The Summer Redbird

While the Northern Cardinal is the most familiar “redbird” in southeastern North America, the region hosts another rosy-plumaged songbird species that is also quite common, if somewhat more secretive: the Summer Tanager.  Catching a glimpse of one of these migratory birds may be difficult at times, but, if you learn to recognize their vocalizations, you may find them in a lot of places that you might not have expected.  The main call of this species is a dry pik-i-tuk-tuk, while the song is a slurred, throaty warble—smoother than the more separated phrases of the American Robin.  Because Summer Tanagers—and most tanager species, in general—tend to forage in the middle and upper branches of trees, seldom venturing close to the ground, the sounds that they make really are the most obvious signs of their presence in a given area.  Mixed forests, particularly pine-oak woods, are the preferred habitats for this species.

If you do manage to spot a Summer Tanager after hearing its song or call, it’s generally pretty easy to tell whether the bird is male or female.  Fully adult males have rose-red feathers all over.  Adult females are more variable, and can be anywhere from a slightly greenish yellow to an orange-yellow with hints of red.  

Adult male Summer Tanager

Female Summer Tanager

Notice that I said it’s generally pretty easy to tell the sexes apart.  Identification becomes slightly more complicated in the fall, when first-year males can have smatterings of red in their plumage or even an overall orangey appearance, just like female tanagers.  However, the young males usually have more red on the undertail coverts than the adult females do, so it’s sometimes possible to tell them apart.  Additionally, although some first-year female Summer Tanagers may look almost identical to some adult females, it’s more typical for them to be a bit drabber in color.  At any rate, studying the variety of tanager plumages during the autumn season can be an interesting project!  And, when spring rolls around and the tanagers return from their wintering grounds in Mexico, Central America, and the northern portion of South America, most of the young males will have plumage in a patchwork of red and yellow, as in the photos below.  It takes another year for their yellow feathers to be completely replaced with red. 

Preening immature male Summer Tanager

 

Immature male Summer Tanager

Summer Tanagers feed mainly on insects and fruit, and this is evident from the shape of their bills, which are stouter than those of exclusively insectivorous species, but slimmer than those of seed-eaters.  Actually, most people should probably be thrilled to have tanagers around, since the birds’ favorite insects to consume are bees, wasps, and hornets!  One of my earliest Summer Tanager sightings was of an adult male casually catching paper wasps high in a sweet gum tree in my backyard, and I’ve witnessed countless other tanager and hymenopteran interactions since then.  If there isn’t too much ambient noise, then you can sometimes even hear the *SNAP* of a tanager’s bill as it closes on the bee or wasp.  The tanager will then sometimes vigorously rub its prey against a tree branch before swallowing it whole and, later, regurgitating the tough, indigestible bits of insect exoskeleton.  Yep, hawks and owls aren’t the only birds to produce pellets; most species do.

I have never seen an active Summer Tanager nest—perhaps surprisingly, considering how interested I am in birds’ nesting habits.  However, monitoring a nest if I found one would probably not be too difficult, since tanagers prefer building on branches over open spaces and gaps in the woods.  There would be minimal vegetation in the way!  The usual number of eggs for the species is three to four, which are laid in a cup-shaped nest of grasses and leaves.  Females do the incubating, but both parents feed the young throughout the nestling stage and for at least a few weeks after the fledging.  Because Summer Tanagers are Neotropical migratory birds, developing survival skills during their first summer and autumn is crucial; after all, they don’t get any do-overs during that first grueling and hazardous journey to the wintering grounds.  If they make it back to the breeding grounds in the spring, then they can start to claim nesting territories for themselves, continuing the cycle.

Although summer is nearly over, there are still plenty of opportunities to see Summer Tanagers in their breeding range before they depart around mid-October.  Listen for the calls, watch for the wasp-catching behavior, observe the varied plumage patterns, and just enjoy the presence of our other “redbird.”

Source:

Robinson, W. D. (2020). Summer Tanager (Piranga rubra), version 1.0. In Birds of the World (A. F. Poole, Editor). Cornell Lab of Ornithology, Ithaca, NY, USA. https://doi.org/10.2173/bow.sumtan.01

The Blue-headed Vireo: A Winter Songbird

In only a short time, the woods will be filled with the color and song of newly-arrived migrants: warblers, gnatcatchers, tanagers, and vireos, among others.  The Yellow-throated Vireo is one of our earliest migrants, and Red-eyed and White-eyed Vireos are some of the most numerous spring and summer forest birds, but even in the late days of winter there is a species of vireo living secretively in woods of the Southeast: the Blue-headed Vireo.

Blue-headed Vireos are hardy winter residents in the southern states.  They can be found in both upland and lowland habitats, in mixed or coniferous forests, where they feed on insects gleaned from bark, and also a few small fruits.  Like most vireos, they have a loud, scolding call, and their song is a series of short, whistled phrases.  Although they are usually silent in the winter, on warm days they can sometimes be heard singing.

The Blue-headed Vireo was originally grouped with two other species, the Plumbeous and Cassin’s Vireos—both of which occur in western North America—as one species, the Solitary Vireo.  It may be not be used anymore, but this name is still descriptive; outside of the breeding season, Blue-headed Vireos are rarely seen with other members of their species, preferring instead to forage with chickadees, titmice, warblers, and kinglets.  In fact, one of the best ways to locate one is to search through these flocks of small, jittery songbirds, until the slower, more deliberate movements of this reclusive bird catch your eye.

Once you find a Blue-headed Vireo, take the time to appreciate the colors of its plumage.  The namesake bluish-gray head contrasts with the bold white “spectacle” marks around the bird’s eyes.  The back is bright olive, and the wings have prominent yellowish wing bars.  The underparts are white, with yellow flanks.  The heavy, slightly hooked bill is very different from the thin, almost straight bills of the warblers and kinglets that the vireo feeds with.

This songbird arrives for the winter in October and departs for more northerly regions in mid-April.  Be sure to get out into the field to spot the colorful Blue-headed Vireo and other wintering songbirds!

Winter Frogwatching

If you live in the southeastern U.S., you’re probably used to the discrepancy between the timing of the seasonal changes that you observe and the "official" dates on your calendar.  During the winter, temperatures often climb to the 80s; brightly-colored flowers dot the lawns; resident birds start to seek out nesting territories in the woods and fields; and snakes, turtles, and (in some areas) alligators begin to stir in lakes and ponds.  Breeding frogs, taking advantage of the rain and the warmer temperatures, also put in appearances during this period.  While many frog species in the southeastern states hibernate through the winter and are not active until March or April, a few are commonly heard calling before the trees leaf out.  If you live in Mississippi, the species that you are most likely to encounter during the winter are chorus frogs, members of the Pseudacris genus.

The spring peeper (Pseudacris crucifer) is probably the most abundant of these “winter” chorus frogs.  I would venture to say that most people in the southeast are very familiar with the piping call of this tiny amphibian, but for those who aren’t (or those who would like a refresher), the U.S. Geological Survey has a recording.  From around late January to early April in Mississippi, you might hear this distinctive call in almost any wooded habitat near water.  Spring peepers spend much of their time in dense vegetation near the ground, so they are difficult to see—beneficial for them, but a pity for us, because they have very pretty, if subtle, patterns: dark brown leg stripes and a dark-brown x-shaped marking on a lighter brown background.  The camouflaging coloration and retiring habits are useful predator-evasion adaptations.

A close relative of the spring peeper, the upland chorus frog (Pseudacris feriarum) is fairly common in winter.  Despite their name, upland chorus frogs can be found in both lowland and upland habitats.  I would suggest listening for them in areas that are more open than the typical spring peeper habitat; old pastureland, fields, and meadows near sources of water are good places to check.  The trilling call of the upland chorus frog somewhat resembles the sound made when you run your thumb over the teeth of a metal comb.  In Mississippi, I have heard this species as early as the middle of December, and it may breed until April.  Like spring peepers, upland chorus frogs are secretive and extremely hard to spot.  One of their diagnostic field marks is a pale stripe above the upper lip, just below the dark stripe that extends behind the eye.  

Upland chorus frog - mixed-media painting

It’s worth pointing out that, in recent years, the range limits of the upland chorus frog and the very similar Cajun chorus frog (Pseudacris fouquettei) have been reevaluated.  Both species are found in Mississippi, but it’s likely that the Cajun chorus frog is restricted to the western portion of the state, while the upland chorus frog occurs farther east.  The call of the Cajun chorus frog is slightly slower than that of the upland.  

Happy listening!


Sources

The IUCN Red List of Threatened Species, http://www.iucnredlist.org/
USGS Frog Quiz, https://www.pwrc.usgs.gov/frogquiz/index.cfm?fuseaction=main.lookup

Midwinter Ramblings

This piece details some Noxubee County, Mississippi observations that I made many years ago.  Enjoy!

As is the case with any human activity, there are days when birdwatching reaps huge “benefits” for participants…you know, those days when something truly out-of-the-ordinary steals your attention and causes an immense adrenaline rush.  What constitutes an out-of-the-ordinary avian encounter is different for every person, but it always involves birds that are beautiful, graceful, especially fascinating, or rare—in other words, unusual.  Memorable occurrences such as an out-of-range species that provides a first record for a state or country, a trip to a wetland where thousands of waterfowl are congregating, stormy weather in spring bringing astonishing numbers of colorful neotropical migrant songbirds to a tiny patch of woods, and of course seeing a life bird all involve a feeling of intense concentration, combined with that welcome surge of adrenaline.

It’s a mild day in January.  For birders, midwinter days—as well as those of midsummer—seldom bring the intense excitement and anticipation that characterize other times of year, but this doesn’t concern me.  As I head out the back door, I notice the slight breeze and the freshness of the air; a cold front that moved in last night after the violent storms has left the temperature hovering at about 50 degrees Fahrenheit—although certainly not cold, it is cool enough for a light jacket, and chillier than it has been for a number of weeks.  The white airbrush streaks of airplane contrails mark an otherwise clear, azure sky—a far cry from the brooding grayness, rolling clouds, and fierce wind, rain and hail of yesterday.  I had originally figured that the conditions yesterday might have caused some birds to be more active today, but as I stand in the back yard, listening and watching, it crosses my mind that this will likely be one of the slower days of birding—in other words, an “ordinary” day.

Some of the first bird sounds to reach my ears are from the “regulars”—chickadees, titmice, and Carolina Wrens calling in the woods some distance away.  I walk across the soggy, gray lawn to the thicket behind the old outbuilding.  This thicket was mostly cleared out several years ago, but since then it has been allowed to grow into an impenetrable mass of tangled vegetation, the haunt of nesting Carolina Wrens, Northern Cardinals, and Brown Thrashers in summer.  Lush and green during that time of year, now the intertwined grasses, saplings, and vines are bare, gray, and brambly.  As I look closer, though, I notice that a few plants still have some green vegetation, and last year’s dry leaves dangle from the branches of some of the sapling oaks. 

A brief, scratchy call note, evoking the sound of a mechanical toy being wound, sounds from the upper branches of a large pecan tree in the thicket.  Oh, a Ruby-crowned Kinglet.  As I watch, the tiny bird flutters up to pluck small white berries from clusters growing near the pecan tree—poison ivy berries.  I follow these berry-laden branches with my binoculars, and with a sense of fascination mixed with horror, I find that the poison ivy has grown in the form of a large shrub, rather than the vines that I commonly see.  Its thick, hairy trunk leans against the old pecan tree.  Whoa.  I step away from the thicket and look at the sky, hoping to see a hawk or two.  As it turns out, one of the neighborhood Red-tailed Hawks is soaring overhead, the sun shining through the rust-red feathers of its rectrices—an unexpectedly beautiful sight.

Red-tailed Hawk

I walk down the slope of our backyard to the pond, and from there I go to the marshy ditch on the southeast side.  The “marsh” itself is home to willows, cattails, and various types of grasses, while pines and brushy woods grow on the northeast side of the pond.  White-throated Sparrows flush up in bunches in front of me and land in the woodland cover several feet away, exchanging sharp peek! calls.  They are most likely alarmed by the presence of this strange, flightless intruder.  If I’m careful, I can creep into the woods to look at these large sparrows, which are plumaged in subdued, yet striking, gray, brown, white, and yellow feathers.  Sure enough, I spot some of them as they dart in and out of the shrubbery.  A single, dry check note fills me in on the whereabouts of a Yellow-rumped Warbler, perhaps calling to its associates that are also somewhere in the woods, hidden from view.  

White-throated Sparrow

The churr churr call of a Red-bellied Woodpecker sounds faintly off in the forest.  I wonder where it is, exactly; most of the time, I see these woodpeckers close by in the yard, foraging in the old pecan and walnut trees.  Of course, this might not be one of the individuals that I see in our yard, but it easily could be—I’m sure that their territory includes much more than the few acres that comprise our property.  Barely detectable over the sound of the woodpecker are the little chipping calls of Pine Warblers moving through the pine thicket some distance away.  Pine Warblers tend to travel in small groups, and are seldom seen far from pine trees.  These warblers are too far away to locate at the moment, so I turn my attention to other things.  A small creek runs through these woods—barely a creek, actually… it appears more like a shallow ditch, filled with runoff from yesterday’s rain.  Just the fact that there is a depression, though, makes me think that the stream of water must run through here most of the time.  Both sides of the creek are lined with dense privet bushes, laden with clumps of small, bruise-colored berries.  Many naturalists hate privet with a passion; the invasive shrub is spread around in bird droppings, choking out native vegetation wherever it sprouts.  Although I’m not thrilled to see it here, the White-throated Sparrows darting in and out of its luxuriant growth seem to have quite a different opinion.

Red-bellied Woodpecker

It’s been several minutes now since I entered these woods, and I’m considering walking back out of them soon.  But wait—what is that little insect flying near the ground?  Looking closer, I see that it is a blue bottle fly.  It seems a little incongruous for one of these usually warm-weather insects to be out today—the 50-degree temperature surely takes a toll on its fragile metabolism. Not surprisingly, the fly buzzes around feebly before settling down on a dried stalk of grass.  A band of Blue Jays suddenly flies in, one of them giving a near-perfect imitation of a Red-tailed Hawk’s scream.   Then, just as abruptly as they arrived, the jays disperse into the woods.

Blue Jay

The White-throated Sparrows are starting to return to the territories from which I initially disturbed them.  They are settling in for the evening.  The sun will set soon, and it seems like a good time to turn in, so I head back to the house.  On the way, I stop to admire the faint pastel colors just beginning to appear in the sky.  It’s a nice ending to this midwinter day in the field, and a reminder that not all exciting birding experiences must be intense.  In fact, I wonder if an unending stream of amazing, adrenaline-pumping experiences would just tend to blend together, as the “ordinary” days do.  On the other hand, as self-proclaimed naturalists, finding something to enjoy in every outing should be one of our biggest priorities—and it’s rarely a difficult task to discover something worth watching in nature’s fascinating show.

Invasive Trees, Shrubs, and Vines

This is a consolidation of two of my earlier posts about invasive plants in the southeastern United States.  Invasives are simply nonnative species that cause significant harm to ecosystems.  Not all nonnative plants are invasive, but the invasives are very likely to be the ones that you notice on a daily basis!  Because the list of exotic plant species present in Mississippi alone (from this site: https://www.se-eppc.org/mississippi/) is lengthy and still increasing, I thought it made sense to focus on the invasive trees, shrubs, and vines that I commonly see in my part of the state.

Let’s start with trees.  A couple of quick definitions: although there are some exceptions, the general rule is that trees have a single woody stem or trunk, while shrubs have multiple woody stems/trunks.  Most of the trees that I regularly observe are native to my area, but, every so often, I will come across an invasive species or two—especially near urban settings.  Some commonly-seen cultivated plants, such as the ginkgo (an ancient, living fossil species that was wiped out across much of its range during the Pleistocene Ice Age) are basically innocuous, but others, such as the Bradford pear, can cause extensive damage to native ecosystems.  The Bradford pear is actually a cultivar of the species Pyrus calleryana, the Callery pear, which the United States Department of Agriculture introduced from Asia to the United States in 1916 to combat blight in the common pear, Pyrus communis.  (Obviously, common pears, along with other species that are used for food, largely benefit humans, so no one is suggesting that they should not be grown.)  Bradford pears are incapable of reproducing with other Bradford pears, but (as any fan of Jurassic Park would likely guess) this doesn’t stop them from proliferating; they just do it by cross pollinating with other calleryana cultivars, spreading this invasive species far and wide.  

One of several Callery/Bradford pears in the neighborhood.  Actually, this looks like it might be a "colony" instead of just one tree.

Chinese tallowtree, or popcorntree, is another common invasive.  Introduced to the U.S. in the 1700s, it is known for the waxy compounds found in its seeds, which have been used for candle- and soap-making.  Because the plants are toxic, few animals will eat them, so there is next to no biological control of their populations.  The USDA states that eradication is “virtually impossible,“ that the trees may begin reproducing at the age of only three years, and that they can continue breeding for 100 years– all of which make this species a particularly bad choice for North American naturescaping.  Don't grow it here!

The tallowtree tends to have a nice shape, which explains why it's so frequently planted.

Tallowtrees have heart-shaped leaves.  The seeds, which aren't in this summer photo, resemble popcorn.

In one sense, shrubs may be the stumpy cousins of trees, but their lushness more than compensates for that.  Along with tree saplings, shrubs comprise the understory layers in forest ecosystems.  However, invasive species, such as privet, don't always need to grow within wooded areas; they frequently thrive wherever their seeds have been dropped.  While several introduced privet species range across North America, the most common in the mid-southeastern region is Chinese privet.  There seems to be some conflicting information regarding when, exactly, Chinese privet was introduced to the United States—some sources say 1852, while others, including the previous link, say 1952.  The latter date might have been a typo, since the 1852 date shows up in sources such as the websites for the USDA, the University of Florida’s Center for Aquatic and Invasive Plants, and the Texas Invasive Species Institute.   

Chinese privet in the summer.

Privet leaves and unripe fruits.

At any rate, Chinese privet has become well established outside of its native range—so much that United States and regional noxious plant legislation isn’t even concerned with it and other privet species.  Eradicating privet from the U.S. is basically a lost cause.  Its fruits are eagerly consumed and widely spread by birds and other animals; it possesses tough, hardy, evergreen foliage; it forms extremely dense thickets; and, if cut, it regenerates quickly from its extensive underground root systems.  Several privet hedges in the neighborhood where I live have been cut before, but that didn't stop them from coming back with a vengeance.

  

A mockingbird and privet, photographed in Arkansas in 2013.  Birds are attracted to privet berries.

I have written about two bird nests—White-eyed Vireo and Northern Cardinal—that I observed in a thorny olive (or thorny elaeagnus) near the house.  The upper branches of thorny olives grow long and snake-like for the purpose of clinging to whatever is directly above them.  While this species—introduced in 1830 from Asia—lags behind privet in terms of invasiveness, it’s still a problem in many areas, forming spiky, impenetrable barriers.  There are a number of methods used to control thorny olives, but most of them are not particularly effective.  Essentially, even though the thorny olive does provide a certain amount of seclusion and protection for birds during the nesting season, there are much better options that don’t choke out all other vegetation in the ecosystem!

Long "tendrils" on the thorny olive.

The undersides of the thorny olive's leaves have silvery scales and sparse, tiny brown spots.

Another invasive shrub that can dramatically transform its environment is the multiflora rose (Rosa multiflora), a sometimes vinelike plant that was introduced from Asia to the U.S. in the 1860s.  Like kudzu, it was widely used for erosion control, and it also shares the ability to form impenetrable thickets.  Its thorny stems can attain heights of 10 to 15 feet, and it has attractive flowers that have five white petals with blunt or slightly indented tips.  Herbicides are effective at controlling multiflora rose, but follow-up treatments must be consistently applied to prevent germination of seeds, which can lie dormant, ready to sprout at any time, for up to 20 years in the soil.  

Multiflora rose flowers

We've looked at trees and shrubs, but what about vines?  One of the most out-of-control vines in the southeastern U.S. is so abundant that it has even had festivals created around it.  Kudzu (Pueraria montana) is a leafy, purple-flowered vine in the legume family.  Although it was originally imported to the U.S. (from Japan in 1876) as an ornamental, and was used for erosion control in the early 20th century, it has since become a noxious weed, infamous for covering entire landscapes and choking out native vegetation.  In ideal circumstances, it can grow up to a foot a day.  Controlling kudzu is difficult partly because of the stolons (or runners) that it produces, as well as rhizomes, or underground stems that produce roots and shoots; uprooting the plant so that it's incapable of forming new growth is next to impossible.  Herbicides can work if there is enough product to treat the many acres of ground that kudzu frequently smothers.

Kudzu creates odd, alien-looking landscapes.

Interestingly, one of the natural predators, the kudzu bug, was accidentally introduced into the U.S., with the first individuals recorded in Georgia in 2009.  However, because the kudzu bug tends to cause more damage to soybean crops than it does to kudzu, it can't be relied on as a biological control method.

Joining kudzu on the list of invasive vine species are two of the most widespread introduced legumes: Chinese and Japanese wisteria (Wisteria sinensis and W. floribunda, respectively).  Because these species can and do hybridize in the wild (rather like the red and black imported fire ant species), identification is often difficult.  Both species have long, compound leaves and clusters of purple or white flowers.  Given the toxicity of wisteria's fruits, native wildlife species are almost certainly not helping these plants to spread.  Instead, wisteria's quick growth and tendency to strangle and shade out native vegetation provide the explanation for its range expansion after its introduction to the U.S. in the early 19th century (1816 for Chinese wisteria, and about 1830 for the Japanese wisteria).  According to the Mississippi State University Extension Service, wisteria control is extremely difficult.

Wisteria flowers

Wisteria growing over another invasive: privet.

Another fairly horrifying invasive climbing plant is Japanese honeysuckle (Lonicera japonica).  Like all of the plants discussed thus far, Japanese honeysuckle was imported (in 1806) as an ornamental.  It has attractive and fragrant blossoms, and many people have fond childhood memories of sucking the nectar from these blooms.  Like wisteria, however, Japanese honeysuckle's thick, woody stems quickly strangle native vegetation—and, as with kudzu, biological control doesn't work.  In fact, there is no available biological control for Japanese honeysuckle.

Japanese honeysuckle flowers

Because of the limited ecological benefits and the difficulty of controlling Japanese honeysuckle, the Mississippi Forestry Commission recommends planting several native vines, instead—including crossvine, coral honeysuckle, and Virginia creeper.  That site and others, such as the Mississippi State University Extension Service, are well worth perusing for detailed information about native trees, shrubs, vines, and herbaceous plants.

In general, all of the introduced trees, shrubs, and vines described in this post flourish in their new environments due, in part, to a lack of herbivory by insects.  Native insect species didn't evolve with these plants, so they generally lack the ability to effectively utilize them.  Many studies have shown that insect communities tend to decline in the presence of nonnative plants.  A paper written by Berghardt et al. (2010) and published in the scientific journal Ecosphere (https://esajournals.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/pdf/10.1890/ES10-00032.1) describes how Lepidopteran (that is, butterfly and moth) communities showed both lower population sizes and less species diversity on nonnative plants than on native ones.  Given the fact that many songbird species rely on caterpillars as a food source for their nestlings, the results of this study should definitely ring some alarm bells.  Fewer caterpillars mean less leaf damage, but also impoverished ecosystems.