To Feed a Mockingbird

Property values, but for whom?

            The notion of property is not limited to humans; indeed, it is widespread in the animal kingdom.  Many species of birds, mammals and even insects defend a piece of space as their own, ejecting interlopers of the same species with marking, displays and aggression.  Humans have merely codified into laws what thousands of other, non-literate species practice.  Whereas our right and claim to our yard is recorded in the county courthouse, the birds (mostly males) vie with neighbors to establish territorial boundaries.  Every year, we can count on cardinals, Carolina wrens, tufted titmice and one or the other of a species of Mimidae (mockingbirds, thrashers, and catbirds) laying claim to part of our yard.  Each advertises their claim by singing and displaying from traditional posts, and when that fails to prevent intruders, tussles ensue. Each species sticks to a particular concept of property, so that the territory and property of different species can overlap with little strife, but that does not happen when the contenders are the same species. Among the brashest, most showy and least tolerant are the mockingbirds flashing their white wing patches and duking it out with a neighbor male on the yellow stripe in the middle of the street. At the same time, the male of our resident pair of Carolina wrens sings his infinite variants of tea-kettle-tea-kettle-tea-kettle while the female eggs him on with her loud buzzing call. They and the chickadees and titmice can find plenty of cavities to nest in around our complex house and woods, and all seem satisfied with their lot when they meet peacefully for seeds at the morning bird-feeder.

            But more generally, just as human land lots vary in value depending on where they are and what they contain, so do the territories of birds.  I am pretty sure that to our resident mockingbird, the territory not only provided him with a fine bush in which to construct a nest, but was also greatly enhanced by the Mahonia bush next to our back door, blooming as it did in late winter and ripening its dark blue berries during the height of the breeding season.  In any case, "our" mockingbird was a fool for these berries, picking them off as soon as they were ripe enough, so that over a period of about a month, the bush was gradually stripped of berries.  The bird would perch on the bush, pull off a berry, hold it in his mouth, and I could swear, look very excited before gulping it.

            But over the years, our yard grew shadier as the sycamore, Shumard oak, pecan and golden rain trees grew from saplings into large, dark trees, and the value of our yard as mockingbird territory seemed to decline.  There are years now when no mockingbird lays claim in our yard, although his wild, complex song can be heard in the more open lot of our neighbor across the street. 

But as our yard became less attractive to mockingbirds, it became more attractive to their cousins, the catbirds, who like darker, denser woods.  During the breeding season, the liquid high notes of our resident catbird gush forth from the dark recesses of our bamboo thicket or camellias, the singer rarely seen, its dark grey plumage hardly distinguishable from the shady hollows among the trees. 

A grey catbird. Listen to the song in the video below.

            And just as taste in territories differs between mockingbirds and catbirds, so does taste in berries, and the berries of the Mahonia now mostly go uneaten, finally dropping fully ripe to the ground.  It seems like a waste, and I wonder why the mockingbird singing his heart out across the street doesn't sneak over to snag a berry now and then.  I suppose that birds, like humans, have their rules.  After all, I don't sneak into my neighbor Lee's yard to steal his grapefruit, even though I can see them clearly from the street.  Lee would not be pleased if I did, and like the mockingbird, I know it is against the rules.