May 14, 2018
April Overall
Nesting is not so easy for this prairie songbird
The cheery “chee, chee, chee” song of the Boblink inspired renown poet, William Cullen Bryant to write a poem about this remarkable prairie bird in the late 19th century. It seems the poem’s name “Robert of Lincoln” is responsible for its current naming “Bob o’Link”. Sadly, this bird’s romantic name has not prevented its population from taking a turn for the worse in recent years. The Bobolink’s numbers are plummeting. In 2010, the Committee on the Status of Endangered Wildlife in Canada (COSEWIC) listed the species as Threatened, leaving researchers to wonder how much longer the “chee chee chee” of the Bobolink will be heard. Can we save this species?
Little Nest on the Prairie
The Bobolink is a migratory prairie songbird. Every winter, it makes the 20,000 kilometre journey to its wintering ground in South America. This journey is one of the longest migrations of a songbird. Historically, when the Bobolink arrived home in the spring, it could be found in meadows as well as tall grass prairies. Over time, this habitat has been replaced by agricultural lands such as pastures and hayfields. The Bobolink has adjusted fairly well on this accord – indeed its diet includes oat seeds, rice, grain and a variety of insects – all great at helping to nourish its young and fuel its long migration.
The Bobolink is an unusual kind of songbird as it likes to nest on the ground. Females will find a special place in grasslands, hayfields or pastures to build their nests and in late spring and early summer, they will lay between three and seven eggs. The eggs can range in colour from blueish-gray to reddish brown. They’ll need between 11 and 14 days to stay warm beneath their mothers before they’ll hatch. When the tiny birds break out of their shells, they are sparsely clad in yellow down, unable to see or fly and must hide away among the grasses before their flight feathers grow in.
Plow and Plight
Unfortunately, agricultural practices have made the lives of Bobolink young rather difficult and have caused their populations to dwindle. When farmers harvest their crops too soon, many Bobolink nests and eggs are destroyed and hatchlings and females are killed. You can just imagine how devastating this is to the Bobolink. The sad thing is the Bobolink just need a little bit of time to nest and allow the fledglings to learn to fly. After breeding is complete, Bobolinks don’t stick around the area. They move on to waterways like marshes and coasts to molt before they ready themselves for the long flight south once again.
The Canadian Wildlife Federation is recommending that farmers wait until July 15th every year before they start harvesting. When you cut grasses and hay after July 15th, young Bobolinks will be able to fly away and won’t be killed by the mower. Another option? Cut one area at a time and leave some areas uncut. If a landowners can recognize the Bobolink in their fields, they can keep an eye out and see where the Bobolink spend their time and cut in another area – giving the Bobolink a chance to survive.
Robert of Lincoln
MERRILY swinging on brier and weed,
Near to the nest of his little dame,
Over the mountain-side or mead,
Robert of Lincoln is telling his name:
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
Snug and safe is that nest of ours,
Hidden among the summer flowers.
Chee, chee, chee.
Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest,
Wearing a bright black wedding-coat;
White are his shoulders and white his crest.
Hear him call in his merry note:
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
Look, what a nice new coat is mine,
Sure there was never a bird so fine.
Chee, chee, chee.
Robert of Lincoln’s Quaker wife,
Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings,
Passing at home a patient life,
Broods in the grass while her husband sings:
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
Brood, kind creature; you need not fear
Thieves and robbers while I am here.
Chee, chee, chee.
Modest and shy as a nun is she;
One weak chirp is her only note.
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he,
Pouring boasts from his little throat;
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
Never was I afraid of man;
Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can!
Chee, chee, chee.
Six white eggs on a bed of hay,
Flecked with purple, a pretty sight!
There as the mother sits all day,
Robert is singing with all his might:
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
Nice good wife, that never goes out,
Keeping house while I frolic about.
Chee, chee, chee.
Soon as the little ones chip the shell,
Six wide mouths are open for food;
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well,
Gathering seeds for the hungry brood.
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
This new life is likely to be
Hard for a gay young fellow like me.
Chee, chee, chee.
Robert of Lincoln at length is made
Sober with work, and silent with care;
Off is his holiday garment laid,
Half forgotten that merry air:
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
Nobody knows but my mate and I
Where our nest and our nestlings lie.
Chee, chee, chee.
Summer wanes; the children are grown;
Fun and frolic no more he knows;
Robert of Lincoln’s a humdrum crone;
Off he flies, and we sing as he goes:
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
When you can pipe that merry old strain,
Robert of Lincoln, come back again.
Chee, chee, chee.
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