I don’t mean to be stating something, but I’m particularly fond of red birds.
Last week, I wrote about cinnamon teal, my undisputed GOAT of waterfowl. Some might consider the teal a not quite red bird as the males are more terracotta than red, but this snappy duck is crimson in my book.
My new fave red bird is the northern cardinal. For people living on the far side of the Mississippi there’s nothing unusual about cardinals. The bird is so common in the east that it’s the state bird in more states (seven) than any other. Montana’s state bird, the western meadowlark, comes in second with icon status in six states.
Another favorite bird of mine, the northern mockingbird, is honored as the top feathered friend in five states. It once was six, but South Carolina foolishly dropped the mockingbird for the adorable, but less-belligerent Carolina wren.
Cardinals started the state bird thing, though it was the Commonwealth of Kentucky that made it the first “state” bird in 1926.
Living in northern cardinal habitat is new to me. The bird’s established range extends only about as far west as the prairie town where I now live. After seven years on the flatlands, I only learned cardinals abound in this neck of the woods because I moved to the woods. More specifically, I moved to the woods of an older neighborhood in town with an established urban forest. I’ve got a nice ash tree out front that I hope won’t succumb to invasive emerald ash borers, and a stately maple out back.
The street is lined with trees and that canopy is alive with bird life. There are the usual tweeties — robins, jays and starlings are the most common — and a mix of larger predators. There’s a Cooper’s hawk on our block and red-tails visit regularly.
The cardinals caught me off guard. While I’ve been here a spell, most of that time I lived in a newer subdivision carved out of an alfalfa field. There’s no forest there yet.
The male cardinals here are, of course, red, but not quite as vivid as some of those you’ll see in photographs. It was the call that got my attention when the birds let loose this spring. Cardinals sing a series of whistles that can sound like “cheer-cheer-cheer” or “purdy-purdy-purdy,” and often ends with a trilling flourish. The males are loud and boisterous, and because they outnumber more boisterous blue jays, cardinals are the primary wakeup call in the neighborhood.
While males raise the most ruckus, female cardinals call as well.
Cardinals are so named because they reminded European settlers in the New World of the red-cloaked Catholic cardinals back home. Red is somewhat unusual in birddom, at least in a full-body suit, but it has a purpose. Colorful males are a hot commodity for many female birds, including cardinals. The birds produce their colorful plumage from their food, which contains plant pigments called carotenoids. It’s the same stuff that gives tomatoes or carrots their color. Most carotenoids produce yellow, but cardinals convert the pigment to red. There are rare yellow cardinals — birds that lack the genes necessary for this color conversion.
Cardinals are expanding their range north and west. There are confirmed sightings along the Missouri River and reports on Montana Field Guide place them as far west as the Flathead. Climate change is likely a factor, as is the prevalence of feeders supplying winter calories for this non-migratory species. The bird’s adaptability to suburban forests like the one I moved to last fall has also played a role.
The species also has a featured role in one of the coolest team logos in American sports: the St. Louis Cardinals’ baseball bat with cardinals perched at both ends. That logo, with the classic script St. Louis embroidered across a button-down, road-blue shirt, is a dang-near perfect baseball jersey.