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Fool Me Once

By Vonnie Kennedy

I first heard the songbirds in April in South Florida. I had lived down here three months, and my only bird watching experience since had been telling the difference between an egret and an ibis. Don't get me wrong, these graceful creatures are lovely, but I missed the songbirds. In Central New York I had four feeders in my yard and enjoyed finches, indigo buntings, and those gorgeous grosbeaks. During the winter months I was usually lucky enough to have a pair of cardinals as long as the blue jays didn't chase them off. It's a great hobby and one I expected to continue in Florida.

One night in my new Florida home, I woke around 3:30 a.m. to the sound of several songbirds right outside my window. It was still dark but these birds were already putting on a performance that I would have expected later in the day.

That morning, I went shopping for a bird feeder. After visiting four garden stores, I finally found the perfect one. It was a tube feeder exactly like one I had in New York, with six feeding stations. I brought it home and immediately hung it in our black olive tree where I could observe the bird population from my screened-in porch. I couldn't wait!

For the first three days, there was nothing. My bird feeder remained filled to the brim with seed. On the fourth morning I took a walk, hoping to spot a goldfinch or a chickadee somewhere along my street. As I strolled through my neighborhood I noticed that my neighbors didn't have bird feeders in their lawns. Not one! Back at home I looked online for some backyard birding groups in the area. I only found one or two sites in my region, which convinced me that South Floridians were just not interested in birding.

On the fifth day I again awoke to the beautiful melodies coming from that flock of birds that I'd been hearing the nights before. But where were they hiding, and why weren't they visiting my bird feeder?

That same morning a bird landed on my feeder. I immediately grabbed my Florida bird book and ran out on the porch to observe the markings. The bird was large and black. As another identical bird joined him I found the species in the book: the boat-tailed grackle. It wasn't the prettiest bird around, but it was interesting. My guide described it as "cheeky." What an understatement that was! This bold guy charged anything that came between him and his seed. He was so big he could barely keep his footing on the tiny perches that were meant for smaller birds. Although I took pleasure in finding out more about grackles, I worried that these aggressive birds were scaring off the songbirds.

The next morning as I carried my coffee out on the porch, I glanced at the feeder. Was I in for a shock! Hanging heavily from the feeder were six overgrown parakeets, each with a yellow underbelly and the most vibrant emerald green feathers covering the rest of the body. Quickly, I grabbed for my book and leafed through the pages until I found a match. Monk parakeets. This species apparently established itself in Florida by accidental releases; however, judging by their numbers at my feeder, I estimated that they've had no problem surviving outside of captivity.

From the racket this cantankerous group was making, I was sure they did not have a song in them. They were gone within 10 minutes and—just as the grackles had done—they had devoured every speck of seed. I do not consider myself biased against any bird species, but these birds were way too large for my dainty feeder. As I sat there, Audubon book in hand, staring at the empty bird feeder, I heard them again: the songbirds! They weren't far off either. I jumped up and ran outside. I saw nothing, so I walked toward the sound to catch a glimpse of what I guessed had to be a group of at least 10 to 12 birds.

Within 50 feet of my home, a single bird perched on the eave of my neighbor's home. It was gray with black wings—an ordinary–looking bird, really—but his song was so clear and musical. Suddenly, as I stood there watching him, his song changed. It became more of a whistle. Before I knew it, he came out with another sound, then another. Was this lone bird the "flock" that had been singing outside my window at night?

I returned to my porch to find out what kind of bird had fooled me into thinking I had a backyard full of finches, robins, and red-winged blackbirds. In my Audubon book I found the picture of the little fellow: the northern mockingbird!

I was amazed because if it was called a northern mockingbird, why hadn't I ever seen one in New York? I was also flabbergasted at the various tunes that came out of this talented songster. As I read more about the mockingbird, I found that it can mock up to 30 other species of birds. The sad part was he wasn't interested in visiting my birdfeeder.

Today, I no longer have a bird feeder in my backyard. Instead, I sit on my porch and read about Florida birds and where I can find them. A few weeks ago, I finally did spot a cardinal in a wooded area near an oceanside park, so I know the songbirds are here—somewhere.