Acorn-toting blue jays much like Johnny Appleseed

A blue jay hauls five pin oak acorns/Jim McCormac

Acorn-toting blue jays much like Johnny Appleseed

Columbus Dispatch
November 6, 2022

NATURE
Jim McCormac

This is the 408th column I’ve written for The Columbus Dispatch, and I’ve rarely written about the same subject twice. “Nature” covers a lot of turf and it’d be easy to write a weekly column for eternity and never repeat topics.

The blue jay is an exception. This is my third column on these brash crow family members, and it may not be the last.

This time, I want to give jays credit as avian Johnny Appleseeds for the oak family. Many species of birds play vital roles in the dispersal of plant fruit. Indeed, the botanical world abounds with fruit that co-evolved to lure birds. Perhaps the most easily observed examples are bright berries. The colorful pulp is irresistible to the frugivorous (fruit-eating) crowd, and birds often wolf down such fruit with abandon. The hard seeds within often survive the ride through the digestive tract, to be expelled far from the source shrub or tree. Birds make great agents for broadcasting fruit far and wide.

In the case of oak trees, the fruit are acorns. Hard-shelled fruit produced by woody plants such as beech, hickory, and oak is termed mast. Many animals covet mast: deer, mice and other small mammals, squirrels, red-headed woodpeckers, wild turkey, and many others.

But perhaps no animal can compare with the importance of blue jays to oaks and their dispersal.

Come fall and the ripening of oak fruit, the blue jays set to work harvesting the acorns on a truly epic scale. We’re in the midst of the jay’s harvest now. If you observe blue jays consistently flying to and fro on the same flight pattern, and oaks are around, you can be sure they’re raiding acorn-rich oaks.

On Oct. 23, I was at a site in Licking County rich in pin oaks. Squadrons of jays regularly passed overhead and it didn’t take long to see what they were up to. On each return trip, the birds were toting acorns and usually more than one. I made the accompanying image that day, and the jay is carrying five acorns! Two are in its bill, the tip of another protrudes from its mouth, and its throat bulges with (at least) two others.

I watched the birds for perhaps three hours, and the dozen or so acorn-hauling jays probably harvested well over 100 acorns during that time. Blue jays are so engaged all over Ohio, and eastern North America.

Where are they going with their oaken plunder? Like feathered pirates with stolen booty, the jays bury their treasures. An acorn-laden jay finds suitable soil, tries to ensure no one is watching, and quickly tamps the acorns into the ground. The bird will often cover the burial site with small stones or leaves to hide the evidence.

Unfortunately for the jays, they will forget where they hid many of those acorns. That’s good for the oaks, though. As one hard-working jay might plant a few thousand acorns annually, a better disperser of the trees’ spawn could not be designed. Jays will retrieve acorn caches when times are tight, and other animals will discover some. But many will go undetected and sprout new oaks.

The epic scale at which blue jays plant acorns and other mast may be the primary reason that mast-bearing trees rapidly expanded northward on the heels of the last glacial period. Reid’s Paradox is a term for the apparent discrepancy between expected northward plant expansion based on typical seed dispersal rates, and the much greater rapidity that this occurred as shown by fossil evidence.

Paleobotanist Clement Reid, namesake of the paradox, came to the conclusion that highly mobile bird vectors were the most likely factor in expediting post-glacial floristic advances. In eastern North America, the blue jay may be the linchpin of Reid’s Paradox.

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first, third and fifth Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature atwww.jimmccormac.blogspot.com.

 

A pair of dashing cardinals, and Albert the white-headed jay, in snow

Yesterday dawned cold and snowy. It was one of very few snowfalls in central Ohio this winter, and perhaps the best to date. I was stuck at home, working on a book project, but what is life without birds and photography? So, as soon as it was light enough, I took some snaps while the snow still clung to the branches. Albert, the gorgeous white-headed blue jay, was my main quarry but lots of other subjects presented themselves, including these cardinals.

A male northern cardinal glows from a snowy branch. Cardinals are one of the showiest North American birds, and look dazzling anywhere, anytime. But there's nothing that makes the males pop like a fresh coat of snow.

Because this is such a common songbird, it's possible to become jaded to cardinals. Never let that happen. It hardly seems possible that such a gorgeous, exotic-looking animal could be in our midst.

Here's the crimson fellow's mate. She looks fabulous too. Just in a more understated way. The lengthening days have stimulated cardinals to increase their singing. It's a beautiful whistled song often described as "cheery". And that it is. If you have the time to look, it's always worth glancing around to locate the singer. I constantly do this, with all singing birds, as it's a great way to keep honing your ability to rapidly find birds. But there's another possible reward for finding singing cardinals. It might be the female that is singing! They don't sing as often as males, but when they do it's every bit as melodic and artful as the male.

And here he is, Albert, "my" amazing blue jay! He's looking at me as if to say, "what have you done!", in reference to the snow. As he was born last year, this is his (I don't really know if it's a him or her, but with a name like Albert, I'll go with him :-)) first winter. And first exposures to snow.

Albert remains a fixture, bombarding the feeders for unshelled peanuts and other seed every day, especially in the morning. The morning that I made this image, I replenished the feeders shortly after daybreak, and Albert was out there berating me for moving too slowly. He's quite bold, as jays are, and freely speaks his mind. I have been pleased to see that he does not allow the "normie" jays to push him about.

This special white-headed jay has been here for over a month now, and it'll be interesting to see how long he remains.

Albert the white-headed blue jay appears in video

At the risk of wearing out Albert's welcome, here's a bit more on the handsome white-headed blue jay, from this morning. I've made a few prior posts that go into some detail about genetics and the reason for his white headedness. Above, he is seen in portraiture on this windy day. A very handsome animal, by any standard of corvid beauty.

A short video of Albert feeding his face. Albert excels at feeding his face. Shot this morning near the backyard feeders. Worthington, Ohio.

Nature: Genetics play role in blue jay's lack of blue

An unusual white-headed blue jay prepares to visit the writer's feeders/Jim McCormac

NATURE: Genetics play role in blue jay's lack of blue

Columbus Dispatch

February 2, 2020

NATURE
Jim McCormac

In my last column, I wrote about an unusual melanistic fox squirrel. Although the average fox squirrel is dashing in tones of rufous and brown, this one is black. Dark forms of the eastern gray squirrel are well-known in Ohio, including Columbus, but melanin-enriched fox squirrels are far scarcer.

The dark fox squirrel turned up in my Worthington backyard on Jan. 9. Three days later, I glanced out the back windows and did a double-take. A blue jay with a white head was wolfing down seeds at the feeder.

I’m writing this column on Jan. 26, and both of these odd critters are still frequenting the yard. Sometimes at the same time, which makes for interesting wildlife-watching.

The squirrel looks as he/she does because of an excess of melanin, or dark pigment. It’s the opposite with the jay. He or she — it’s tough to impossible to determine sex in the field — lacks dark pigments only in the head and neck area.

Animals with localized patches of white often are referred to as piebald. Commonly seen examples include white-tailed deer and American robins. These animals can be splotched throughout with white, have pale heads or other localized concentrations, or occasionally are nearly all white. The latter examples differ from true albinos in lacking pink eyes, and normally aren’t as bright white.

The genetic condition that typically causes piebaldness is leucism, and splotchy animals are said to be partially leucistic (loo-sis-tic). When I first saw the unusual blue jay, that’s what I thought it to be — a partially leucistic specimen.

Leucism is a genetic condition that inhibits normal melanin deposition, causing dark areas to become washed out. But genetics that cause color anomalies are complex and imperfectly understood. One can get bogged down in complicated and perhaps unverifiable explanations for various pigment anomalies. Other factors might be at work with this jay.

Suffice it to say, this blue jay is an extraordinary avian no matter the explanation for its unusual coloration.

Odd color genetics is largely a numbers game. The more common the species, the more likely that leucism will manifest itself. That’s why deer, robins and other common animals are the most commonly seen species expressing color mutations.

There are an estimated 15 million blue jays in the U.S., so it’s not surprising that leucism would rear its head in this species on occasion. A quick internet search will reveal numerous examples, but few of them possess the showiness of “my” jay (in my biased opinion).

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first, third and fifth Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at www.jimmccormac.blogspot.com.

White-headed jay continues on

This stunning white-headed blue jay appeared in my yard on January 12, and here's a photo from yesterday. He/she - although I dubbed it "Albert" - was out there raiding the feeders this morning. I wrote a bit more about this unique bird RIGHT HERE.

He's got a pretty good deal going here, with plenty of unshelled peanuts and other seedy fare. I hope he sticks around for some time. It's a gorgeous specimen, and really stands out from the typically pigmented jays, of which there are many to keep Albert company.

Perhaps the biggest threat is a good-sized (female, probably) Cooper's hawk that raids the yard daily. She's mostly after the house sparrows and smaller birds, but is more than capable of dispatching a jay. These hawks are incredibly aggressive and so cool to watch. Today, she ran into a dense forsythia shrub on foot in an attempt to rout the house sparrows lurking within. Hope she catches them all.

And now, a (partially) white blue jay!

So, just a few days ago, a melanistic fox squirrel appears in the yard. I wrote about that oddity in my last post. This morning I glance out the back window and what do I see? This strange and beautiful creature! It's a partially leucistic blue jay, absent the black (melanin) pigments that mark the face and neck of a typical jay. When I first saw the bird, it was consorting with several other jays at a feeder, and it stuck out like a sort thumb.

NOTE: I am referring to the animal as partially leucistic, even if that's being a bit general. One can get extremely bogged down in what seems to be largely unverifiable explanations for various conditions of pigment anomalies. For a good general discussion about anomalies in pigmentation, with a key to place birds into six general categories of color aberrations, CLICK HERE.

As a frame of reference for our odd jay, here is a typically plumaged blue jay. The black collar, eye line and dark saddle across the base of the bill are conspicuous plumage highlights of a blue jay.

Thanks to Julie Zickefoose (she authored THIS BOOK about blue jays) for aging this jay as a hatch-year bird (born last spring/summer). Whatever all the factors that caused its excessively snowy plumage, it is a beauty. The jay has been coming in to the feeders intermittently today, usually in the company of several other jays. I hope he sticks around. I'll certainly try and help by keeping the jay smorgasbord going.

The Blue Jay: An Avian Johnny Appleseed

A bold Blue Jay sweeps into a backyard feeding station. Some feeder-watchers bemoan the brash jays. These blue beauties are known for their brazen behavior. The little corvids do know how to make an entrance, often roaring into the yard full of bluster and bravado, scattering the lesser birds and appropriating the feeders for themselves. John James Audubon captured the devilish impudence of these saucy birds masterfully, his painting of Cyanocitta cristata quite literally depicting a jay with egg on its face.

Of course, I am describing the Blue Jay far too anthropomorphically. They do what they do, because evolution and natural selection have shaped and defined their behavior. While some people may find some of their behavioral traits less than admirable, the blue screamers are probably among the most important songbirds in the ecology of the eastern deciduous forest. Following is a brief article I penned about jays a few years back for the Ohio Division of Wildlife's On Ohio's Wild Side series:

Blue Jays: Down But Not Out

Anyone who feeds birds is familiar with the antics of blue jays, one of our most common and easily recognized songbirds. Bold and full of bluster, jays roar into the feeding station like a ton of bricks wrapped in feathers, startling more passive birds back into the shrubs.

According to Project FeederWatch, sponsored by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, blue jays are the sixth most common species to visit Ohio feeders. Of the 373 backyard feeding stations that reported results to Cornell, jays visited over 91 percent.

So, what’s going on this winter? Many Ohioans have reported seeing few if any blue jays, especially in the extensively forested regions of southern and eastern Ohio. West Nile Virus had a detrimental impact on this species back in the early 2000s, and some fear that West Nile has reared its ugly head once again.

Fortunately, the answer to our current shortage of jays is probably much less scary than the ravages of disease. When not plundering your feeders, blue jays are highly dependent upon the nuts of oak trees – acorns. These hard, woody fruit are like vegetative M & Ms to a jay, and collectively, blue jays harvest staggering numbers of acorns in fall and winter. Fully two thirds of a jay’s diet at this time is comprised of acorns and other tree mast such as hickories and beechnuts.

A hard-working blue jay can collect several thousand nuts in one season. If the nuts are small, such as pin oak acorns or beechnuts, a skilled jay can make off with five or more at a time. They’ll quickly consume plenty of their loot, but jays are inveterate hoarders, caching far more acorns than they can immediately eat. Like a feathered pirate hiding his treasure, a jay stockpiles acorns by burying them in the ground.

While jays remember the location of many of their nut caches, they also forget about others. As a consequence, the blustery blue birds are the avian Johnny Appleseeds of the oak world, planting untold scores of oaks each year. So prolific are they in burying – and losing – acorns that some scientists think that blue jays were the primary factor in the swift northward expansion of oaks following the last glacial period.

Oaks are cyclical in their production of acorns: there are boom and bust years. In 2008, scads of acorns were produced, and jays seemed to be everywhere. Last season’s acorn crop was pretty lean, especially in southern Ohio. As a consequence, there was less food for blue jays, and thus fewer screaming bolts of blue in our woodlands. Next winter, it’ll likely be a different story.