Eastern phoebe: The harbinger

There are some things we take for granted: the sun rising in the East, spring following winter, sap flowing through a tree’s veins and the appearance of the first phoebe in March.

Nothing ushers in spring quite like that of the eastern phoebe (Sayornis phoebe). In fact, northeast Ohio’s maple sugaring season and the arrival of this tiny flycatcher from its wintering grounds in the southeastern U.S. and Mexico, go hand in hand. It is my own personal signal that spring has arrived.

Though not as melodious as some of our other native songbirds, the raspy, repetitive, two-note “fee-bee” song (the second syllable alternately higher or lower than the first) gives one the impression that the bird has somewhat of a sore throat. Yet, its call is music to my ears. As I meander through a local sugarbush on a warm March afternoon following a night of below-freezing temperatures, I am suddenly overtaken by the realization that I am walking along in perfect rhythm to the droplets of sap in the buckets and the phoebe’s song — drip, fee-bee, drip fee-bee. The eastern phoebe has returned!

Eastern phoebe

The phoebe is a medium-sized member of the flycatcher family — a group of birds characterized by their unique hunting style of perching on a favorite dead branch and swooping out, deftly snatching their prey from the air with their short, thin bills and returning to the same spot on the branch. Phoebes are noted for their distinctive ‘tail-wag’, a behavior in which the bird sweeps its tail widely up and down and then side to side when alighted on a perch — a definitive identifying characteristic.

Dull in coloration, this grayish-brown bird with its large, dark head blends in perfectly with its surrounding woodland habitat. Male phoebes, the earliest of the spring migrants, arrive before the females, setting up territories and readying things for the arrival of their mates. Pair formation occurs shortly after the female arrives with nest building immediately following.

Phoebes seek out wooded areas with streams but are also found on farmland. They naturally nest on rocky shelves in ravines that are partially sheltered from above. Yet, they have developed an amazing tolerance for human activity and, to their benefit, have readily adapted to using man-made structures on which to place their nests. Only the females construct the complex nests composed of green moss, mud and leaves, lined with fine grass stems and animal hair. These are often located under the eaves of barns and sheds, in culverts or on the undersides of bridges. Because suitable nesting habitat is limited, there is a strong site attachment in this species. Often, a pair will utilize the same location for several successive years, renovating the old nest before depositing their eggs. They are one of the few species that will revamp an old nest rather than build a new one.

One of my most memorable phoebe nesting locations was discovered while on a camping trip at Mohican State Park. My husband stepped out of the men’s latrine, and after making sure that no one else was around, gestured toward me to have a look inside. “You’ll like what you see,” he said. And indeed, I did. Situated atop one of the urinals, was the most beautiful phoebe nest I have ever seen, complete with five eggs. I often think back to the “phoebes of the privy” and wonder if this site is one that they return to every year.

Upon nest completion, the female deposits up to six white eggs into the soft nest cup. After an incubation of around 15 days, the helpless young hatch. Tended to by both parents, they grow quickly and are ready to fledge by day 20. If a pair of phoebes gets started early enough in the year, they will often nest a second time, a term known as double-brooded.

Sadly, phoebe nests are often parasitized by brown-headed cowbirds. This native species of blackbird reproduces by removing an egg or two from another songbird’s nest and replacing it with one of their own. Thus, their young are raised by the species of another, freeing up the cowbird to keep up with the bovine herds that kick up the insects on which it dines.

Claim to fame

The Eastern phoebe’s claim to fame goes back to 1804 when a young John James Audubon was observing a nesting pair on his farm in Mill Grove, Pennsylvania. Anxious to find out if the birds might return to the same area, he tied silver threads to the legs of each of five nestlings before they fledged. Sure enough, the following spring, he was able to locate two of the birds that he had marked, nesting not far from the original site. This ingenious experiment led to modern-day bird banding employed by many professional ornithologists.

It is amazing how such a drab-looking bird with such a simple song can have one of the strongest impacts on me. The Eastern Phoebe has become a deeply ingrained symbol — the promise of another spring, a new year, new life — a harbinger — and I look forward to my first encounter of 2024.