Over the past week there have been a couple enquiries sent my way that asked the same seasonal question: "Where are all the birds?"
Seems that a few folks have noticed an overall quietness from the backyard shrubbery. However, I think we can relax as it's a normal phenomenon.
As for the quietness of October, remember that bird song is used to establish boundaries and lure mates; now that those tasks are two seasons behind us, there is not much reason to sing, other than the occasional alarm call or feeding murmur. In mid-fall the avian chorus is reduced to crows, jays, and geese.
This season is quite complex in the bird’s world, as family units are breaking up, food sources are changing, the boundaries of breeding territories have been dismantled, travel plans are being made, and weather systems are unstable. And you thought your life was a series of broadsides.
Consider the little tykes who hatched from an egg only a dozen weeks ago ... they must be quite bewildered by the events swirling around them. Mom and Dad used to bring them juicy fat caterpillars and when first fledged they nabbed a few succulent butterflies, moths and dragonflies; nowadays its dried berries and even drier weed seeds. On top of that, Mom and Dad seemed to have fluttered off somewhere, leaving them to fend for themselves.
And for many bird species this is what drives migration ... finding a source of food that can fulfill both an individual's nutritional needs as well as providing for a whole population's demand for the food.
That little family of five birds that grew in your backyard are now part of a continent-wide migration consisting of multi-millions of birds. Each spider, late season caterpillar, and ripe berry to be found along the way has suddenly become very important to the survival of these migrants.
Consider the ruby-throated hummingbird, that colourful rascal of the summer-time flower garden. Well known as a sipper of nectar and spreader of pollen, hummingbirds actually balance their diet with a healthy helping of spiders and small insects.
As the insect world also changes its rhythm, with adults dying off after laying eggs, or crawling into a crevice to survive winter, the hummers are left to be flying hungry. So a southward shift has to happen in hopes of finding warmer climes that favour lots of bug and flower activity.
Ducks, geese and swans leave the area in carefully orchestrated waves of movement. That scheduling is very dependent on the weather, and if a small duck, such as a blue-winged teal, wants to access shallow water to forage for daily food, it has to avoid those frosty nights that can freeze over the surface waters. Larger ducks, like the mallard, can withstand a few additional frosty nights before the new ice becomes too thick to break.
As any duck hunter will attest, the "northerners" come through late in the autumn season, as a scaup, goldeneye, and bufflehead feed by diving into deep waters, waters that have not yet cooled enough for ice to form. By the time the teal are in Florida and the mallards are in Tennessee, the "northerners" are just arriving in the lower Great Lakes.
Geese and swans, thanks to their large body size, long neck, and layers of insulating feathers, hang around while the quiet lake waters slowly freeze from the shore outwards. These birds are the last to leave and will do so with some reluctance, going south just far enough to avoid the major dips in the temperature.
One species that has recently become a notable fall migrant is the sandhill crane. Historically, a bird of the Mississippi and Central flyways, over the past decade or so it has become a common sighting within our Atlantic flyway path. Thousands of cranes now rest and feed in the fields between Barrie and Stayner.
While October and November may well be a bit on the quiet side (bird-wise) there are those other species which will then just be arriving. Juncos, purple finch, evening grosbeak, redpolls, and snow buntings will be seeking our local supplies of weed seeds and cones. While their songs are delicate and difficult to hear, for a few weeks of winter they will become the local songsters.
For now, you will have to content yourself with the raucous calls of blue jays or crows, and hope that a familiar "chick-a-dee-dee" will soon be forthcoming from the hedgerow.
On a nice weekend your birdfeeders can be hauled out of storage and prepared for another season's use by those birds that have made the switch from juicy bugs to dried seeds.
