Abiquiu Juncos

Now I understand why juncos are called snowbirds! This year their arrival coincided with the first Sangre de Christo snow cover – such a welcome sight! For the past few days a flock of least a hundred juncos have been present in my front yard and are currently feeding not just at the feeding trees (elm and Russian olive) but also from the porch where I can keep a close eye on their behavior and differences in color.
 
This morning one hit the window – hard – I rushed out and sure enough one little male was gasping for breath with rapidly closing eyes. Never a good sign. I rushed him in the house and dribbled sugar water over his beak. No response. My grief mounted. You would think after witnessing so many deaths of small birds over the years that one more wouldn’t matter so much, but in my case each death seems worse than the one before, probably because I am so aware that each bird is a precious jewel because we are losing so many to climate change and loss of habitation. I held him tenderly, thinking that if he died at least he wouldn’t be alone… Amazingly, after about 15 minutes he began to struggle in my hand regarding me with one piercing coal black eye. As I spoke to him he settled peacefully in my hand. My two dogs and Lily b were on high alert, their compassion obvious. Finally, I took a chance and placed him on the outdoor railing. He immediately fluttered helplessly to the porch floor with what I believed was a broken wing. Oh no, I thought, not again, remembering all the times I had killed birds that couldn’t fly, hoping to save them from a protracted dying… I gathered a few seeds and a bit of water placing the two containers next to him. That he trusted me was obvious. When he began to eat I left him for a while before the big test. When I gathered the little bird in my palm I set him on a low bush. No movement. And then, suddenly, a fly away. He had survived! This little bird life brought a rush of pure joy into my day. And at that very moment the music of the white crowned sparrow filled my ears.
 
Why is it that birds of the same species may look very different in various regions but have the same name? For instance, Dark-eyed Juncos in the Pacific Northwest may have a reddish back and a dark “hood” (Oregon race), while Dark-eyed Juncos in the northeast are generally a slate-gray color, without a hood (slate-colored race). All this classification makes me crazy. At present I have three different looking juncos visiting on the porch and each one is beautiful!
 
With such a broad range and variable ecology, it is not surprising that the Dark-eyed Junco occurs in a staggering array of habitats. In the boreal region, it nests in both coniferous and hardwood forests, especially those with relatively sparse tree cover and dense understory. Elsewhere, it occurs in virtually any habitat with sufficiently dense low vegetation for nesting.
During migration and winter this bird can be found in an even broader range of habitats, including areas with relatively little cover such as harvested crop fields, grassy lakeshores, lawns, and road margins.
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Most (including all northern) populations are migratory. The peaks of migration are in October and March/April. The winter range extends across southern Canada and virtually all of the lower 48 states into northern Mexico. Juncos are found year-round throughout much of the West, Great Lakes region, Northeast (not in Western Maine where I lived), and Appalachians, though these areas experience complete or partial turnover of individuals. Adults, especially females, tend to migrate farther (and begin migration earlier) in eastern populations.

Juncos are abundant in Northern forests during the breeding season. An estimated 80% of the North American population breeds within the Boreal Forest. The junco is also one of the most familiar birds at North American bird feeders. They are ground dwellers and feed on seeds and small fruits in the open. During breeding season they feast on insects. Juncos move through the lower branches of trees and seek shelter in the tangle of shrubs or thick grasses like the ones in my front yard. 
 
Although birds of both sexes tend to have only one  mate with which they nest and defend a territory, they also mate with neighboring birds. As a result, males raise many young that are not their own. Usually four bluish -green eggs are laid, with larger clutches more frequent early in the season and smaller clutches late. The compact nest of rootlets, shreds of bark, twigs, and mosses, lined with grasses and hair is placed on or near the ground. The young are able to run before they can fly, if necessary, because their legs develop quickly. Southern populations normally attempt to raise two broods per year. Nest predation, particularly by rodents, is very high, and overall productivity is highly correlated with rodent density.
There is something wonderful about watching these sparrows interact with one another and their relatives. Some literature states that Juncos are territorial all year round. This may be true during breeding, but in the non - breeding season juncos and other sparrows seem to enjoy each others company, at least in my experience.

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