Our Little Chickadees: New Haven’s Singing Therapists

One recent afternoon, a chorus of songbirds stirred me from a catnap on a backyard chaise.

The fact that I noticed this impromptu chorus seemed encouraging; I have often ignored natural wonders, focusing instead on pressing human issues.

Yet, as I age into the Backyard Chaise Phase of Life, I find that my awareness has intensified. Our dog, Lucca, has been my teacher.

On our walks in the neighborhood, he sniffs flowers and shrubs, and seems content.

And though I am not privy to his inner thoughts during these ventures, I surmise he has no worries about the fate of our democracy, or yesterday’s shortage of treats. He is living moment-to-moment.

When he and I heard our backyard birds, however, we were both a little confused as neither of us could spot the songsters in the branches of our neighbor’s oak tree that shade our driveway.

Who were these creatures invading our urban space and causing such neighborhood uplift? I turned on my app, Merlin, one of the free features of Cornell University’s Ornithology Lab.

In just the next 28 minutes and 15 seconds, Merlin identified the following members of the backyard chorale: American Robin, House Sparrow, Song Sparrow, Blue Jay, Northern Cardinal, Chimney Swift, European Starling, Mourning Dove, White-Throated Sparrow, and House Wren.

All there, for free, no need to get gouged by Ticketmaster. What’s more, I didn’t know at the time that they had become my benefactors in other ways.

After the performance, my curiosity heightened. Avian flu has been in the news. Were these birds at particular risk? As it turned out, it appears I was concerned about the wrong menace.

In my effort to learn about our local population of nesters — 451 local species, it is reported by the avian authorities — I got in touch with Christine Howe, the current president of the New Haven Bird Club, which has been in existence since 1907, and boasts a membership of about 500 (that is, people, not Yellow-Bellied Sap Suckers).

I told her that I’d had a bit of experience with birding, mostly as a tour guide in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, where I told stories about the Tahquamenon River’s bald eagle population. But on New Haven’s flying residents, I needed a remedial course.

We met at the covered pedestrian bridge near the Eli Whitney Museum, where she had also invited two past presidents of the club, Craig Repasz and William Batsford.

Imagine, then, my good fortune: three human tutors and one squawking Eastern Phoebe drawn to the bridge on that lovely June morning. In the time that followed, we lost ourselves in a world of many creatures great and small even as we discussed, inevitably, modern threats to their existence.

First the good news. In the roughly 50 walks that the club organizes each year, members spot large populations through powerful binoculars and camera lenses. There is much to celebrate here, and to savor.

For one, members decide to get up off of the couch and away from cable news to get exercise and to go on treasure hunts, never knowing for sure what they’ll find.

Perhaps near the salt marsh at Hammonasset State Park, reported to be one of the best birding spots in Connecticut, they’ll find Northern Harriers, Upland Sandpipers, or even American Oystercatchers with their red-orange bills.

Even so, they know they don’t actually have to venture outside to notice. During our discussion about the New Haven presence of ravens, William Batsford, who lives on a top floor in an apartment on York Street, has often seen them on the building’s roof, and photographed them with his Nikon and its 600-millimeter lens.

And according to Christine Howe, who has her own Canon 7D with a 400-millimeter lens (and has supplied photos for this essay), there is this oddity: ​“Ravens like the areas around Jewish delis.”

This, she said, is because they can find scraps of salmon in the garbage. This is news I relished, as unwittingly I have been, as a customer, a ravens benefactor.

Migration from southern climes, as the north warms, have brought variations of buzzards, and, Howe said, ​“There would be a lot more dead animals in the streets if not for this clean-up crew.“

What was unknown to me, among many bird-related news, is that scientific studies in Germany and elsewhere have shown that the songs of birds have actually lowered blood pressure and anxiety levels in humans.

No pills needed. Just a birdsong in the heart. It was probably why, sitting on my chaise, I had felt such a sense of calm.

And yet, while birds do a lot for us, bird clubs like this one and others in the area know well the history of destructive behavior by humans toward our flying friends.

As my mentors pointed out, more than a century ago there was, even here in civilized New Haven, a massive amount of bird hunting. Much of it was entrepreneurial in nature, especially as it related to the millenary industry.

By the time of the founding of the New Haven club, nationwide millions of birds had been killed each year for their feathers, which became prominent in hat designs for women.

There was, however, growing resistance to this.

Craig Repasz said, ​“Objections were raised by women, and fronted by men. Yet women did go around to shop owners to urge them to stop selling such hats.”

Having written a chapter on the history of his club for the book, ​“Chickadee Tales: A New Haven Bird Club Anthology,” he knows that back then even birds became grist for anti-immigration activists.

The dwindling population of local species was sometimes blamed on the influx of Italian migrants who, it was charged by those who wanted to deflect blame, routinely shot birds for dinner.

But as time passed, one crisis replaced another, and then another. Our present existential issues of climate change and human-made bird hazards are now killing millions, giving our local club and those around the nation new causes to support.

Light pollution and more and more glass in construction has resulted in millions of bird deaths who mistake glassed sides of buildings for open air. These factors disorient birds. Part of the pollution problem is the widespread use lately of more powerful LED bulbs.

Still, I couldn’t help feel that with the New Haven bird club as well as other similar organizations on the case, awareness of these hazards is spreading.

The matter involving the Yale School of Management building, Evans Hall, which unlike almost all other campus structures, is a glass palace.

Between 2018 and 2022, at least 435 birds of 56 species were killed by flying into windows; these included a hefty number of Mourning Doves, White-Throated Sparrows, and Black-Spotted Chickadees. Since then, authorities have taken steps to greatly reduce the hazard through the use of materials that birds can see, and then avoid collisions.

When my time with the experts ended, I returned to the bird sanctuary in my backyard.

The morning had proven inspiring, and full of lessons.

It prompted me to recall a birding expedition I joined on Block Island about 25 years ago. A husband and wife of advanced age led a tour of the marshes and grasslands.

Though I don’t recall whether we found any Buffleheads, Hooded Mergansers, or Gadwalls, I remember that the only matter disturbing the peace of that outing was the constant and loud disagreements between our two guides.

But to end with more ​“good” news: Their species, called, I think, in the Latin, Bickeringae Maritalae Puffinus, appears not to be endangered.

Note: For information about the New Haven Bird Club see: https://www.newhavenbirdclub.o…