Blackbirds, Just Passing By

Of course, I must write about the falling blackbirds.  The event has put Arkansas on the map and on the tongues of people who may have only uttered the name of the state when asking the question, "Why isn't it pronounced "Ar-KANSAS?"  When Drew and I were in New York City this week, we were asked more questions about the dead fish and birds than about the Clintons and Razorbacks, subjects which most people seem to associate with the state. (With limited knowledge of more states than I care to admit, I totally understand this, especially with places like Wisconsin where my only association is with the "Wisconsin Cheeseman.")

Our news of the birds reached us via Moscow (yes, Russia) on New Year's Day morning.  Drew's administrative assistant, Zhenya Ivanova, at the Anglo American School of Moscow emailed, "Are you in the part of Arkansas where birds are falling from the sky?"

"What birds?  What sky?"  I asked.

We quickly googled "birds falling Arkansas" and found the tragic story.  Thousands of blackbirds, some reports up to 5000, had showered down the night before upon Beebe, a town roughly 45 miles east of our house, a short distance for birds, especially on a slow traffic day.  I started to wonder. . . 

"Were those the same birds that perched in our trees yesterday afternoon?"

                                                    Artist: Edward Lear (1818 - 1888)

                                                           Public domain

I had been in our upstairs bedroom folding clothes when I heard sudden chattering, like scores of  neighbors from miles around were conversing at the base of our driveway.  The only thing I could vaguely imagine was that they had heard about Drew's delicious homemade eggnog and were rushing to grab a cup before it was all gone.  The high-pitched sound grew louder by the second.  I dashed to the window in time to see the bare, gray branches of the hundred or so oaks in our front yard turning black. Birds, black birds, thousands of them, stopping for a rest.  I ran downstairs and told Drew, "You've got to see this!  Look outside.  I've never seen so many birds!"

With places to go and people to see, the noisy congregation was gone in less than two minutes, and we were left in the silence of the setting sun.  Did they move on to a tempting field for a foray of pecking then practice their synchronized flying stunts before heading towards Beebe hours later?  Or was this a flock of distant cousins lucky enough to fly in the opposite direction from the exploding fireworks, to which scientists are attributing the deaths?

Red-wing blackbirds ranked high in the casualty count.  They are one of my favorite birds, with the males concealing a smudge of red among their wing feathers, which pops out like a surprise as they take flight or aim to charm a female onlooker.  On warmer days, when they hang out alone rather than with a thousand or so friends, I often see one sunning on a fence post during my morning walk.  

                                   Source: Alan D. Wilson, www.naturespicsonline.com

                                                                                          

I am saddened by the death of so many.  I will welcome the next one I see with much joy.