Birders, including me, can be fickle.
In February or March when we hear the first red-winged blackbird of the year sing its distinct three-syllable “On-ka-lee,” we rejoice. The common refrain on Facebook at this time of year is, “Heard my first red-wing, spring is coming.”
Cornell Lab’s online account of the bird says, “Their early and tumbling songs are happy indications of the return of spring.”
In Native American culture, red-winged blackbirds signal good luck and spiritual growth.
But give it a month or two and birders, as well as the general public, will likely be complaining about the blackbirds. That is, if they get too close to the birds’ nesting spots.
When the female is sitting on a nest in late April or May, the male red-winged blackbird wants no intruder anywhere near. Walk too close to a nest, which can be hidden, and the blackbird will squeak, squawk, holler and sometimes even divebomb your head.
Red-winged blackbirds even chase much larger hawks and owls out of their territories, and occasionally I’ve seen red-winged blackbirds practically land on top of a hawk’s body as it is flying.
I’ve been treated to fun with the red-winged blackbirds many times. Once, when I was doing a breeding bird census at Buffalo Creek Forest Preserve in Buffalo Grove, I unfortunately picked the wrong spot to stand and count birds. It was right near a red-winged blackbird nest.
In such counts, you have to stay put for eight to 10 minutes and record every bird you see or hear. I admit acting like a fool, screaming and waving my hands as I told the blackbirds to go away.
The same thing happened when I was doing a dragonfly survey in Mundelein. A red-wing was in my territory, or shall I say I was in the red-wing’s territory? I was tempted to reroute my survey path, but that would have been unscientific.
Last summer, an official put a caution sign in June along Lakefront Trail at Loyola University’s Rogers Park Campus. “Caution! Attacking Bird.” I’ve been unable to find any account where red-wings have caused serious harm to a human, but I do caution you to be careful around such signs and places where red-winged blackbirds nest.
Over the years, I’ve learned that sometime in summer, the male blackbirds become less aggressive as the young fledge and leave home. I’ve also learned to love this bird, which has found a way to survive in a world where many other birds cannot due to habitat loss and other issues.
Red-winged blackbirds are considered wetland species. They nest in marshes and grasslands, and build nests in cattails and dense grass clumps. But they’re also opportunistic. Any old shrub somewhere near water or a field will often do.
The males are shiny black, with bold red and white or yellow shoulder patches called epaulets that they expand when singing to attract a female or ward off an intruder. Next time you see one, look for that yellow, which isn’t as noticeable as the red. The females are brownish and heavily streaked, just the right plumage to camouflage them as they sit on nests.
Females build their nests low in marsh vegetation, such as cattails and bulrushes, or in shrubs or trees, often willows. The female weaves long, cattail or grass leaf strips to build her deep, cup nest. If you’ve ever seen a red-winged blackbird nest, you’d agree it’s truly an artistic sculpture, just as other bird nests are.
In late summer, red-winged blackbird young and adults gather in flocks to roost. Flocks in the tens, or even hundreds of thousands fly to southern Illinois and father south in the United States to winter.
Other bird species also attack humans, as well as other animals that get too close to their nests. For example, I once helped count chicks at an endangered common tern nesting colony in Lake County. The adults hovered right over our heads, yelling their harsh notes vociferously.
Dedicated bird biologists working to protect these endangered species just go about their work quietly ignoring all the scolding. I admire that.
Though the red-winged blackbird is considered one of the most abundant native bird species in North America, its population has declined by more than 30% between 1966 and 2014.
If we want to hear that unique three-syllable sound each March in wetlands and neighborhoods, we may do well to remember that at one time 3 billion to 5 billion passenger pigeons, now extinct, lived on our continent, many of them nesting right here in Illinois.
Sheryl DeVore has worked as a full-time and freelance reporter, editor and photographer for the Chicago Tribune and its subsidiaries. She’s the author of several books on nature and the environment. Send story ideas and thoughts to sheryldevorewriter@gmail.com.
