Backyard impressionists are sounding their song
It’s the sound of joy and the sound of territoriality.
This time of year, a northern mockingbird’s thoughts turn toward
spreading a little DNA around, and the result is a concert that
threatens never to end.
Backyard impressionists are sounding their song
It’s the sound of joy and the sound of territoriality.
This time of year, a northern mockingbird’s thoughts turn toward spreading a little DNA around, and the result is a concert that threatens never to end.
Mockingbirds are ubiquitous in suburban gardens.
Gangly birds with showy white patches on each wing, they perch conspicuously and sing for hours at a time.
Sunset means nothing. While other birds tuck themselves into sheltered niches, mockingbirds often crank up the tunes all night long.
When I was a boy, a handful of mockingbirds claimed a spot near a cabin in Capitola where we vacationed. Their song-of-choice was a faithful rendition of a frog’s croaking. And it went on. All. Night. Long.
I loved it. When you’re 8, you can sleep through anything. But the bleary-eyed adults in our clan plotted diabolical fates for the birds-turned-amphibians that robbed them of their peace.
A mockingbird in our neighborhood returns each year, voicing a very credible imitation of a red-tailed hawk’s call.
Why would a small, relatively defenseless bird perch out in the open, shouting to the heavens and attracting the attention of predators?
Sex.
Mockingbirds are members of the genus Mimidae – that’s PhD for mimics. The songs they sing perform two functions. They define a bird’s home patch and advertise the availability of mating opportunities.
If you remember when you were a teenager, you certainly understand why they’ll sing day and night in pursuit of fulfilling their lust.
Researchers believe that female mockingbirds make mate selection largely based on the variety of their repertoires.
That may seem a bit rash, but on further consideration it makes sense.
Mockingbirds pick up their songs the way we do, by hearing and repeating them. Over time a bird collects a larger number of songs and imitations.
Thus, the birds that have successfully dodged cats and cars and managed to feed themselves the longest usually have the thickest songbooks.
Simply put, survival success = lots of songs.
That’s the bird you want as a daddy for your clutch of eggs.
They’re so omnipresent in our gardens that it’s easy to take mockingbirds for granted. But it wasn’t always so.
Until the second decade of the 20th Century, there were no mockingbirds in our area. Curiously enough, the northern mockingbird was found only in the southern deserts in California.
It is our gardening practice that opened the gate for mockingbirds’ expansion. They favor the broken habitat that we favor. Our landscaping also offers feeding opportunities galore.
On damp spring mornings, the snails begin to frolic in our garden. Rather than annihilating them under the Ax Handle of Death that’s reserved for the purpose, I chuck them into the street, where mockingbirds eager to feed their hungry young promptly snatch them and return to the nest.
Mockingbirds are our most visible mimics, but not the only ones. Venture out into shrubby spots, and you are likely to hear a similar riot of birdsong, perhaps a bit throatier and more repetitious.
That would be the California thrasher, a native to the area. This mostly brown bird with a sickle-shaped bill displays the same rash behavior, conspicuously perching while singing through the spring, summer and deep into the fall.
But thrashers never made the trip into our backyards. The only one I’ve ever seen in Hollister was perched on a fence at Park Hill.
Mockingbirds, however, are more than comfortable in the company of people, occupying our gardens, stealing our pets’ kibble and proclaiming to all the world that they’ve arrived.
