Paul McCartney may have been inspired by the racial unrest of the 1960’s or maybe his own spiritual rebirth during a sojourn in India when he wrote the lyrics to Blackbird in 1968. Or maybe it was a love song. McCartney himself has offered various explanations. But almost a year ago I began writing these occasional blogs about birds partly as a distraction from the horrors and severe constraints imposed by a world wide pandemic. This is the 45th edition of Why Birds Blog, and it is meant to celebrate its anniversary as well as the arrival of spring as the first Red-winged Blackbirds appear in our yard and the thickets beyond. And as we all “take our broken wings and learn (again) to fly.”

With some regional variations, Red-winged Blackbirds are found across the continent from Mexico to most of Canada. In most regions of the United States, they are non-migratory. However, here in New England, they return every spring from as far as a thousand miles away and help us welcome the departure of ice and the flow of maple sap. They come to nest and breed in the reeds and low brush surrounding marshes, ponds, and other wet lands. From now until Thanksgiving we will be hearing the male’s loud, nasal “conk-la-re” song accompanied by a display of his red and yellow epaulets as he protects his breeding territory and nest.

The male’s signature combination of red and yellow flashing at the top of his wings is created by a combination of carotenoid pigments - one, the red one, manufactured by the bird, and the other, the yellow, coming directly from his diet. These colors like such bright colors in other species are used to display aggression and dominance in the defense of territory, and, to a lesser degree in the case of Red-winged Blackbirds, to attract females. They are notoriously fearless and aggressive in their protective efforts attacking even the largest predatory raptors approaching their territory.

Let’s join these spirited birds to welcome spring with the hope that it brings relief and new wings for us all.

To a Red-Winged Black Bird on the Advent of Spring

by Reid McGrath

For some a robin heralds in the Spring.
Others: a crocus or a daffodil.
My old man claims it’s when nightchirpers sing.
The farmer cites the rain, the barnyard rill.
I sense it when the maple-lines come down;
when pruning-ladders rise upon Fern Hill.
I sense it when the buds begin to crown;
but in completion it is not until
I see you perched upon a cattail-reed;
the reed, against your ebony, horse-brown.
The handsomest of birds, you seem to bleed
from daring deeds of triumph and renown.
Alone, among these humble reeds, you’re mellow,
with epaulettes of red and goldish-yellow.