A Secret Crush

I have a secret crush. I first laid eyes on the object of my affection a couple months ago, though she* likely has crossed my path prior to that. As soon as I noticed her, I was entranced by her tidy chestnut cap, her cheek black instead of ruddy, her voice small and sweet, whispering from the brush along the trail.

It is secret because my beloved hails from the wrong side of the Atlantic; an outsider from far shores rather than one with roots here reaching back millennia. Perhaps I am attracted to the novelty, her forbidden nature. Perhaps I will weary of her when familiarity blunts the edge of emotion.

But now...now I go out of my way to visit the places I know she hangs out. I eagerly scan every branch, head cocked listening for her voice. When she isn't there, I am disappointed, and when I see her face emerge from the shadows, nonchalantly checking me out before going on with her business, my heart skips a little beat and I stare like a goof until she flits away, out of sight. Utterly uninterested in me beyond ascertaining that I am not a threat.

The look of someone with a perhaps-too-enthusiastic admirer.

She is a Eurasian Tree Sparrow, an species introduced to the St. Louis area over a century past, whose range has been creeping further from that historical home in recent decades, finally reaching Johnson County within the past ten years. This species, unlike the House Sparrow--introduced to the US around the same time--is not quite as aggressive in displacing other birds trying to nest and has avoided much of the negative attention that the House Sparrow evokes.

More conventionally attractive birds may come into view: a majestic red-tailed hawk soaring overhead, or a charming, chattery chickadee frolicking in nearby branches. But my gaze always turns back to look for the sparrow.

I wish her the best, and hope she and her family settle in and become a well-integrated part of the neighborhood. Maybe one day she will appear in my backyard, along with or in place of the abundant, less alluring house sparrows. Until then, I will continue to admire her from afar, undeterred as she remains aloof.



*Or he...I honestly don't know and haven't asked.

It's All Connected: or, Our Neighborhood, Our Watershed

The Sycamore Greenway is not just a scenic trail flanked by amazing habitat that is home to hundreds of bird, insect, and plant species. It is also a functional stormwater management system, collecting and draining water from surrounding neighborhoods to the Sycamore Wetlands.

Evidence of the drainage system that
makes the Greenway more than
what it seems

Rather than simply diverting water from paved roads into creeks and eventually the Iowa River, the Greenway allows water to infiltrate a series of one-acre cells that are planted with native prairie plants. This helps prevent flooding downstream while also taking advantage of the plants' root systems to help clean and filter the water that has run through pesticide-laden yards and grimy streets before it settles in the wetlands.

Watersheds--areas of shared water drainage, such as all the area streams and creeks that drain into the Iowa River--are a critical example of how interconnected everything is. What you do on your property affects not only your immediate neighbors, but also those in your watershed and downstream. 

It may be your prerogative to cover your yard with pesticides to keep it free of dandelions, but those poisons do not stay on your land. Heavy rains will wash them off your property and downstream. You may decide to pave your entire yard into a basketball court, or to just maintain a thin layer of turfgrass over packed clay soil, both of which can prevent rain from being absorbed into the earth and instead allow the water to rush off your property and possibly contribute to flooding downstream.

Parcels of property don't exist in a vacuum, independent of those around them; what are the responsibilities of individuals when their actions have a negative effect on those around them? What are the rights of those who suffer those negative effects?

We are not a collection of separate, independent individuals. For better or for worse (generally for better!) we are part of a community. What we do affects the world around us. The choices we make can help or harm our neighbors, both human and wildlife. The Sycamore Greenway is a wonderful example of how we, as a city, chose to put in a little extra planning and effort to make our neighborhood more pleasant for humans and more hospitable to wildlife. We should strive to do the same on our own property, and encourage responsible management and development that prioritize the health and livability of our shared ecosystem.

The Humble Sparrow

Sparrows, those nondescript little brown birds that are the bane of a casual birder, are both omnipresent and ignored. They are not renowned for beautiful plumage or graceful songs, and in fact are presented as the very embodiment of the common and the lowly--the fall of one sparrow demonstrating the minute and omnipresent attention of God in the Bible, for example.

The handsome Lark Sparrow

For too many years, I--not even a casual birder, but more an affectionate observer of birds I happen upon--divided sparrows into "House Sparrows" and "not House Sparrows," with the former being too ubiquitous for my attention and the latter too vague and difficult to bother with. I would occasionally get photos of a "not House Sparrow" and promptly ignore it as too difficult to identify. Sometimes I would get an easy one--a White-throated Sparrow singing "Oh sweet Canada Canada Canada" was fairly obvious even for me, and the heavily-streaked Song Sparrows were common enough that I grew to recognize them as well--but for the most part these drab little skulkers hopped around beneath my notice.

Two developments over the past year changed my laissez-faire attitude toward sparrows. First was seeing a charming little sparrow on the Greenway last May, hopping up from the pavement to grab beaksful of dandelion seeds. Its strikingly-patterned face--bold black stripes over a white face, with a rufous patch over the ear--was different enough that even I could easily match it to that of the Lark Sparrow in my guide. So not all sparrows were nondescript!

Lincoln's Sparrow

Next came the discovery of websites like iNaturalist, where a casual birdwatcher can upload photos to be identified by those for whom even the most blandly-feathered birds are familiar friends. When my attempts at identification are uncertain, these volunteer experts are prompt and precise in their IDs--putting actual names to all those "not House Sparrows" I encountered along the Greenway, like the sneaky Leconte's Sparrow last spring, and Lincoln's and Swamp Sparrows this past October. I could compare my photos to those in both printed bird guides and websites like allaboutbirds.org or audubon.org and then confirm or correct by ID with the help of iNaturalist.

Swamp Sparrow

I am making a point to photograph sparrows with as much zeal as I do the flashier birds I encounter, and attempting to put names to their faces. I still have an unfortunate tendency to assume all sparrows are those I am familiar with, and trying to force them into names that don't quite fit ("gosh, that one looks a little like an American Tree Sparrow, but the beak isn't right...and something is a little off...." "That's because it's a Swamp Sparrow, you goof," says iNaturalist*). But I'm working on it!

Sparrows are an interesting group of birds, worthy of attention in their own right even if they prove to be challenging. Different species can be seen in our area throughout the year, each with their own life histories and niches to learn about. And there are only around 20 species commonly seen in our area...how hard can it be?**


*Dramatization, may not have happened exactly as described. These online forums are consistently helpful and friendly to anyone trying to learn.
**It's pretty hard. But worth the effort!