Examining the migration patterns of birds — and humans — during the winter months
I feed birds. I watch them, too, but I don’t call myself a bird-watcher. It sounds a bit creepy to me. While I do enjoy seeing them in our backyard, I want the birds to know I respect their privacy. Nobody wants a middle-aged guy in a T-shirt and pajama bottoms gawking at them with binoculars, least of all a blue jay with territorial tendencies.
I’m not comfortable calling myself a “birder,” either. While it’s shorter and easier to say than “bird-watcher,” there are too many r’s, and I’m never comfortable saying it. I lived in Murfreesboro for 20 years, and I never got used to all those r’s.
So I’m just a guy who feeds birds. And I take it seriously. I just spent $106 on winter birdseed, which I know will only last til Nov. 15.
And let’s not talk about all the money I sank on bird feeding contraptions over the years.
Like most hobbies, 75% of your money is spent in the first six months. With bird enthusiasts, a lot of money is spent until we find the most effective squirrel-proof contraptions.
Every “birder” I’ve ever talked to has spent more money than they’d like to admit “keeping the #@*%!! squirrels out of the bird feeders.” After spending a small fortune on trial and error, I finally settled on simple, spring-loaded, weight-based feeders that work like a charm. They frustrate the #@!! out of squirrels better than anything I ever saw.*
I never dreamed that I would one day be so irritated by squirrels, but it happens when you begin to feed birds. It seems to go hand-in-hand with the hobby.**
Migration patterns
Birds migrate for two basic reasons: food and breeding. Modern humans — who can eat and breed just about anywhere, anytime — migrate for one basic reason: Winter is too darn cold up here. Thanks to food distribution and HVAC systems, the migratory habits of most humans has gone, well, the way of the dinosaur. The world is populated like it is because humans spent thousands of years chasing food. Food now migrates to us. Our Neanderthal ancestors would doubtless see our cushy life and snarl. But first they would scream in terror at all the Sysco food trucks.***
There are two kinds of bird migration patterns in the U.S.: latitudinal migration (flying north when it’s warm and south when it’s cold) and altitudinal migration (flying up to the mountains when it’s warm and down to the valleys when it’s cold).
Human snowbird migration is driven solely by warmth and comfort. Most snowbirds are retired grandparents, long past the breeding stage of life. In fact, most 55-and-older snowbird communities have restrictions on children. No kids allowed. The human snowbird puts up with their kids and grandkids all summer up North. December through May is break time.
A lot of snowbirds are in denial that they are actual snowbirds. They would never utter the word “tourist” when describing themselves. They believe they are local because they have migrated to this particular location three years in a row now and can locate all the Tiki bars.
Birds migrate for food and breeding. Human snowbird migration is driven solely by warmth and comfort. Food migrates to us now, and breeding is for the young and more energetic.
I’m guilty of it myself. It comes from our human need to belong, to find a tribe. And when you’re in this needy state, it’s hard to admit that you’re a tourist, that you could be part of any seasonal congestion or traffic problems the locals have to tolerate.
If you’ve ever muttered, “Darn tourists,” while sitting in a hotel bar 500 miles away from where you receive your mortgage bill, you are in denial that you are a tourist — albeit one who hangs around for more than a long weekend — but you’re still a tourist, and it’s OK. And it’s OK to call yourself a snowbird.****
We all want to feel warm. We like feeling welcomed. We like being part of a community. And snowbird or not, nobody likes migrating alone.
I saw a big flock of birds a few weeks ago; they looked to be finches. They were heading south as expected, flying in clumped formation like a rolling cloud.
But I heard them before I saw them, their voices chirping excitedly like a bus full of grade school kids leaving for a field trip.
It gave me goosebumps. We all need an adventure now and then, and these birds get one twice a year. That kind of change is good for the heart. New surroundings, old friends. What could be better than that?
Some might say the breeding.
Well, yeah, there’s that.
Have fun, my friends. Travel safe. I’ll see you back here in the spring.
Download Antsy McClain’s song, “Leftover Birds.”
Antsy McClain is a Nashville-adjacent singersongwriter, author and graphic artist. Go to unhitched.com for more. Use this QR code to download “Leftover Birds,” FREE to readers of The Tennessee Magazine. The song draws a parallel between migratory birds and the life of musicians in Nashville’s Lower Broadway music scene.
