The oak didn’t look as large as I’d remembered. I came upon it while visiting some of my old haunts. This was one of the trees my brother and sister and I used to frequently climb when we were kids. Located in the midst of a huge woods, it’s about 40 yards from a single lane gravel road. It provided safe haven from menacing mosquitoes, imagined predators, or the rare interloping motorist.
On a huge low limb extending out eastward from the trunk we learned to “go out on a limb,” as it were, to maybe get a new point of view. Amazingly this big branch is still there. Today, totally devoid of bark, it has obviously been dead for many many years. As kids, sitting quietly in this special tree, or on the ground leaning against the trunk, we could contemplate, or watch the woods slowly come back to life, as critters cautiously crept from their hiding places… where they had retreated as we’d approached.
There was a bird call that was so familiar we used to mimic it by cupping our hands together to form a hollow, and blowing across a hole between the thumb knuckles. It was mellow, almost owl-like, “oo oo-OO’ oo oo.” Open your hands a tiny bit at the capital OO part and it would raise the pitch. We used this as a secret signal to each other… at least that was our theory. Eventually we discovered that it wasn’t an owl at all, but the song of the “morning” dove that we were mimicking. It is actually called the “mourning” dove, because that song is perceived as mournful and sad. But as a mating/ territorial song, it is anything but.
Collective nouns for doves reinforce the woeful interpretation of their song. Just as sheep come in flocks, whales in pods, fish in schools, and crows in murders… a group of doves is referred to as a dule. This word is translated as grief, sadness, or sorrow. If that’s not bad enough, there are more: a “piteousness of doves,” or a “pitying of turtle doves.”
As a teen, while visiting the Arizona Sonora Desert Museum, I did my mourning dove call near an aviary that had numerous doves. Amazingly they instantly congregated near me, as if I’d called them to a meeting… which I guess I had. When hearing a male dove singing in spring, my mimic call often gets him to seek me out. But make no mistake, this is no social call. I was violating his territory, and he was suggesting I seek a nesting site somewhat less intrusive.
Mourning doves have been referred to as ‘new world turtle doves.’ Their heads bob forward and back as they walk, which is evocative of the movements of turtles, whose heads can go in their shell and back out. The voice of the turtle, as referenced in the Bible, literature, and music, refers to the “turtle dove.” It’s a portent of spring.
In the dawn’s early light, just before sunrise, dozens of mourning doves are the first birds to show up at our bird feeder each day. Some fly in, while others merely walk over from ‘who knows where.’ They don’t use the hanging feeders, preferring to pick millet seed, cracked corn, and sunflower hearts from raised feed platforms, flat rocks, or from a scattering over weathered mulch. They eat a prodigious amount of food. Water is important for these doves. They don’t put their heads up and slosh it down like other birds do. It’s the darnedest thing… they actually sip water via suction, drinking in a similar fashion to horses. One of our bird baths is generally covered by ice in the morning, but an electric heating element in the larger one insures there will be plenty of liquid water to go around, and mourning doves drink a lot of water. With all this eating and drinking, they take turns keeping an “eagle eye” out for predators. Once they fill their crops they congregate in a safe place, fluff their feathers and sit quietly as seeds digest.
Their soft delicate grayish/ brownish feathers blend in so well with our rocks and mulch, they are almost invisible from passing predators. This soft color contrasts with their gaudy red legs (which are short and mostly hidden).
The mourning dove is one of my favorite fellow travelers along trails ranging from urban to rural. His song announces spring. In December, the darkest time of the year, the so called “mournful” song of the mourning dove won’t be heard, but you do hear it’s whistling wings as it flies. The presence of these beautiful birds is reassuring. Their ‘harbinger of spring’ song will be heard in a matter of weeks, heralding in a new growing season. To hear the call, just google… mourning dove coo.
Mourning doves are thought to mate for life (or at least remain monogamous for one nesting season). The male and female share incubation duty. Their nest is a loose collection of twigs and grasses. Two eggs per nest is about average. While most seed eating birds feed soft bodied insects to their newly hatched nestlings, mourning doves have a very different approach. Both the female and male produce “crop milk.” This is a substance, rich in fats and proteins, derived from sloughed off liquid filled cells that line their crops. It meets the nutritional needs of hatchlings for the first ten days or so, when the chicks start eating regurgitated seeds and fruits.
These birds are found throughout North and Central America, occupying a wide array of habitats, and have been quite adept at adapting to and adopting human “habitats.” Each year hunters bag tens of millions of them, but they still remain among the most common birds in North America. These critters can become quite old. The oldest known mourning dove lived to 31 years, 4 months.
Google mourning dove nest platforms, for ideas how to provide safe nesting for these beautiful birds right at your house.