Not seeing a violet-green isn’t easy to swallow
I needed to be getting ready when I heard the bubbly, gurgling sounds made
by a purple martin in our home.
It wasn’t an actual bird, but the authentic recorded sound of a purple martin coming from a bird clock. My father-in-law gave me one that lasted over 30 years. My wife gave me a replacement clock last year. The purple martin sounds off at 8.
I was off to see the wizard—an ologist of some kind with many letters behind his last name. A cardinal sang. I looked out the window and saw what I’ve seen often, but not enough, before. A deja view. That brilliant redbird brightened my day.
Leo Buscaglia wrote, “A single rose can be my garden... a single friend, my world.”
A single bird enhances my day.
On the ride, I looked for swallows from my passenger seat. Tree swallows return to their breeding grounds earlier in the spring than other swallow species. This is due to their ability to adapt to a broader range of foods. I typically see one around March 19. Tree swallows are cavity nesters known to investigate artificial structures like the tailpipe of a truck for nesting.
“One swallow does not make a summer, neither does one fine day; similarly, one day or brief time of happiness does not make a person entirely happy.” This is attributed to Aristotle. A swallow helps spring spring into action.
In Minnesota, we get to see a nice variety of swallows: barn, tree, cliff, bank, northern rough-winged and purple martin.
Some are easy to identify. Barn swallows eat barns, tree swallows eat trees, cliff swallows eat cliffs, and bank swallows eat banks, but only the branch offices.
My father was a persistent but failed purple martin landlord. He lowered the rent and did away with the required security deposit, but had no success. He was a member of a purple martin organization that proclaimed that each martin ate 2,000 mosquitoes a day. Martins hunt for food during the day, and mosquitoes are active in the evening, with little overlap in their schedules. Martins feed high in the air, while skeeters dine closer to the ground. Eating a mosquito would be like going through a drive-thru and ordering one french fry at a time. It’d make no sense. I watch the martins at our bird club’s martin houses and gourds. They eat many dragonflies. Oklahoma research found martins eat invasive red fire ants, and eat termites, beetles, dragonflies, damselflies and other insects. When a baby martin cries, “I’m hungry,” it gets a dragonfly shoved into its gaping maw. That’s like a kid getting a large birthday cake, including the candles, shoved into his mouth because he whined, “Ma, I’m hungry.”
If I had to pick a favorite swallow, it’d be the barn. I grew up in a dairy barn and watched many generations of barn swallows fledge from their mud nests in our barn. When I mow the lawn, barn swallows shadow me, snacking on the flying insects the mower causes to take flight. “Click it, click it,” they call. I remind them that there is no seatbelt on a push lawn mower, but they’re not listening.
Barn swallows are symbols of spring, renewal, good luck, love and fidelity. A Native American legend is that a barn swallow dared to swipe fire from the gods and give the fire to humans. The angry gods shot flaming arrows at the bird. One arrow hit the swallow at the base of its tail, burning away the central tail feathers. Since then, the barn swallow has had a forked tail. The bird commonly associated with a swallowtail is the barn swallow, but all swallows have swallowtails. What are they going to do, borrow a tail from a blue jay? That’s not happening.
I narrate natural history tours and tell stories on the Pelican Breeze boat that floats upon Albert Lea Lake. One year, barn swallows nested on that vessel. A nestling’s life is a happy sequence of significant events. Four young birds crammed into a nest that could have used a couple more bedrooms. When the boat took a tour, the young swallows came along. The parents stayed at the dock, waiting for the return of their boating babies. It was a glorious reunion, with parents and relatives gleefully fluttering about the youngsters and joyously welcoming them.
I enjoy sitting on the deck of the house and watching swallows feasting on the ant swarms flying high in the air. It’s an evening at the bird ballet.
If I don’t see a swallow, it’s probably a violet-green swallow. There are only two records of that species in Minnesota—1942 and 1990.
Thanks for stopping by
“There are always flowers for those who want to see them.”—Henri Matisse.
©Al Batt 2025
This bird clock reminds me daily that I am fortunate to be nutty about nuthatches and looney about loons. Photo by Al Batt