities like Houston (the third North American species, the Boat-tailed Grackle, you’ll find at or near the beach).
During the Mexican Empire, particularly in the 1300s and 1400s AD, teotzanatl (the ‘teot’ indicates the bird’s reputed divinity or sacred character) was coveted for its tail plumes. The feather trade boomed, with dozens or hundreds of species represented in the feather market of Tenochtitlan. Specialized artisans sought them for feather tapestries, which early European chroniclers describe as some of the most splendid works of art ever created; their fine details were added with hummingbird plumes. In general, the catchers employed by feather traders took great care to capture birds such as cotingas and quetzals alive and to not directly touch them with their fingers, thus avoiding smudging away the sought-after iridescence.
One emperor ordered Great-tailed Grackles be captured in their native, lowland tropical habitats and released in the Valley of Mexico, to provide a cheap and constant supply of iridescent plumes. Thus it was that a species of such great rarity and splendor, records the chronicler Fray Bernandino de Sahagun, whose account this is, became a standing joke. As Icterids are wont to do, they multiplied beyond counting and took over the urban landscape, their dirty and noisy roosts inconveniently in the very centers of towns, just like today.