Ike Adams
From what I can gather, starlings were considered to be attractive birds by the early English settlers of our country.
One story has it that they might have even come to our country on the Mayflower in cages to remind the Brits of their homeland when they became nostalgic and yearned to journey backwards. All they had to do was take one look at a caged starling, remember all that bird poop on their old thatched roofs and remind themselves that they didn’t have to put up with that kind of nuisance in the New World.
And then, one day, one of the kids opened the cage and a couple of them got loose. The rest is history.
Another story has it that they took up roosts as stowaways in the tall masts of ships, including the Mayflower and those of numerous other migrant vessels and that, in all likelihood, they were the first, and arguably, most intelligent, Brits to set shore on the North American Continent.
Yet another school of thought has it that they were 16th century immigrants brought here by Shakespeare enthusiasts because they played a feature role in his play, Henry IV. To make a long story short, starlings were used in an attempt to drive the good King crazy.
In any event, it is commonly held by most ornithologists that this vermin bird is not native to America even though it is commonly acknowledged that they are now the most numerous in population of any single bird species on our continent. In any event, unless a plague hits them, they are here to stay.
What bothers me is that half of the continent’s starling population seems to have taken up residence in Paint Lick. They fly over my house at dawn and late in the evening in flocks so dense that they momentarily shade our community like a black cloud in front of the sun.
And that would be just fine with me if they didn’t make a point of pooping on my truck and a couple hundred of them did not spy the feed that I have put out for acceptable company. Acceptable company means any thing with feathers that is not black. (Grackles and regular old blackbirds often throng with starlings and, as a rule, I hold them all in the same esteem that I have for mangy, rabid rats.)
A few years back, we had to take down a huge old water maple that was hollowing out and threatening to fall on our house. Now we have a stump, some 30 inches high and 50 inches in diameter in our front yard. It is the ultimate bird feeder. We can place suet on one side of the stump for the wood peckers; millet and small grain on another corner for the chickadees, sparrows, titmouse, finches, wrens etc.; and sunflower seed for the cardinals, doves and jays in yet another spot.
The regular birds have figured out what is meant for whom and they get along just fine.
It is not uncommon to have at least a dozen species on the stump at one time until the British Air Force arrives. Even half a dozen bluejays are no match for 200 starlings. One moment the stump looks like a rainbow covered with good cheer. The next moment it is solid black with flying, screaming vermin.
I used to use a shotgun to blast away half a dozen starlings at one time and leave the carcasses lying on the ground in hopes that might scare them away. Turns out that starlings nest early and they will pull the feathers off their friends to line new nests in the barns nearby. But the loud boom scared the good birds away.
Now I have discovered .22 shotgun shells which will kill a couple or three of them and send the rest of the pack on their way. Meanwhile, the cardinals and jays and little birds simply fly into the fence row and they have no more fear of my rifle than you would have of a cop’s gun on the street. Once the vermin is gone, they flock right back to the feed. Just last night, I swear a cardinal winked at me and raised his foot in my direction. His way of indicating, thumbs up.
