Nature News: Mourning Doves seem too mellow for New England winters

I love watching my backyard bird feeder.  This time of year I get most excited by all of those winter birds.  The huge flocks of goldfinch with nary a gold-hued finch among them (they’re in their drab winter plumage), or the bright red cardinals and bright blue jays, the perky chickadees and titmice.  But, I also have big flocks of mourning doves, and even though I know they overwinter up here, they just don’t have that winter vibe. They seem too mellow for our New England winters.

I grew up in the suburbs of New York City.  According to my mom’s 1961 edition of Peterson’s  "A Field Guide to Birds" the mourning doves' winter range included New York; it actually extended up into Massachusetts.  I love that book because it tells the story of birds in my lifetime (I was born in ‘61).  Since the time that edition was published the winter range of mourning doves has extended up into Maine and I am sure it will continue that northern extension into the future. This is a bird that, in some ways, does well with humans. Climate change, clearing land and providing food at bird feeders have all helped their expansion north.   

Right now, I am seeing mourning doves flock to my feeder and shelter in the woods around my house. These are most likely adult males. The young migrate south in late summer, followed by females and then many of the males. By forgoing migration the males might have an edge come spring in establishing breeding territories.

I am making the assumption that everyone knows what a mourning dove looks, and sounds, like. They are a beautiful buffy-tan color with black spots on the wings and striking whitish-blue eye-liner. Their overall shape is unique-long-tailed, short red legs, a head that looks a little small in comparison to their body, but graceful in carriage and flight.  During breeding season (we’ll have to wait for that) their call is a mournful coo, but now, if you startle them into flight, you’ll hear a loud whistling sound (from their wings) that probably helps startle predators or provide some sort of warning to their flockmates (Cornell Lab All About Birds).

Another reason I assume most people are aware of these birds is that mourning doves are one of the most numerous birds in North America and are also the most abundant game bird - hunters kill approximately 20 million of the approximately 350 millions birds that live in the U.S. (you can hunt them in 42 states - almost everywhere except New England where they are protected). Where you find humans you will most likely find mourning doves.  

During the intermittent snow this past weekend I kept putting out bird food, in particular scattering it on the ground or sprinkling it along the porch railing for the mourning doves − seeds make up 99% of their diet.  They descended in hordes, plucking the seeds from the ground as fast as they could.  These birds don’t savor their meals, instead, they fill their crops with as many seeds as they can (according to Cornell Lab the record is 17,200 bluegrass seeds in a single crop!) and then fly someplace safe to digest.  

I tend to look at mourning doves and think of them as somehow domesticated, they seem so calm, complacent almost.  But then I remember just how wild these birds are. They boldly face our most challenging winters. Much as I try to sneak up on them to take pictures, I can’t.  They startle and fly off with such grace and elegance.  They are a reminder to me that nature doesn’t have just one face, there are many.  The ferocious face of a fisher or a snowy owl, the feisty face of a chickadee or red squirrel, or, in this case, the mild mannered face of a mourning dove. All of these faces are tenacious.

Susan Pike, a researcher and an environmental sciences and biology teacher at Dover High School, welcomes your ideas for future column topics. Send your photos and observations to spike3116@gmail.com. Read more of her Nature News columns online at Seacoastonline.com and pikes-hikes.com, and follow her on Instagram @pikeshikes.