In search of ponies: Red-winged blackbirds always welcome

Their evening silhouettes in the upper branches of the trees seem like oriental artwork — so beautiful, one might think it was indeed a painting were it not for the occasional stretch, flutter of wings and flighty hop to a higher branch.

You can almost set a clock by them as they lite en masse in the naked fruit tree branches around 4 p.m., transitioning to the inner branches of the dense pines just before the sun disappears 45 minutes later.

Hyper-vigilant, even as they dose, the sound of footsteps passing by their hidden roost startles them into activity.

Like the "wave" in the stands of a packed stadium, each tree bursts to life as it is passed, the tiny occupants flapping and sounding the alarm as they rise up above the tree, then settle again when the footsteps continue past.

So nondescript in appearance, they would have been challenging to identify, were it not for the dead give-a-way red feathers capping the shoulders of the black ones. Initially when the couple-or-so-hundred birds appeared about a week ago it looked like a mixed flock with black and brown members.

But not an inter-species group at all, even though they lack the adornments of their male counterparts, the plain brown females of the bunch are still red-winged blackbirds.

Coming, staying or going, it's hard to tell if they are of local ilk, or travelers.

Of course they can be a migratory bunch with a diverse playground, generally moving from the northern parts of the country to the southern states and Mexico in the colder months. However these are most likely those red-winged blackbirds who do not feel the need to migrate, particularly when they inhabit the mid-to-southern regions of the country, and since migrations should have happened two months ago.

Whether passing through and taking a long pit stop, or permanent residents of the area, the flock is surely finding fortune in our neck of the woods this year as an exceptionally mild winter season continues.

Who knows what they do during the day — they are nowhere to be found while the sun is high — but every night they return, flying as a collective, banking this way and that, disappearing when they glide to the side, and then reappearing slowly, gradient shadows growing stronger as they sail through the air toward the trees.

Their chattering is impossible to ignore, no doubt the result of pent up needs to communicate after hours of closed-beak travel, but somehow it is soothing and cheerful.

Omnivorously ravenous, they are certainly welcome to roost in my trees, the hope being that while they visit they will help cull the population of obnoxious flies that got a stay of execution in the absence of snow and freezing temperatures.

Not long ago, fledgling hawks perched in nests on the borders of open sections of land with nothing as far as their eyes could see, yet only six months later they've been forced to fly toward town in pursuit of the mice and rabbits who had already fled.

And so — though it's unfortunate for them that they are a delicacy to their larger cousins — they are also welcome because perhaps they will provide some relief to the area's birds of prey. After all, thought to be one of the most plentiful birds in North America, surely they can spare a member or two to ease the plight.

Though of course preventing exactly that is one of the reasons why they live as a fowl borg.

Wings of Red, to the Lakota, agelaios phoeniceus, belonging to a flock of "deep red" in Latin, and mirlo de alas rojas in Spanish, they are many things to many — though singing insecticide, manna for raptors, flight that's music to the eyes and soothing evening chatter certainly must be among their finer traits.

Sharna Johnson is a writer who is always searching for ponies. You can reach her at: [email protected] or on the web at: http://www.insearchofponies.blogspot.com