Twitter Updates

My Annual Traveler

Painted Bunting Photo by Maslowski Wildlife Productions Painted buntings (Passerina ciris) frequent mixed pine and hardwood forests, pine flatwoods, mesic hammocks, and even urban environments along the northeast coast of Florida from around Titusville to Jacksonville, west to the St. Johns River area from April through October. Breeding months are May and June. Nests are usually built near the ends of branches in Spanish moss. The birds eat white millet, small fruit, and insects.

At first, I thought it must be a miniature parrot. I'd walked into my bedroom to get a pair of pantyhose while getting dressed for work on a lovely spring morning. Perched there on the rose bush in my indoor cat's viewing garden was the tiniest, loveliest, most colorful bird I'd ever seen in our backyard. It looked to be no more than about five inches from beak to tail. The little thing's head was purple, its chest orange, and its wings a vivid parrot green.

Before it decided to fly off, I ran to the other end of the house to summon my mother, who was enjoying her morning coffee-and-newspaper ritual. "You've got to come and see this bird!" I yelled.

"Oh, is it a cardinal?"

"No, no. It's like nothing I've ever seen before. It may be a small parrot."

"A parrot? Do you suppose it's somebody's pet that's gotten loose?"

"I don't know. Could be. It has colors like a parrot, or maybe it's a finch. All I know is it doesn't look like any bird we've had before."

Our backyard always had an abundance of mourning doves, mockingbirds, blue jays, and cardinals, with the occasional flocks of house sparrows, crows, and spring robins. There was a hawk that would appear at times to devour its prey on a sturdy branch of our scrub oak – always a thrill. One afternoon, we even had a large, white crane walking around in our back yard for a few minutes. But never had I seen anything like this colorful visitor.

When my mother caught sight of our little friend, she agreed that he was beautiful, but completely unfamiliar to her. Luckily, I'd recently bought a book about birds in our state (Florida's Birds, Herbert W. Kale, II, and David S. Maehr, illustrated by Karl Karalus, Pineapple Press, 1990), and hurriedly grabbed it to see if I could find anything about this stunning creature.

The eastern bluebird was colorful enough, but nothing like this little bird. The red-eyed vireo had the green wings, but its head wasn't anything like our friend. Several warblers were similar, but not exactly the same. Suddenly, on page 197, there he was – a painted bunting, a male. I had never even heard of them, let alone seen one. The book said they were present in Florida from April through October.

I had to rush off to work, but my mother later told me the bird had lingered on the cat's rose bush all day. Hoping to see him the next morning, I opened the plantation shutters a little earlier than usual. Much to my disappointment, he wasn't there. On a trip to the bird feeder store, I told the proprietor about my little visitor. "Oh, a painted bunting! They're the rarest of birds!" he exclaimed with glee. He seemed almost as excited as I'd been when I'd seen the bird.

"What do they eat?" I asked, hoping to attract the little jewel back to my yard. Now that I was aware of such a treasure, it had become of utmost importance to see it again.

"All they eat is this white millet," he said, so I dutifully purchased a bag. Already having bought a feeder that was perfect for the millet, I filled it and placed it on a shepherd's hook right outside the window in the cat's viewing garden. During the next couple of weeks I looked for the little bird daily, but he didn't reappear. Other birds soon ate the millet or dropped it into the garden, where it started to sprout. Great-weeds, but no painted bunting.

It was about six months later when I saw my little friend again, and this time he was accompanied by a female. She was just like her picture in the book, a dull color on the back with a yellow-green underside, and a little smaller than the male. I still had the feeder, and even had some millet on hand, so I hurriedly filled it and put it out. The pair stayed for a few days this time, eating the millet, drinking from the bird bath, and perching on branches of the rose bush. They always seemed to stay within sight of each other. One would perch on the bush while the other visited the feeder. "Perhaps they'll nest nearby," I mused. Then one day, they disappeared again.

The following spring, I was prepared for "my" painted buntings to return. Our millet feeder was filled and waiting for them by early April. Every morning, I'd eagerly open the shutters, hoping to catch a glimpse of my colorful friend and his lady. My preparation was rewarded in spades. One day, there they were – only this time, there were three! Another female, smaller than the first, accompanied them. Their daughter, most certainly! They again paused for a couple of days in our little garden, resting along whatever journey they were making, before moving on. They never returned afterward.

It's the funniest thing – although I'd anticipated seeing the painted buntings in the spring, preparing their feeder for them and making sure they had a place to perch, and they faithfully visited for three migrations in a row, never once did it occur to me to take a picture of them! Their delightful visits will always live only in my memory.