The Crystal Performance of American Tree Sparrows

A dream-ladder to divinity

American Tree Sparrow. Dorian Anderson

A tiny resident of the tundra spends winters among us but remains as mysterious as its northern nesting grounds. Unique among sparrows, the American Tree Sparrow was recently re-classified to its own genus: Spizelloides. These hardy sparrows arrive with the onset of cold weather and enliven our surroundings by producing a delicate winter chorus. Their sweet, musical flock calls are described as a soft, jingling “Teeoleoo.” These musical notes help maintain their winter flocks. They call out to us like an avian bell choir as a prelude to their full performance, which begins in February. Unlike most other birds, the sparrows start to feel the pull of spring in the middle of winter, prompting them to sing. The clear, high warble of their song announces that spring is in the air.

This audio recording of twelve tinkling sparrows by a marsh captures the chorus of the American Tree Sparrow. Pablo Neruda captures the power of a sparrow’s song in this poem.

You awakened me yesterday, friend,

and I went out to meet you:

the universe smelled of clover,

of a star opened in the dew:

who are you, and why were you singing

so intimately sonorous,

so uselessly precise?

why did the fountain flow

with your trill's precision,

a drop of water's clock

your fragment little violin

questioning the plums,

the indifferent headspring,

the color of lizards,

asking pure questions

that no one can answer?

i had no sooner seen you, passerby,

minuscule musician, fresh

daybreak's tenor, proprietor

of morning purity, than I

understood you were bringing back

with your little water flute 

so many things that had died:

so many petals buried

beneath the smokestacks,

the smog, and the pavement.

Your crystal performance

brings us back to the dew.

A handful of American Tree Sparrow. Nui Moreland

Part of the mysterious nature of American Tree Sparrows involves their flock calls. Some researchers think every flock has a unique flock call. The complex calls vary between and within individuals. This suggests that they learn their calls, which contrasts with most other sparrows whose calls are innate.

Nathan Pieplow studies bird songs, and his recordings of American Tree Sparrow flock calls prompted this reflection. 

“Even more interesting is that the limited sample of recordings I’ve studied seems to hint that flockmates give flock calls that are, if not identical, at least broadly similar — while a flock just down the road might sound different.  Will further recordings support this observation or disprove it?  Either result would raise further questions.  Do Tree Sparrows learn their flock calls on the breeding grounds, during migration, or on the wintering grounds?  Do they change their flock calls over time?  If they learn from flockmates, are flock calls a way of keeping the same group of birds together all winter?  If so, why?  What happens when a bird with a different kind of call joins a flock?

At first glance, the situation surrounding these complex, apparently learned calls bears more resemblance to the vocal repertoires of some cardueline finches than to the vocal repertoires of any other North American sparrow.  Unraveling the entire mystery would be a good dissertation topic for some motivated doctoral student in ornithology.”

I like to visit my favorite prairie this time of year to experience the sublime beauty and mystery of winter. I hope to see mixed flocks of juncos, sparrows, and other winter resident birds. Walking into 8-foot-tall prairie grass immerses me in the wind. I can feel the swirling presence, rising, falling, encompassing all. On windy days, I sway with the grass. When I encounter a mixed flock of birds, I feel the weight of my aloneness carried off by the wind. 

American Tree Sparrow feeding on Little Bluestem. Winston Liu

On a recent visit, the gently undulating land was covered in fecund prairie grass laced with ribbons of light. The sparkling seed heads put on a prismatic show. Fingers of young oaks extended into the prairie; the ancient cycles of advance and retreat of the trees are still mediated by fire. The shadow of a soaring eagle flashed over the prairie. This prairie oak transition, this Savanna, has its particular sights, sounds, smells, and feel. Taken together, they form an ancient gestalt.

The feel of this place is enhanced by the songs of American Tree Sparrows. Their songs slide like wind-blown mist across the frozen prairie. The crystalline edges of the icy landscape volley the beauty back and forth as if the world wants nothing more than to surround us with song.

American Tree Sparrows wander in small winter flocks in search of sustenance. They are looking for prairies, old fields, and other seed-rich environments. We have made their lives harder by clearing land for agriculture and mowing much of the landscape. As a result of this loss of habitat and subsequent decline in insects, American Tree Sparrows have declined by 53% since 1970.

In some cases, all that is required to provide habitat for American Tree Sparrows is to stop mowing a patch of land. The grasses, Goldenrods, and other early successional plants that emerge would provide seeds for the birds.

American Tree Sparrow perched on a goldenrod eating seeds. Brad Imhoff

…Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,

even in the leafless winter,

even in the ashy city.

I am thinking now

of grief, and of getting past it;

I feel my boots 

trying to leave the ground,

I feel my heart

pumping hard. I want

to think again of dangerous and noble things. 

I want to be light and frolicsome.

I want to be improbable, beautiful, and afraid of nothing,

as though I had wings. 

Mary Oliver

Once you notice the beauty of the American Tree Sparrow and how it is the perfect bird for winter, you may find yourself looking around for other subtle signs of beauty in nature. Witch Hazel blooms from October to April, depending on the species and location. The little yellow petals unfurl when warmed by the sun and then furl when temperatures drop. They make good cut flowers at a time of year when most plants are dormant. The showy yellow flowers, sticky pollen, and sweet nectar all point to insect pollination. It is hard to imagine insects visiting flowers in February, but it turns out that hardy insects like winter. Flying moths, gnats, bees, and flies are active in winter.

Winter Moths use a variety of tactics to fly in cold weather. Some are covered in insulating hairs; others have large wings and lightweight bodies that allow them to beat their wings slowly to fly. Some females do not fly at all.

All of this life is thriving in austere winter sunshine. Despite the cold, dark days, life persists. Becoming intimate with the cold wind and the mysterious nature of winter helps me take comfort in the resilience of life and makes me want to join the chorus.

Your great mistake is to act the drama

as if you were alone. As if life

were a progressive and cunning crime

with no witness to the tiny hidden

transgressions. To feel abandoned is to deny

the intimacy of your surroundings. Surely,

even you, at times, have felt the grand array;

the swelling presence, and the chorus, crowding

out your solo voice. You must note

the way the soap dish enables you,

or the window latch grants you freedom.

Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.

The stairs are your mentor of things

to come, the doors have always been there

to frighten you and invite you,

and the tiny speaker in the phone

is your dream-ladder to divinity.

Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into

the conversation. The kettle is singing

even as it pours you a drink, the cooking pots

have left their arrogant aloofness and

seen the good in you at last. All the birds

and creatures of the world are unutterably

themselves. Everything is waiting for you.

David Whyte