Four-and-a-half billion years ago, when Earth was in its infancy, things were quite different for our planet. Earth was quite a bit smaller than it currently is and it was not alone. A second, smaller planet (named Theia) shared Earth’s orbit around the sun and this was something that Nature would not permit for long. The tugging and pulling of larger planets like Jupiter eventually disrupted the brief stability of this two-planet configuration and this ultimately led to a catastrophic resolution of the situation that brought the two smaller planets together.
The collision was a formative moment in Earth’s development. So much energy was involved that the outer surfaces of each planet were blown off into space. All of this debris would form a ring around the remaining mass and would eventually coalesce into the Moon; a feature that provided stability to the new, larger planet and would later cause the tides of the ocean that we know today. The collision also caused Earth’s axis to become permanently tilted, which is what causes the seasons to change.
Today, we are in the middle of one of these seasonal changes and its impact on our local bird life is astounding. Back on the morning of Sept. 26, there was a wave of migratory birds that lit up the nation’s weather radar system. Computers estimated that 1.22 billion birds filled the skies at midnight; the largest number that I have ever seen printed on the screen. Since then the number has lessened, but the nightly migration still includes hundreds of millions of birds. Big things are happening when most of us are asleep.
Birds that migrated north in spring so they could take advantage of the vast tracts of real-estate made available by summer’s warmth are now retreating before all of that land (and all of the food that it provided) are once again locked up in the icy grip of winter. I have seized upon the opportunity by putting myself out in nature so that I might watch the birds as they pass by, and it was by doing this, during the last weekend in September, that I happened to notice something wonderful.
The trees at the edge of my meadow were dripping with birds, but many of them were not migrants. Instead, I found myself in a situation where the majority of the little olive-green birds were actually baby American goldfinches. They zipped around in groups that were the epitome of disorganized, youthful exuberance; a riot of frenzied energy as they pestered their parents for food. But I have learned, by painful personal experience, that there is value in the constant scrutiny of the ordinary and mundane. Every once in the greatest of whiles, a baby goldfinch turns out to be something else altogether.
This is exactly what happened at 8:14 a.m. on one of the gorgeous sunny mornings that we have enjoyed. A goldfinch that wasn’t quite a goldfinch landed in the top of a tree right in front of me and I was fortunate to have the time to see it and bring my camera lens to bear upon it. I snapped as many photos as I could, but then the bird was gone; not to be seen again. Later scrutiny of the photos revealed that the bird in question was a pine warbler (Setophaga pinus). The time stamps on each photo showed that the bird had been visible to me for a mere 21 seconds. Had I been writing notes in my little notebook during that briefest of moments, I would most likely have been unaware that the bird had ever been present. Instead, I captured a photo and am now able to write about the species for the first time in 28 years.
Like so many of the migratory songbirds that come and go like a living tide upon our planet, the pine warbler has a life history that should sound somewhat familiar to regular readers of my column. In Massachusetts, the birds arrive in April and are most abundant through the middle of May as many head further north. The females build small, single-use cup nests that hold their eggs for 10 days and their chicks for an additional 10 days or so. It is actually not known if the birds only have one brood of offspring each summer, but in fairly short order the summer begins to fade and the birds will head back to the southeastern U.S.
As the species’ name suggests, the pine warbler is intricately connected with pine trees. They breed in pine forests, where they feed upon the myriad insects and spiders that can be found amongst the needles, but they are also unusually interested in pine seeds. This penchant for a vegetarian diet means that they are occasionally found munching on birdseed that humans provide on raised platform feeders. The majority of the pine warblers in our area will have disappeared by mid October, but the Massachusetts Audubon Society identifies the species as “very infrequent” during the winter. Some birds may linger through the winter.
So, there is a slight chance that you might see a pine warbler at any time of year if you simply set up a raised platform feeder and keep a steady supply of seed available. Assuming that you live in a place that is free of black bear interference during the winter, and if you are very fortunate, you may have your own personal experience of spotting a goldfinch that isn’t quite a goldfinch amongst the other birds. Just remember that such sightings may be fleeting. If you are fortunate, then it could be a productive use of 21 seconds of your life.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 28 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, the Nature Conservancy and the Massachusetts State Parks and he currently teaches high school biology and physics. For more information visit his website at www.speakingofnature.com, or go to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.