Sparrow search is an early Christmas present

Finding a bird that is hanging on in the Midwest.

It was on a warm summer morning recently that I found myself in the wilds of the Upper Midwest. I was in pursuit of a species that barely has a toehold in this part of the world as a breeding bird: the Clay-colored Sparrow. These are birds of an eco-region very distinct from our own. Clay-colored Sparrows are birds of the Great Plains, much more associated with species like the Lark Bunting, Chestnut-collared Longspur, Leconte’s Sparrow, and Harris’ Sparrow. People around here drop everything to seek the aforementioned species, which only rarely pay a visit.

Clay-colored Sparrows, while uncommon now, were never abundant, as Robert Ridgeway’s 1889 account states:

In Illinois, the present species is known with certainty to occur only in the more northern portions of the State, although no doubt inhabits the prairie districts well southward, especially in more western counties. Mr. Nelson records it as a “rare summer resident about the borders of prairies,” in Cook county, and adds that specimens are in Mr. Holden’s collection taken near Chicago.

Christmas tree farms are a last redoubt for the species, perhaps because the small conifers mimic the scrubbier areas of the Great Plains states. Clay-colored Sparrows are frequently seen in migration nearby, in most any habitat¹ though the number of people who’ve seen them on the breeding grounds must be very few. These are birds that are easy to overlook—their name implies as much. Not only are they an oft-maligned sparrow, but they are “clay-colored” at that. Clay being a not particularly vibrant or distinctive hue. But it was their call that proved more worrisome in contemplating a twitch to a tree farm. It was the peak of a 17-year cicada emergence and the Clay-colored Sparrow doesn’t sound like a sparrow or a songbird at all. Rather, it sounds a lot like an buzzing insect, and much like a cicada at that.

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Christmas tree farms are public places really only during a few weeks before the holidays, so I needed permission for a summertime visit. That I received from a modern-day Gandalf who emerged barefoot amid the dew and haze of that morning. His was an organic tree farm, which captured my curiosity. I asked first about ‘pesticides’ as so many birding organizations highlight pesticides as a reason for declines in bird life. It seemed a relevant question.

“Which ones do you mean?” he said. “There’s herbicide, fungicide, and insecticide.”

I collected my thoughts for a moment. I only knew of pesticides generally when in reality—to his point—there were at least three potential problem chemicals. Stuff that kills plants, stuff that kills fungus, and stuff that kills bugs. ‘Pesticides’ is a rather broad umbrella.

I gathered myself for another question, to better understand why this tree farm in particular had more eco-friendly approaches.

“Is it a moral decision to go organic?” I asked.

“Actually, it’s a personal health and safety decision,” he said. “Who wants to be exposed to all of those chemicals.”²

I asked why people were using so many herbicides on tree farms. The main reason had to do with the amount of mowing needed between the Christmas trees, he said. Too much grass chokes the trees. Hence the herbicide. Constant, combustion-powered mowing didn’t seem great to me either, though.

My last question was about water. It was early summer and we already were on the cusp of another drought.³ Surely the trees needed supplemental watering in some years. The wizened tree farmer told me that all the water was from wells on the farm. In drier periods, he’d fill a 50-gallon tank and pull it over to the conifers on a big wagon. It sounded like painstaking work, and I can only imagine that drought years meant a lot fewer healthy and desirable trees when November and December rolled around.

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Planning a trip to a tree farm that may have Clay-colored Sparrows is one thing. Actually finding said sparrows is very much another.

With that thought in mind, I began walking the perimeter of the farm. Thanks to its naturalistic environment—numerous windbreaks, woodlots, and grassy fields—the birds were abundant. There were several sparrow species singing loudly—Field Sparrows, Song Sparrows, and Chipping Sparrows to name three. Along with a complement of Indigo Buntings and Eastern Bluebirds. There were plenty of cicadas, too, flying clumsily from pine tree to pine tree and buzzing constantly. I rather quickly, though, heard the Clay-colored Sparrow’s buzzing song and picked it out from all the periodic arthropods.

Hearing the sparrow was relatively easy. Seeing one and then confirming breeding was another challenge. The best I could do was find two singing near each other, in the same section of Fraser firs. One could deduce there may have been breeding, given the time of year and multiple birds present.

Clay-colored Sparrows are mostly pale, tan-and-gray birds with a contrasting face pattern. This one perched in a Fraser fir at the tree farm.

I never did find an active Clay-colored Sparrow nest, but I did find what may have been an older nest or one belonging to a Field Sparrow (a species pictured below). More than a few old nests must get hauled off in Christmas trees each December.

The tree farm was home to Field Sparrows as well as Eastern Bluebirds and Indigo Buntings.

What’s stuck with me is how all the birds, Clay-colored Sparrows included, had adapted to make the tree farm work for them. But also how the farm had made the place more inviting for birds. It just takes a few simple steps to turn a human-disturbed place into a habitat haven. And it wasn’t just a belief in organics, it was a belief in making a place more safe for humans, too. The silly thing is that this shouldn’t be anything special or an exception—it should be the norm.

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Nagamo takes flight

With Imani gone from Montrose Beach and Sea Rocket long since departed, their chick Nagamo was the last remaining Piping Plover in town. The young shorebird fooled everyone, including some news outlets, by appearing to depart the beach for summer on Thursday. Then the little plover re-appeared Friday and remained at the beach as of Sunday.

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A second Flaco book!

The beloved NYC owl Flaco is receiving another look thanks to a second book project that’s come to TWiB’s attention. David Lei had produced some memorable photos of Flaco in the city, including one previously shared here (on construction equipment). Another favorite is a photo of Flaco on an Upper West Side water tower on Christmas Eve night with the lights of a Manhattan office building in the background. This promises to be a beautiful book, and you can support the project here between now and August 26.

1. The only one I saw during spring migration 2024 was in a very urban pocket park, in fact.

2. In the weeks that followed, I read this Chicago Tribune article by Michael Hawthorne that described how weedkillers from farms are harming trees and likely people, too.

3. The months of June and July 2024 ended up being about normal as far as precipitation. Drought averted.