The white-throated sparrow, besides its namesake throat<\/p>\n
patch, can be identified by its striped head and yellow<\/p>\n
between the eyes and bill. Its distinctive song, “Poor Sam<\/p>\n
Peabody, Peabody, Peabody” can be heard in our area<\/p>\n
throughout the winter months.<\/p>\n
November 7, 2014<\/p>\n
White-throated Sparrow<\/p>\n
Poor Sam Peabody.<\/p>\n
Peabody, Peabody.<\/p>\n
Now, I’ve never met this Peabody fellow, nor do I have any idea of what led to his condition of “Poor” (or, in<\/p>\n
some circles, “Old”) but one thing’s for sure. Sam Peabody is The Man, at least as far as talk among white-<\/p>\n
throated sparrows is concerned.<\/p>\n
Bird vocalizations are often as important as plumage when it comes to identifying species. But because people<\/p>\n
and birds don’t speak the same language, we humans have found it helpful to associate words with the songs<\/p>\n
the birds sing. Used this way, the words become mnemonics \u2013 gimmicks that help us recall or memorize things<\/p>\n
more easily.<\/p>\n
And that’s where Sam Peabody comes in. He, or it, is one of a few mnemonic devices that have been applied to<\/p>\n
the song of the white-throated sparrow. The others \u2013 Old Sam Peabody, Peabody, Peabody; O Sweet Canada,<\/p>\n
Canada, Canada; and Where Are You Frederick, Frederick, Frederick \u2013 work well too. But since “Poor Sam\u2026” was<\/p>\n
the first one I learned and it’s the one I still rely on today.<\/p>\n
It came to mind recently during a walk at the Hickory Knolls Natural Area in St. Charles. The clear, whistled notes<\/p>\n
hit my ears as we walked through a partially restored woodland and it wasn’t long before I saw the source. A<\/p>\n
handsome specimen, it was perched toward the end of a low,<\/p>\n
leafless branch. A few flockmates, a mixed group that included<\/p>\n
other white-throats and some juncos, scratched at the leaf litter<\/p>\n
below.<\/p>\n
White-throated sparrows are members of the Emberizine<\/p>\n
sparrow family, a mostly brown, similar-looking group that can<\/p>\n
sometimes give amateur birders like me fits. But, unlike the<\/p>\n
Lincoln’s sparrow, which looks nothing like Lincoln, or the<\/p>\n
Henslow’s sparrow, which bears little resemblance to John<\/p>\n
Stevens Henslow, the 19th-century boanist, the white-throat<\/p>\n
has a name that describes it perfectly.<\/p>\n
A bright white patch surrounds the bird’s throat like an ascot and is bordered along the top by a black line, or<\/p>\n
“whisker,” on either side. The breast below is a streaky or smudgy gray; on both sides of the bird’s face, in the<\/p>\n
spaces between the bill and eyes called the lores, two bright yellow patches serve as other distinguishing field<\/p>\n
marks.<\/p>\n
But what has always caught my eye is the white-throated sparrow’s striped head. In a pattern that, other than<\/p>\n
color, is reminiscent of a University of Michigan football helmet, the white-throated sparrow’s noggin bears<\/p>\n
either black and white or brown and tan stripes.<\/p>\n
That’s right\u2013 two color morphs, one species. What makes things even more interesting is that the two morphs<\/p>\n
seem to seek out birds of the other plumage. That is, a white-striped bird will be seen with a tan-striped mate,<\/p>\n
and vice versa.<\/p>\n
Further, research has shown that white-striped birds tend to be more dominant. The males especially are more<\/p>\n
aggressive, more vocal, less apt to help with rearing young and more likely to be promiscuous. By contrast, tan-<\/p>\n
striped males are quieter and more helpful around the nest, sometimes to the point of becoming Mr. Mom.<\/p>\n
The bird we saw at Hickory Knolls seemed to fit that first profile. It was a white-striped morph, and it was<\/p>\n
singing. Not necessarily odd behavior, until you stop to consider that, in our area, white-throats are migrants,<\/p>\n
not residents. This non-resident status should mean that there’s no territory to defend and, therefore, not much<\/p>\n
reason to sing.<\/p>\n
But sing it did, as do many white-striped morphs wintering here. Perhaps they’re just showing off, but maybe<\/p>\n
they’re practicing. White-throated sparrows, like many bird species, learn their songs from older tutors \u2013<\/p>\n
typically their fathers. While the full song is what we hear most often, I’ve also heard white-throats in the early<\/p>\n
stages of this learning process, at times crooning about Poor Sam Pea\u2026Pea\u2026, or Poor Pea-bod-dee-dee-dee.<\/p>\n
If white-throated sparrows are on your list of birds to see this winter, keep your eyes, and ears, open. White-<\/p>\n
throats are common in most local woodlands and also visit birdfeeders, though they are just as likely to scratch<\/p>\n
among the seeds on the ground as feed from the unit itself.<\/p>\n
Just be careful not to confuse them with white-crowned sparrows. Not to muddy things up, but white-crowns<\/p>\n
have a head-stripe pattern similar to that of the white-throat. However, white crowns have a clear, unstreaked<\/p>\n
breast, no white throat, and, perhaps most important, speak not of Poor Sam Peabody, Peabody, Peabody.<\/p>\n
Rather, white-crowns chirp merrily about another unfortunate soul: Poor Jo-Jo\u2026 Peed His Pants.<\/p>\n
But that’s another story, for another time.<\/p>\n
Pam Otto is the manager of nature programs and interpretive services at the Hickory Knolls Discovery Center, a<\/p>\n