This year couldn’t really be much different than 2016. Last year, we found ourselves in the middle of the strongest El Nino on record. The winter was mild, there really wasn’t much in the way of snow and the summer saw long periods of warm weather, unbroken by any hint of rain. Huge portions of New England found themselves in drought conditions, and I actually found myself mildly concerned that the well from which I draw my household water might fail.
This year we had snow aplenty, a fact that I now lament because the school year has been extended out an extra week. We transitioned from a very snowy winter to a very rainy spring, and I find my lamentation shifting from extended schedules to extending blades of grass in my lawn.
Mother’s Day weekend didn’t help — it required that I neglected my grounds-keeping duties — and if I don’t get out there soon, I fear that I will unintentionally be providing prime tiger habitat behind the house. Actually, if the tigers would eat the woodchucks that might be a good idea.
Anyway, the drought conditions have passed, the landscape is lush and green, and the frogs and toads that suffered last year are thriving in this wet Carboniferous-esque world — things seem to have happily returned to normal. That being said, I am continuously amazed and surprised about how the natural world seems to find new and wonderful treasures to offer up from time to time. This year, I am the recipient of one particularly lovely gift.
The eastern towhee (Pipilo erythrophthalmus) is a denizen of thickets, brush and hedges. Growing up in South Amherst — in a yard surrounded by mature forest — I had never even heard of such a bird. Instead, like many people, I became familiar with the more reliable group of birds that frequented bird feeders in a forest habitat. Chickadees, titmice, cardinals, blue jays, goldfinches and the various woodpeckers were the birds I knew as a boy. To expand my horizons, I had to move.
This happened when I entered graduate school. I rented a house on Taylor Hill Road in Montague. The house was positioned at the edge of a very large field, and suddenly I found myself living amongst bluebirds and tree swallows. There was still no mention of towhees in any of the journals I kept, but I know for sure that I started to become aware of the species in 1998, when I worked at the Notch Visitor Center of the Holyoke Range State Park in Amherst.
It wasn’t until I moved into my current home, however, that I really found myself living amongst the towhees. My back yard is an old farm field that has been slowly growing back to forest, and the patchwork of brush and tall grasses seems to be exactly what towhees adore. When I first moved in the house, it had no trees or bushes growing next to it, but years later the area around my deck has filled in with cottonwood trees and lilac bushes. This has clearly made the area more attractive to birds, because they now have the security of shelter close by.
The conditions are perfect for towhees, but wonderful as things are, you still have to get lucky. Nature has to send you a towhee that is perhaps a little bolder and friendlier than most, if you are to actually see one. That appears to be what has happened this spring.
More than once, I have seen a splendid male towhee up on the deck with the chickadees, cardinals and sparrows. The pictures I share with you today were taken at a range of about 15 feet. There is little chance that I could ever get that close to a towhee if I was outside, because towhees seem to be rather shy, skulky birds in the presence of humans. Towhees are somewhat like cardinals in that regard.
From the concealed location of my writing table next to the kitchen window, I snapped a few photos of the towhee’s most recent visit. The two photos show all the features you would need to identify a towhee by sight. The male has flanks that are painted with the most luxurious caramel-brown feathers. When I first learned of the towhee, it was called the rufous-sided towhee — and you can clearly see why. The male also has bright red eyes and a surprisingly long tail. A female has the same pattern to her markings, but the black feathers are replaced with a light chocolate-brown.
Chances are that you will hear a towhee easier than you will see one. Fortunately, the towhee has a song that is easily transferred into English words with the same syllable count. If ever you hear a bird song that sounds like someone is saying, “drink your tea,” then you’ve got yourself a towhee. The inflection of the “drink” note is upward. The inflection of the “your” note comes down and the “tea” note rises again and is often stretched out and warbled a little.
I’ll post a link on my website to a site that has great examples of bird songs so you can hear it for yourself. With any luck, you’ll realize that you’ve been hearing towhee songs all along, without realizing what they were. Good luck!
Bill Danielson has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, and the Massachusetts State Parks. He has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 19 years and he also teaches high school biology and physics. Visit www.speakingofnature.com for more information, or go to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.