"It was a beautiful bright autumn day, with air like cider and a sky so blue you could drown in it."
—Diana Gabaldon
Isn't it beautiful? And who wouldn't want to explore it? Clouds and rain would move in later on, but I had the entire morning to search for migratory sparrows at Pheasant Branch Prairie, where the gentle rustle of grasses and the soft calls of birds created a tranquil backdrop. This may turn out to be my only sparrowing adventure this fall, as busy weekends loom ahead. The 58-year-old version of me doesn't have quite the same energy as the one who launched this blog back in 2005. Over the years, I’ve gradually reduced my monthly posts and likely will continue this trend. With my blog's 20th anniversary approaching, I face the decision of whether to keep publishing content here. Perhaps I’ll shift to a single comprehensive post each month, allowing me to delve deeper into the themes I love while celebrating the beauty of the natural world.
Here are the sparrow species I observed on Saturday:
Spizella passerina
Spizella pusilla
Passerella iliaca
Junco hyemalis
Zonotrichia leucophrys
Zonotrichia albicollis
Passerculus sandwichensis
Melospiza melodia
Melospiza lincolnii
Melospiza georgiana
Pipilo erythrophthalmus
Ha! Those blasted Latin names again, right? When considering common names of these sparrow species, there's only one with an eponym—Lincoln's. It was named after Thomas Lincoln, a young friend of the American ornithologist John James Audubon. In 1833, during an expedition in Labrador, Lincoln shot the first specimen of this species (shame!), which was then unknown to science. As a tribute to his contribution, Audubon named the bird in his honor, originally Lincoln Finch Fringilla Lincolnii.
Curiously, Audubon claimed he discovered the species in his 1834 publication, but this narrative is contradicted by his wife Lucy's diary entries, which provide a different perspective. Further complicating the matter, a published transcript by Audubon’s granddaughter, Maria, aligns closely with his narrative, suggesting she may have altered the record. Additionally, the recently rediscovered unpublished diary of Thomas Lincoln supports Lucy's version. This situation raises important questions about the reliability of primary sources in Audubon scholarship, perhaps emphasizing the need for a review of his contributions to ornithology.
Or should we just erase Audubon altogether?
In one case, and to much woke criticism, the National Audubon Society decided to keep its name, despite controversy surrounding its namesake, who was a slave owner and held racist views. After a year-long deliberation, the board concluded in March 2023 that the organization's work and legacy had come to transcend Audubon’s name, focusing on their broader conservation efforts.
History will preserve the connection to the bird because the binomial scientific name M. lincolnii will not be changed. Naturally, as I've mentioned in past posts, I'll probably not adopt whatever descriptive name the American Ornithological Society comes up with (nor will I purchase any new field guides). Therefore, if you happen to be birding with me sometime in the future and I call out "Lincoln's!" or "M. Lincolnii" I'm still technically correct and you should know which species I'm talking about.
In a sense, it feels like a subtle form of racism to claim that common names honoring offensive figures are problematic, yet simultaneously assume that people won't notice the superficial nature of simply keeping the scientific names untouched. This suggests an underestimation of people's ability to recognize such token gestures for what they are. I still contend if the US birding community is not welcoming to minorities, it’s the birders that are a problem, not the names of birds. Does anyone really believe that white people changing the names of animals, parks, lakes, schools, buildings, highways, etc., will reduce inequality? Some say it's a start, but I suspect it'll have nil effect.
Ultimately, while changing names might signal a willingness to engage with these issues, it is the actions and attitudes of individuals within the community that will determine whether true inclusivity is achieved. No matter what we call things, the history is set in stone.
Anyway, here are the magnificent birds I photographed ...
Ye dapper Lincoln's.
White-throats ...
As per usual, most of the sparrows were clustered on the northeast slope of the drumlin.
Adult and immature White-crowned Sparrows ...
A Field Sparrow above, and Fox Sparrow below ...
Dang obstructions!
With what little sunlight remained, I spent some time taking macro photographs of vegetation; some still living, some dead, and others carrying the promise of a new season.
Ya gotta love asters.
It's already the middle of October. As we journey through life, the sensation of time speeding up can be quite striking, especially when we immerse ourselves in Nature. In our youth, the changing seasons brim with new experiences—watching the leaves burst into color in the fall or feeling the first warm breezes of spring often feels like an eternity. However, as we age, those vivid moments can blur into a continuous cycle, making the months seem to fly by. This phenomenon, rooted in psychological and biological changes, suggests that our perception of time is influenced by how many novel experiences we encounter. As we age, routine often takes precedence, diminishing the richness of our memories and giving the impression that time is passing more swiftly. I think that engaging with the natural world helps slow down this perception, allowing us to savor each moment, by cultivating mindfulness in Nature, we can reclaim a sense of time that feels both abundant and meaningful.
All images © 2024 Mike McDowell