Skip to main content

The bird massacres

Earlier this month, the sudden deaths of thousands of birds, mostly members of the blackbird family, in places as farflung as Arkansas and Sweden, caused consternation among many people. As usual in such instances of mysterious occurrences, the conspiracy theorists and apocalypticists were soon spreading their interpretations of the events, and the tabloids and their equivalents in the broadcast world were lapping it all up and regurgitating it to the waiting and gullible public. Then the news cycle spun again and the tabs and their ilk moved on to tragic human deaths and outrageous human scandals.

But what about all those bird deaths? Were they really unusual? Was there something that linked the worldwide occurrences? And were they related to the other strange occurrences such as mass die-offs of fish and crabs? The New York Times has now shed the light of sober consideration and reflection on the bird deaths and their causes and have come to the conclusion that Conspiracies Don't Kill Birds. People, However, Do.

Their reporter spoke to Melanie Driscoll from the National Audubon Society. She is a biologist and is NAS director of bird conservation for the Gulf of Mexico and Mississippi Flyway. She put the deaths into perspective.

First of all, the Fish and Wildlife Service estimates that a minimum of 10 billion birds breed in the United States each year. There may be as many as 20 billion in the country during the fall migratory season. The FWS further estimates that 13.7 million birds die in the country every day.

What are the causes of all these deaths? Well, most of them are natural - the results of wild predators and natural accidents. But it must be admitted that many are the result of humans and human activity.

Human pets are a prime culprit in bird deaths. Domestic and feral cats, for example, kill hundreds of millions of birds each year, according to the best estimates.

Pesticides kill at least 72 million birds each year directly, but it is unknown and probably unknowable how many are killed indirectly. Orphaned chicks are just one example.

Flying into manmade structures accounts for more than a billion bird deaths each year. Strikes against windows alone may cause as many as 976 million deaths. Cars kill another 60 million or more. The FWS estimates the high-tension transmission and power distribution lines kill as many as 174 million birds a year. Raptors are especially susceptible to flying into these lines.

The biggie, though, the most deadly and vicious destroyer of bird life in America is the loss of habitat to development. There's really no way of counting how many birds are lost directly and indirectly each year to the seemingly unstoppable tide of encroachment by humans upon the wild places where birds live.

If all of these birds dropped dead out of the skies onto our sidewalks and backyards today, it would be the leading news story of the day. People would be alarmed and outraged and would demand that something be done to stop the deaths. But the deaths come insidiously, without fanfare and people, by and large, are oblivious. The deaths come, however, largely because of human-induced changes to our habitats, our landscape and our climate. Controlling, ameliorating, and reversing the losses is within our means.

The real story, then, of birds falling from the sky is not nearly as sexy as a government conspiracy or a sign of the "End Times" but it is a sign to us, nevertheless. You know, that canary in the gold mine thing? Maybe it's time we paid attention.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters!  Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...