Bye, Bye, Blackbird

By Keith Michael

What if The Bird doesn’t fly away?

I’ve had the uncanny luck to see yet another new bird this year for me for the West Village. There was an Osprey in August, a Marsh Wren in October, and now in November, one more elegant visitor: a Rusty Blackbird. My West Village Bird #112. Watch for the Bird of the Year 2023 awards, the “Millies.” Competitive feathers will be ruffled!

A friend recently asked me, over martinis, “Which do you like more, seeing birds or photographing them?” I hated that I hesitated a moment to answer. Pausing felt unfaithful to the birds. Both is the answer. I definitely like seeing the birds, hovering in their presence, and trying to launch into their accelerated pace of time, while concentrating to slow my own inner time way down to be able, simply, to stand there and watch. Just stand there and watch. The combination of birds’ temporal fragility with their hardiness is weighty. It’s an oxymoron that to photograph birds, one has to simultaneously rev up in anticipation of birds’ hyperactivity while also imagine what stopping time in a photograph might look like. Honestly, it is these tugging threads of time—between the birds and the images—that snag me.

While the name “Blackbird” is a familiar word from nursery rhymes and popular songs, in New York City we rarely see black birds from the two-species-only New World Blackbird family. There are Common Grackles, close relatives, that may look black but in sunlight are a rainbow of iridescence. The Brown-headed Cowbird may also look black until you notice that fashionable brown cowl. The European Starling is mostly black but, depending on the season, they are speckled with little white stars. Common Crows and Ravens are black birds, but much larger and not related to the Blackbird clan. We’ve got our native Red-winged Blackbirds which do have that snazzy red wing pizzazz. An occasional wayward Yellow-headed Blackbird from the west will send bird watchers flocking to see its sartorial flare. In Europe there is a truly black, Blackbird, a regular songster in backyards, hence all the nursery rhyme references. This brings me to the star of the day: a Rusty Blackbird.

Walking home through Hudson River Park, I’m once again scanning the trees, lawns, and edges for the latest avian activity. The winter White-throated Sparrows are now regulars on the sidelines, scratching through the leaves. Their white throats and the yellow above their eyes are getting brighter as their fresh feathers come in. A pair of fleet Song Sparrows chase each other around a shrub. Their stripey chests are also getting more defined with their new feathers. A Golden-crowned Kinglet is still here playing Level 10 hide-and-seek through the pines. I’m not in the mood to try to slow down THAT much to really follow this guy this afternoon. I’m hoping to see some Chickadees, Titmice, and Nuthatches, but it must still be too balmy further north for them to join us for the season. On the grass, just north of the West 11th Street entrance, is a dark bird. Ah, a Grackle, not that unusual, but a less familiar visitor to the park worthy of pausing for, though they can be seen in the thousands in Central Park later in the fall. Hmm, it’s very small for a Grackle, and…

Hey, it’s not a Grackle at all. It’s got the piercing yellow eyes, but its tail is too short, and it’s really not black but a little rusty brown. Wow, it’s a Rusty Blackbird. I’ve seen them before in The Bronx and Queens scrounging along muddy edges, but never here, and never foraging meticulously through a lawn. It seems in no hurry whatsoever, other than to track down the next bug or worm for a snack—you can’t eat just one. Everything one reads about Rusty Blackbirds is that they are one of the fastest declining common birds. Some accounts say their numbers have dropped 85-99 percent in the last 40 years for unknown reasons. Yet, when I post immediately to the Manhattan Rare Bird Alert and eBird, what I consider a very cool sighting for others to see, neither flag it as a rare bird. But here it is, rare to me, unmindful of dogs on the lawn (which they shouldn’t be) or approaching toddlers (glad they’re roaming but, uh, could you toddle in the other direction please, thank you.) Photos of Rusty Blackbirds on their breeding territory in Canada show a very classy, all-black, Blackbird. When we see them in the winter, it’s really as though they stayed out in the rain too long and started to rust. Such a well-named bird.

It’s lucky that I have my camera with me. Snap, snap, snap. It’s funny, but it’s like there’s a weight on my shutter finger. You never know, that next shot of a head tilt, a glint in the eye, or the toss of a pine cone might be the perfect one. Or not. Slow down. Speed up. Damn though, it’ll be hundreds of shots to go through.

Many birds give you only a few seconds of their precious time, but this one keeps moseying along in plain sight, not too far away, and in reasonable light. It seems wrong that I should leave first. Really, I’m going to walk away? I’m walking away now. No really, now I’m walking away.

Oh, dear Rusty Blackbird, thank you for letting me be your audience.

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Keith Michael, West Villager, birder, urban naturalist, photographer, writer, and ballet choreographer, leads nature walks throughout the NYC area. Visit http://www.keithmichaelnyc.com or follow on Instagram @newyorkcitywild