In 1990, the Voyager 1 probe, launched from Earth 13 years before, turned its attention back to the point of its origin. From a distance of 3.7 billion miles, the camera of Voyager 1 took a photo, and when the image was analyzed, the astronomers were able to determine that one “pale blue dot” was all that was visible of our planet. Carl Sagan said, “Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us.”
Back on Earth, in the year 2026, one member of the 8.3 billion human population was sitting at the edge of a wet meadow in an insignificant little cranny of the landscape. He had a camera with him and he was looking out over the tall grasses, and peering into the dogwoods, trees and other plants of the undergrowth in search of any sign that an especially interesting bird might be lurking about. He also had a digital field recorder so that he could collect the sounds of the meadow. This, he thought, might be something that someone might like to listen to.
As he was happily engaged in recording light with a digital camera and recording sound with a digital recorder, he was also a little worried that he was too distracted. So many notes needed to be taken if anything was going to make any sense. So, he turned off the various devices, lifted up his head, and allowed himself permission to simply enjoy being present in the moment. It was then, straight ahead of him, that he saw a dark blue dot in the grasses of the meadow.
Ordinarily, this color might have been pooh-poohed as just another baby blue jay. There were at least five of them in the meadow and they were all learning to sit patiently and wait for peanuts to be tossed out into the short grass of the path. But, if this was a baby blue jay, this particular speck of blue was in a very peculiar place. Jays, after all, don’t go into the meadow at all. They fly over it.
So, up came the recently deactivated camera and a tricky game of “focus on the dot” began. The bird was in tall grass and it was observed through a screen made of the leaves of a silky dogwood. There was a small opening sort of like a keyhole through the leaves that allowed the only view. Autofocus couldn’t make heads or tails out of the situation, so manual focus had to be engaged. Zoom out to acquire the target, focus, zoom in, focus again, and … holy catfish … a male indigo bunting!
The indigo bunting (Passerina cyanea) is one of the most gorgeous local birds and it is one that I would characterize as a “trophy bird.” This is basically because of the astounding plumage of the adult male, which is literally a dark indigo with splashes of violet and paler blues. In contrast, the adult female is a solid coffee-brown. The only hint that she too is one of these trophy birds is the coloration of her beak. In both sexes, the upper beak (the maxilla) is a dark graphite gray, while the lower beak (the mandible) is a bone white.
These birds are quite common in our area, but seeing one is a rare and wonderful thing (hence the trophy). Another bird of equal beauty is the male scarlet tanager, with a red so bright that you can hardly believe it. It is astonishing how both of these species can hide from human eyes so easily. Like most other Neotropical migrants, the indigo bunting is a seasonal visitor with an extremely familiar life history.
Arriving in our area as early as mid April, the indigo bunting becomes most prominent in May and June. Males set up territories in brushy and weedy areas at the edges of forests. Females will seek out hidden spots in the thick vegetation where she will build a fairly typical cup nest of the migrant passerine. For the foundation she will use dried grass, dead leaves, bark strips and even the occasional snakeskin. Then, for the inner cup, she will use finer grasses, plant down, feathers and hair. The nest is usually less than three feet off the ground in a fork of a tree or shrub.
Into this nest she will lay three to four eggs that can vary in color from a pure white to a very pale bluish-white. After the final egg is laid, the female alone will incubate them for about two weeks. After the chicks hatch, the male will do his part to keep them fed, but only the female will brood the chicks. In another 10 days, if all has gone to plan, the chicks will fledge from the nest and the successful pair may attempt a second nest. If this happens, the female will say, “tag, you’re it” to the male, who will take responsibility for their offspring while she commences with the next nest.
In July and August, the indigo bunting is described as “uncommon,” but their numbers swell in September as the birds begin their southward migration. They need to leave before all of their insect prey is wiped out by freezing weather, and they have a long way to go. Birds from Massachusetts may end up in the Caribbean, or anywhere in Central America. A few may even go as far as coastal Colombia and Venezuela. A trip of about 2,200 miles that is made by birds as young as 2 to 3 months old is absolutely astounding.
We are now heading into the part of September when the birds will be the most abundant and obvious in our area. Their song is a series of four to five notes that always come in pairs. The big challenge is picking out their particular voices when house finches and American goldfinches make so much more noise of a very similar quality. That being said, it is well worth the time if you are somehow able to catch sight of the iridescent blue of a male indigo bunting on a sunny day. Give it a try.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 29 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 www.speakingofnature.com, Speaking of Nature on Facebook, or the Speaking of Nature Podcast.