It’s likely I have expressed appreciation for house sparrows before, but they’ve been even more evident lately than usual, as whatever abundant late summer weeds those are, flourishing at the bottom of our street (it has rained tropically this summer, as you might know) have drawn especially impressive hordes of passer domesticus, which is saying something. Any trip down the sidewalk might trigger an explosion of the little brown guys and gals, as they flush in their usual awesome numbers. This goes on all day long, and I am sure it is happening on other sidewalks around here, as well. Boston has never been weedier and this phenomenon is one of the byproducts. I’m sure there are others.
Of course this bird can be found anywhere there are more than a few humans taking up residence in all parts of N America, if not the whole wide world. House sparrows breed from spring to late summer on our front porch (and most porches in this neighborhood of porches, no doubt), two broods or more. It’s hard work keeping those numbers up! And around here you have to watch out for the likes of Ms. Cooper, a constant presence even if you hardly ever see her, which could spell your untimely violent end. Not to mention the occasional snake or the stealthy and deadly kittykat domesticus, forever on the prowl wherever there is live game hereabouts.
I wonder sometimes if the sparrows appreciate those occasionally magnificent sunsets from our front porch. It is a fact that birds see many more colors on a broader spectrum than humans, which might make an especially good Iffley Road sunset kind of trippy, if you’re a house sparrow and into that kind of thing.
Most people who know more than nothing about the bird know it was introduced on this continent in NYC (Brooklyn, according to the experts at Cornell), a long time ago (1851). Even interested and knowledgeable people like myself might’ve once believed the lie that is was connected with some nutty romantics bringing over all the birds mentioned by Shakespeare, but it turns out this is only true of starlings – and nightingales and skylarks and God knows maybe more than that – but only one of these species really succeeded and if you look out the window for a few minutes you will know which one. If you’ve never seen a starling murmuration, you haven’t lived.
But as it turns out, those house sparrows (which are Old World sparrows aka English Sparrows and are genetically unrelated to native New World sparrows, which are all those confusing little brown birds in your N American backyard and field guide) were brought over to resolve a real-life “ecological” problem, namely the decimation of Brooklyn’s beloved basswood trees (some say elms) by Linden moths – and everybody knows that no respectable house sparrow can pass up a meal of Linden moth caterpillars, ever. And everybody should also know that the road to hell is paved with many such good intentions, which sums up most of the history of introduced species, as all us wise modern people know in hindsight.
There were two other domesticus introductions in the 1870s, in Salt Lake City and San Francisco, and a more gracious invitation to “please, come take over the whole continent” could probably not have been made. The Utah birds were supposed to eat codling moths that damaged fruit, and it is telling that at one point the Salt Lake Tribune noted that “it is believed that they are better breeders than the Mormons themselves”. As for the west coast birds, did it really matter by that point? What does matter is that the rest, as a house sparrow might say if it could talk, is history (which they can’t, at least not in English despite their name, and they don’t sing either, preferring to just chatter in some language known only to them).
House sparrows were also introduced in Australia, S Africa, Central and S America, Greenland and Cape Verde, and probably other places (humanity’s passion for this is kind of creepy, don’t you think?) and it might be the most widely distributed wild bird in the world, which I think is wonderful in some ways but you might not.
In fact, spend any time with ‘”serious” birders and it is likely someone at some point will make a comment about how much they hate this bird, which crowds out native species, especially bluebirds, and people tend to love blue birds of any kind, or haven’t you noticed? Common birds of the brown persuasion tend to be aesthetically less valued in general, but one should note that among sparrows (also known by birders as LBJs – “little brown jobs”) the house sparrow is an especially striking mix of russets and rufous, gray and black and white, with interesting and distinct variations between the two genders.
But familiarity can breed contempt, and the house sparrow might be a poster child for that unfortunate tendency among humans, who also practically worship cardinals (especially the garish male – look at any Christmas card rack) despite their also being rather common. In the realm of popular opinion red birds are probably a notch or two above blue ones, and the cardinal also sports that crest, which wins points because it’s “cute” or “perky” or something. If the house sparrow had a jaunty one of those, some might change their tune.
Maybe it was all best said by Edward Forbush, locally revered (among birders) MA ornithologist of a hundred years ago: “The House Sparrow has been introduced into many countries, and wherever it has appeared it has been stigmatized as injurious, pernicious, disreputable, salacious, quarrelsome, and even murderous. It has been branded a thief, wretch, feathered rat etc.etc. but whatever might be said about it, the bird is certainly important.” Salacious? Jesus Mary and Joseph! as we say here in Boston.
At any rate, in this world of rapid species decline (which includes house sparrow numbers plummeting in western Europe and particularly in England due to shifting agricultural practices, believe it or not) I am thankful for any wild creature that is around twelve months of the year and always in great evidence, a reminder of the natural world and its ability to survive and even flourish. Who cares if they can’t sing a lick? They chatter like there’s no tomorrow, even on a wicked cold February day, and their numbers ensure that it’s always kind of loud, the better to penetrate the winter stillness. And maybe all those weed seeds they are currently devouring are balancing the ecosystem here on Iffley Road in some important way. God knows we have too many weeds, and who or what else is taking care of that?
