Arrival of Fox Sparrows and Hex of House Sparrows

A few grackles and red-winged blackbirds are back for spring, but they might decide to reverse course. Sometimes a little discretion is necessary when the weather turns on you as it has recently. Early arriving migrants are lost in a field of north Atlantic icebergs instead of safe in their home ports looking for a mate. They may think their ardor is unsinkable, but the captain of the Titanic thought that about his lady ship.

If you kept your feeder cleared and stocked during the storm, you probably hosted a migrant or two. In fact these birds do stay alive and afloat in most late winter storms. Even at ten degrees and with a half foot of snow covering the earth, the redwing sits in a tree as calm as you please, belting out his loud "ga-ga-reeee" song.

The entire composition of the sparrows at rural feeders has changed over the last two weeks. The juncos declined dramatically, probably many moving on farther north already. Two song sparrows were joined by 3-4 others just arrived from the south. The big surprise was the numbers of tree sparrows, swelling to almost thirty when there were only few birds previously. For them the supply of seeds in weedy open fields is probably running low. That also may explain the return of the goldfinches. In January there were only a handful at the thistle feeders, now they swarm in uncountable numbers.

The sparrows are the mainstay of any feeding program, but a sparrow in the country is not the same as a sparrow in the city or suburb. You have to be careful when you read about "sparrows." Do they mean the large family of native species, all of whom feed and nest near the ground in grasses and brush? Or do they mean the finch that was imported from Europe over a century ago, and now lives exclusively around human habitations?

The latter bird is called the house "sparrow" in North America, but is a member of the weaver finch family. Once termed the "English sparrow," it is present in packed flocks at almost every feeder everywhere. It is larger than most sparrows and more obvious, always feeding on the open ground or pavement and retiring to a thick bush or building only to chatter in raucous pandemonium. It weaves a loose, messy nest of grass and junk in a cavity to raise its young.

In contrast, all of the true sparrows are skulkers and accomplished singers. A new one at the feeder was the fat and fancy fox sparrow, a bird we see here only as it passes through on its way to and from Quebec and the mid-Atlantic states. It derives its name from the rusty red coloring around the head, which contrasts with gray swaths on the back of the neck and above the eye. The heavy streaks on the breast are also reddish, as is the tail. The best giveaway is its size, for it is the largest sparrow you will see, about as big as a cardinal.

The fox sparrow rarely spends the winter here, but it pushes north very early with the blackbirds. Watch for one at your feeder now through the beginning of April. They need to reach northern Quebec on time, so they can raise two broods. The first nest is built in a bush, since snow still covers the ground. The second nest is on the ground.

They are often gymnasts when they feed, able to perform the difficult double leg kick. When the ground is covered with leaves or other litter, they scratch with both feet at once, kicking backward and then recovering in the flash of an eye. They will do this over and over to expose new seeds for the picking.

If you are really fortunate, you may hear the lovely, haunting song of the fox sparrow. It is long and musical with clear notes and sliding whistles, a rare treat away from its breeding grounds in the spruce forests of the north. Just seeing one at my feeder makes me want to whistle a tune. It may be cold and snowy, but "second spring" is close. I can hardly wait.