Music and Cats

Each Tuesday morning, I drive into a suburban office park at the north end of the Mercer Slough, Lake Washington’s largest wetland tributary. Small office buildings are scattered across several acres; narrow driveways meander through the landscape, bridging waterways and curving around clusters of trees. Where the asphalt of each parking lot ends, the swamp begins. As egregious destruction of natural habitat goes, it’s a lovely place. I follow a winding path to one particular building, and park at the edge of a large stand of cattails.

If the traffic has been bad, I have no time to spare; I’m out of my car and into my therapist’s office as soon as I arrive. But when the local traffic goddess smiles on me, I have a few minutes to sit quietly, and breathe, and notice the turning of the seasons on this particular bit of swampy ground. Recently, I’ve been enjoying the signs of spring appearing among the cattails.

Several weeks ago, I spotted a handsome red-winged blackbird clinging to a swaying cattail at one side of the marsh. All alone, he sang aw-ka-leee aw-ka-lee to a brooding February sky. A moment later, a second blackbird lit on a tree branch across the way, and he, too, began to sing. Where was the audience whom these elegant fellows were serenading? Nowhere to be seen. Male blackbirds begin claiming territory weeks before the females arrive to choose a mate and begin nesting. Just last week, I noticed a couple of birds who were clearly the object of the redwings’ attentions — and my feminist feathers were ruffled.

You may either bear with me while I engage in a bit of a screed, or you may skip to the next paragraph. Until this spring, I had never seen a female red-winged blackbird, or if I had, I did not recognize her as such. The female of this species is neither red-winged nor black. Rather, she has lovely brown and cream mottled feathers - the better to hide in cattail marshes - with a pale golden patch on her throat. I have no problem with sexual dimorphism; for some of us, la difference helps make the world go happily ’round. And this dichromatism is certainly adaptive. But why name the species red-winged blackbird when only half of the population fits that description? Birds have been named for the sound of their call, their habitat, or their characteristic movements. This is clearly a case of the female being given the male’s name. *sigh* The domination of the patriarchy extends to the naming of a bird… at least its common English name. Perhaps I’ll start calling them by their Latin name, Agelaius phoeniceus.

OK, where were we? Oh, yes, the females arrived, and joined the males among the cattails and marsh grasses. While I have not been able to spot any nests, nor seen any overt courting, I assume that the birds have been doing that for which they and the bees are famous.

This past Tuesday, I left early for my appointment, grabbing my camera as I walked out the door. The traffic was light, so I had 15 minutes to photograph - and watch - the birds. I had not seen more than two males at once in this patch of cattails, but I learned Tuesday that there are quite a few more. While I did not notice the predator that flew into the stand, I could not miss the half-dozen or so blackbirds, red shoulder patches flashing , that swarmed around the intruder, chased him up and away from the stand, and then disappeared again, red patches cloaked, into the trees and grasses.

A few moments later, I caught this fellow flashing his colors.

And Miss Agelaius flew up into the sunshine and began to sing.

When the little bluebird
Who has never said a word
Starts to sing Spring
When the little bluebell
At the bottom of the dell
Starts to ring Ding dong Ding dong
When the little blue clerk
In the middle of his work
Starts a tune to the moon up above
It is nature that is all
Simply telling us to fall in love

And that’s why birds do it, bees do it
Even educated fleas do it
Let’s do it, let’s fall in love

– Cole Porter

I’m sending this pair over to the Friday Ark. Please don’t tell the McKittens that I’m writing about birds.

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