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Archive for the ‘Habitat’ Category

male american goldfinch

A male American goldfinch glows in sunshine or shadow (Photo: Dale Kaskey, Creative Commons license)

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There’s been a marked decline in the number of sunspots over the past decade or so. That’s what NASA scientists say, and I have no reason to doubt their research findings. Luckily, I haven’t observed any reduction in the terrestrial version of this phenomenon. Hardly a day has passed lately when I’ve not been blinded by the solar flare of a male American goldfinch (Carduelis tristis) as it escapes, briefly, the gravitational pull of a remnant patch of forest.


Actually, woodlots have a fairly loose grip on goldfinches, and they regularly venture out beyond the edge. It’s just that the male’s lemon-colored plumage glows against the inky green shade of conifers and summer hardwood foliage, or a cornflower blue sky, making them even more eye-catching than when the backdrop is amber waves of grain… or weedy native grasses. The undulating flight pattern only adds to the illusion of a plasma flash.

Found throughout the majority of North America for at least part of the year, and in about a third of the continent year-round, these smallish (4-5”) birds are regular visitors to backyards. In fact, suburban sprawl, which has proven so harmful to many wild species—neotropical migrant birds in particular—has been a boon for these devoted granivores. Goldfinches flock to places where thistle, sunflower, dandelion, cosmos, and aster seeds can be found, and development creates the perfect habitat for them and their favorite foods. The popularity of bird feeders hasn’t hurt either, since they provide seed-eaters with a competitive edge over birds that prefer other dining plans.

female american goldfinchAlso known as the wild canary, this species is sexually dimorphic, meaning gender can be distinguished by some physical feature—in this case, plumage. As is so often the case among wild birds, the female American goldfinch’s wardrobe is understated compared to her mate. The sunny palette is still present, but her hue of choice is a dull or olive-tinged yellow, and her wings are a shade or two lighter although similarly marked.

Boy or girl, the gold in those feathers comes from carotenoid pigments in their diet. It’s the same process and components that causes flamingo (Phoenicopterus and Phoenicoparrus spp.) feathers to be pink, coral or orange (the wild ones get their color from the red algae and aquatic invertebrates they consume, while captive birds rely on fortified flamingo chow). Without carotenoids in their diet, flamingos would become a much paler version of the iconic plastic subspecies, and goldfinches would go from 24 to 10 karat.

You are what you eat, you know. So are goldfinches. And even though it’s converted into an amazing variety of forms—thistle seeds, bluegrass, brussel sprouts, mangos, caviar, cheese, chicken chests, and hamburgers—when you get down to basics, we’re all eating sunshine. It just shines more brightly through some of us than others.

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© 2011 Next-Door Nature— no reprints without written permission from the author. Thanks to Arthur Chapman for making his photo of a female American goldfinch clinging to a feeder available through a Creative Commons license.

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Next-Door Nature, toucan, song sparrow, beak size

When you’re trying to stay cool without air conditioning, it helps to carry a radiator on your face, large or small (Photos: Ame Otoko and Cephas, Creative Commons license).

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A scientists’ work is never done.

That’s because there’s always another layer to peel away, another stone to turn, another angle from which to view the situation.  Case in point—nearly 200 years ago, Charles Darwin made the connection between the size and shape of a finch’s beak and the availability of the seeds they eat; to this very day, no one has been able to produce evidence that undermines his observation and the conclusions he drew from them.

But what if there’s more to a beak than meets the eye?

That’s the question raised by Russell Greenberg of the Smithsonian Conservation Biology Institute. His theory—that beak size may also be an adaptation to temperature regulation and water conservation—has been bolstered by data from two recently published studies.  [Data collected, in part, by a newly minted PhD named Ray Danner. Ray just happens to be a member of my own adopted extended family, and if that name sounds vaguely familiar… well, regular NDN readers may remember that not too long ago I was bragging about another member of this ornithological power couple, Ray’s wife, Dr. Julie Danner.]

black-tailed jackrabbitSome years back, Greenberg noticed a difference in size between the beaks of sparrows living in salt marshes and those of sparrows settled just a kilometer or two further inland. Then a paper published in 2009 reported toco toucans (Ramphastos toco) may lose as much as 60% of their body heat through their long bills, based on thermal imaging and similar to the role played by the large ears of both elephants (Elephantidae) and jackrabbits (Lepus spp.). While many ecologists assumed toucans were a special case, Greenberg wondered—might other birds have evolved larger or smaller beaks to discharge or conserve heat as well?

He chose to test his hypothesis by applying thermal imaging to a subject with a much less prominent proboscis—the song sparrow (Melospiza melodia).  Native to North America, everything about these feathered minstrels is miniature compared to their South American kin. The toucan weighs in at 1-2 pounds (the large bill doesn’t actually tip the scale as much as you might think since it’s mostly hollow) while at 0.4—1.9 ounces the song sparrow is definitely a featherweight.

In the first study, two subspecies were examined. On average, the beak of an Atlantic song sparrow was found to have 17% more surface area than that of the eastern song sparrow, although both birds have similarly sized bodies. Based on the Greenberg team’s calculations, the Atlantic sparrow loses 33% more heat than it’s inland neighbor. The finding suggests beaks may play a role in thermoregulation for a wide variety of bird species.

The ability to stay cool when the ambient temperature rises is critical to survival, but how one gets rid of the excess heat is just as important.  Birds don’t sweat—they pant… and lose not just heat but water in the process. This summer, residents across the U.S. have been reminded just what a precious resource water can be, and never more so than for all the creatures without easy access to a faucet.  Greenberg and his colleagues suggest that a bird’s beak can function like a radiator, releasing heat without losing water. The Atlantic sparrow’s larger bill saves the bird about 8% more water than the smaller beaked eastern sparrow. That may not sound like much but during a hot, dry summer it could be a significant survival advantage.

The second study examined museum specimens of song sparrows collected on the other side of the continent, along the California coast. Sure enough, as maximum temperatures increase, so did beak size… with one caveat.  When the maximum temperature was higher than 98°F (37°C) beaks got smaller… just as was predicted by the original hypothesis. You see, if you took a song sparrow’s temperature the thermometer would read about 105°F (41°C). When the air temperature exceeds the bird’s own temperature, as it does in some regions, a larger beak could actually begin to absorb heat.

While the Smithsonian group has demonstrated a connection between climate and beak size, there’s still plenty of work to be done. For the new hypothesis to garner support, scientists need to see data that ties survival of wild birds to beak size-related heat dissipation.

Meanwhile, the fact that diet influences beak size and shape hasn’t changed—Darwin can continue to rest in peace. But as so often is the case, the more we discover the more we realize just how rich and complex this world and its inhabitants are … even an Earthling as seemingly plain and simple as a sparrow.

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There’s nothing quite like finding a little Next-Door Nature in your email inbox—click the “subscribe”  link in the upper right-hand corner of this page and receive notifications of new posts!

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© 2012 Next-Door Nature—no reprints without written permission from the author (I’d love for you to share my work; all you have to do is ask). Thanks to these photographers for making their work available through a Creative Commons license: [from the top] Ame Otoko (toco toucan); Cephas (song sparrow); James Marvin Phelps (black-tailed jackrabbit); Mr. T in DC (house sparrow on drinking fountain); David Craig (song sparrow in hand).

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damsel fly at rest, Next-Door Nature, urban wildlife

This lanky damsel isn’t waiting for a charming champion to rescue her (or him?). It’s just resting up for another mosquito-shopping trip (Photo: Tomquah, Creative Commons license).

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Once upon a time there was a damsel(fly).

[Imagine, if you will, a bucolic Disneyesque soundtrack of flutes and piccolos in the background.]

She (Or maybe he. This is a modern fairly tale.) explored the lovely little pond from which s/he had recently emerged after having spent most of life underwater as a nymph.

Who would have guessed during that awkward adolescence, when growth spurts had him/her literally jumping out of her skin a dozen times or so, that she would transform from an ugly duckling into a swan? (Speaking of awkward… let’s just stick with “her” from here on out for the sake of simplicity, shall we?)

So… today was her debut. A coming out, of sorts, and the damsel(fly) flitted here and there, enjoying the warm sun shimmering and gleaming on her iridescent wings as she dipped down to the water now and again to daintily snack on mosquito larvae.

Not a care in the world.  Completely oblivious to…  [Cue the ominous bassoon music] …the looming presence of a dragon(fly) on the other shore.

Not that it mattered, really. [Can I have the flutes and piccolos back, please?]  Sure, the dragon(fly) was part of the Epiprocta clan, the damsel(fly) a Zygoptera, but they were both members of the Order Odonata. No family feuds that she knew of, and so closely related were they that many folks had trouble telling one from the other without assistance in the form of a handy reference table.

They were cousins, but not kissing cousins. No interspecies hanky-panky here, even though their kind were known as having an unusual approach to romance. You see, instead of offering a wake-up kiss, the male clasps the female behind her head with a special appendage on the tip of his abdomen. IF she welcomes the embrace, instead of sliding her foot into a size 6 glass Louboutin slipper eventually she loops her abdomen forward to pick up the spermatophore from a structure on his abdomen and deliver it to her spermatheca [Latin is a romance language, remember].

I know, I know… it sounds kind of weird and kinky but trust me, it’s just hard to describe. When it’s right it’s a beautiful thing, especially when the couple forms a kind of heart with their entwined bodies [Everyone say “awwwww”].

Sometimes they even become members of the Mile-High Club, flying united for a little while. But damsel(flies) and dragon(flies) aren’t the marrying kind. They’re independent and self-sufficient—a characteristic that begins in infancy. Good thing, too, because, to be perfectly honest, the adults are neglectful parents. Dad is no prince, zooming off with hardly a backward glance at the new Mom-to-be, who’s no queen of the nursery herself. She deposits her eggs in floating plants or directly into the water and then washes her (metaphorical) hands of the responsibilities of child-rearing.

The nymphs (aka naiads) hatch and, being carnivorous little monsters, begin feeding on mosquito larvae, daphnia, tadpoles, small fish, and sometimes each other.

That happens among adults as well, although the jury’s still out on the subject of postcoital cannibalism, a not-uncommon behavior in the insect world. It’s enough to give a girl pause (although, for most insect species it’s the guy who needs to worry about fatal attractions).

Whatever. This is the 21st century and females of every stripe and species are all about DIY.  Gals today don’t need a prince to save them. Locked up in a tower? Any modern, self-respecting damsel knows you simply pull out your smartphone, Google instructions for making a rope out of sheets, and then shimmy down to freedom.

Evil stepmother? Please. Dial the Child Abuse Hotline and tell that witch you’ll see her in court!

Face to face with a dragon? Reach for your trusty catch-pole or tranquilizer dart gun apps.

And live happily ever after.

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There’s nothing quite like finding a little Next-Door Nature in your email inbox—click the “subscribe”  link in the upper right-hand corner of this page and receive notifications of new posts!

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© 2012 Next-Door Nature—no reprints without written permission from the author (I’d love for you to share my work; all you have to do is ask). Thanks to these photographers for making their work available through a Creative Commons license: [starting from the top]: Tomquah (cover damselfly); Photo munki (nymph… not the same species); Clifton Beard (mating damselflies); Ben McLeod (dragonfly eyes); and Charles Lam (damselfly eyes).

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