In a Daily Bucket last week, Pandala mentioned hearing about the Salmonberry Bird in a Birdnote episode. It seems Northwest Coastal Indians knew the bird we call Swainson’s thrush as the Salmonberry Bird because that sweet summer migrant with its sublime fluty song arrives in the Pacific Northwest at the same time as the salmonberries ripen. It’s not because they eat the berries — in spring they rely on insects and other high protein food for nesting (although they will feed on berries later in the season). But the confluence of events — the arrival of the migrant and the ripening of a wild berry in the same location — speaks to the nature of the bird in a way that naming it after some arbitrary human does not.
Bird names in general range from those Named After Important People, to Can Be Compared To, then on Its Appearance/Behavior, all the way to Bird As Ecological Being, which I see as a progression from the human-centric to the ecological.
Examples of the first category include the five birds named after Alexander Wilson (1766–1813), a Scottish immigrant to Pennsylvania who traveled, collected and painted illustrations of birds in realistic poses for his nine-volume series of books American Ornithology. Wilson called one of the birds he discovered the Green Black-capt Flycatcher, which was later named after him as Wilson’s Warbler (other birds named for him: Wilson’s Storm-Petrel, Wilson’s Snipe,
Wilson’s Phalarope, Wilson’s Plover). Wilson was an inspiration to many later ornithologists, including John James Audubon, who has two birds named after him (Audubon’s Shearwater and Audubon’s Oriole. Audubon’s Warbler is now combined with the Myrtle Warbler to form the Yellow-rumped Warbler). Some other naturalists honored with bird names are William Cooper (1798–1864) (Cooper’s Hawk), explorers Meriwether Lewis (1774–1809) (Lewis’ Woodpecker) and William Clark (1770–1838) (Clark’s Nutcracker), and John Kirk Townsend (1809-1859)
(Townsend’s Warbler, Townsend’s Solitaire and Townsend’s Storm Petrel, along with a variety of western mammals he described in his naturalizing which were then named after him: Townsend’s ground squirrel, Townsend’s chipmunk, Townsend’s mole, Townsend’s vole, Townsend’s pocket gopher and Townsend’s big-eared bat — Townsend was a busy guy). Sometimes birds are named after friends of friends eg. Anna’s Hummingbird is named after Princess Anna D’Essling, Duchess of Rivoli (1802–1887), wife of a rich collector.
Birds given referential names include the Bufflehead (head shaped like a buffalo’s), Rhinoceros Auklet (horn on bill), Barnacle Goose (long strange story about this one, whose head looks like a barnacle, a marine arthropod, which meant the goose could be eaten during fasting periods). The Gray Catbird has a feline mewing call:
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The birds who are named after their appearance have some of the best names ever, such as the Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, Red-footed Booby, Black-throated Gray Warbler (as distinct from the Black-throated Blue Warbler), Yellow-headed Blackbird, and many more.
Birds are notably colorful and patterned:
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Indigenous cultures had their own names for local birds of course, and many of them are descriptive too, even occasionally the same as the English name. The Catawba name for Red-winged Blackbird is translated as “Bird black with red wings”. Other names are quite different though. The Ingalik Athabascan for Bonaparte’s gull is “Head is black”, which is the plumage the gulls have in summer, where they’d see them in Alaska. Down here in Washington I only see them in winter plumage, with a small black cheek spots. The Cherokee
name for Golden-crowned Kinglet is “Fire on head”. Many names describe behavior, such as “Sucking bird“, the Catawba for Ruby-throated Hummingbird. The Tlingit for Mallard is “Flies straight up in the air”, and the Cherokee for White-breasted Nuthatch is “Climbing up and down on a round thing”. As in English, some bird names are onomatopoeias: the Chickadee’s name is the sound it makes, similarly articulated as “Tsigili’i” by the Cherokee and “škipipi” by the Arikara.
Here’s an intriguing comparison: what English-speaking namers thought of as a mournful sound (by the Mourning Dove) the Arikari heard as “Little thunder”, their name for the same bird.
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The bird names that evoke something about a bird’s connection to its environment are particularly interesting to me, like the Salmonberry Bird. The Koyukon Athabascan name for Harlequin Duck is taa'sa hut'aana, or “Lives in whitefish lakes”, their breeding grounds in the Yukon River watershed (whitefish are an important subsistence food for native Alaskans). The Catawba name for Turkey Vulture is “Wild ancient bird that eats all carrion”.
(Some sources for Native North American bird names: Spirits of the Air: Birds & American Indians in the South, Indigenous Bird Names, Alaska Native Knowledge Network.)
A cross-the-pond comparison of bird names came up this week while I was reading the very last book in the Arthur Ransome series (I wrote a Dawn Chorus about the birds in that series last fall: Birding with Swallows and Amazons).
The Swallows, Amazons, D’s and Captain Flint were sailing in the Hebrides, when the ship’s naturalist, 10-year old Dick Callum discovered a pair of Great Northern Divers, possibly nesting in a loch there. Crisis unfolded when an egg collector threatened to kill the birds and steal the eggs. While Great Northern Divers winter in the UK, they nest in Iceland to the north, so proof of southerly nesting would bring fame to the greedy collector. So, what’s a Great Northern Diver? That’s the Brit name for what we call the Common Loon, which is the largest and least common loon in the UK. Whereas the name “loon” is likely derived from the Scandinavian lum, meaning awkward or lame referring to the clumsy gait of loons on land, “diver” refers more directly to their style of fishing. To me, the name Great Northern Diver is more evocative of that bird’s natural history than Common Loon.
Then there’s the Whiskeyjack. That’s another name for the Canada Jay, until 2018 known as the Gray Jay, and informally called by some, Camp Robber (The bird of many names). The Tlingit, on the West coast of Canada, saw this jay similarly to some of us, its name kooyéix meaning Camp Robber. What’s in a name? Well, in spite of “whiskey”, that name has nothing to do with alcohol. Whiskeyjack is an anglicization of the Cree name for the bird, Wisakedjak, which is the Trickster. Cree mythology meshes well with the character of the Canada Jay, a very clever mimic, cacher and problem-solver. First Nations cultures include an awareness of nature and wildlife.
I’d be curious to know of any other names that relate to the intrinsic quality of particular birds, especially their behavior and connection to their environment. Please add them in the comments!
Dawn Chorus is now open for your birdy reports of the week.