It’s a jungle out there. Well, at least a bird feeder under siege.
Lindsey Richards Barnes
We have been waging a battle here in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley this summer and I hope that the fall will bring me a victory. I have spent my summer going toe-to-toe with bully birds at my feeder. You know who I’m talking about. I am talking about starlings and now grackles.
It used to just be the blue jays, who show up in their shiny mobster suits, taking over the feeder and thugging out at the other birds until the woodpeckers arrive. Blue jays do not mess with woodpeckers. Very few birds are willing to take on a bird that has a pick axe for a face, and who could blame them? Woodpeckers can be Dick Tracy-style villians if they’re in the mood.
Personally, I adore woodpeckers and am so happy that we have three different versions at my feeder. The piliated woodpecker is a large, magnificent bird, flashy like a new car, and is as serious as a heart attack when eating. Woodpeckers do not care for millet and sling all the millet seed to the ground so they can get to the peanuts in the mix. I have a spectacular crop of millet surrounding the bird feeder because the millet keeps getting rejected by the birds. It’s no one’s favorite seed. Not by a long shot.
I have seen a red-headed woodpecker, though it did not stay long. We do have a red-bellied woodpecker that’s a regular, and this one adores dried cranberries. The tiniest of them all is the downy woodpecker, who is shy at the bird feeder but trusts the mourning doves, so if the doves are there pecking at the ground, then it must be safe. If the area is sketchy, being with friends makes it safer.
We’ve had more cardinals than ever before, which means we’ve not seen a robin this year. Robins are territorial and they despise the color red and will attack. Their own red feathers are a warning to trespassers, not a come hither for mates. Robins must have a fabulous public relations team because we love them as harbingers of spring, symbols of new beginnings, and ignore that they’re homicidal, territorial tyrants. This year, I’ve enjoyed the cardinals instead. They say that cardinals are loved ones who’ve passed away coming back to check on you. I love that story, even if it’s just a fairy tale. I love the possibility that my grandma is still near, even if it’s in the form of a bird.
There are mourning doves, flickers, warblers and chickadees at the regulars’ table, with nut hatches, sparrows and thrushes dropping in from time to time. We even had orioles this year for the first time in a decade. I was so happy. Then it all went to pot. The starlings and the grackles decided to take over my feeder. Nope. Not on my watch.
Starlings are such an abomination and they’re not native. Someone who clearly did not think things through decided that Central Park should have a few of each bird species mentioned by William Shakespeare in his writings. Literature reference or ecological disaster? Of course, the starlings did not confine themselves to Central Park and are now a real nuisance for all of us, whether we enjoy Shakespeare or not.
Grackles are at least native, but their personality is no better than the interloper starlings. My husband refers to them as yellow-eyed devils because they’re just so darn rude to all the other birds. Grackles send in a scout to see if it’s safe and snack-rich. Then all of a sudden, you look out the window and there’s a dozen grackles and no other birds. Lord have mercy, grackles are also loud, so very loud. When grackles “sing,” it’s not a lovely spring time melody. It’s car horns in a construction zone.
A friend of mine from Jordan always talks about “the nose of the camel.” It’s his life rule for all difficult things. You don’t let the nose of the camel enter the tent because the rest of the camel will soon follow and then you’ll have an unwanted, smelly camel crashing your tent time. While I admire camels as true utilitarian animals who have contributed to human safety, transportation and nutrition throughout history, grackles have no such redeeming features.
It’s on. I declare my yard a grackle-free zone. I will not be silent because then the grackles think I’m okay with their presence and I most certainly am not. Every time a grackle lands here, I will sling open the door and chase them away. The doves and the nut hatches are too shy to defend themselves, so I’ll take care of it.
Growing up in a law enforcement family, we were taught to take care of ourselves, and then to take care of others who couldn’t defend themselves. I never thought that would translate to the protection of a community bird feeder from the greedy, selfish birds but here I am, a homegrown hero.
To protect and serve. . . the bird feeder.
The story above first appeared in our September / October 2025 issue. For more like it subscribe today or log in with your active BRC+ Membership. Thank you for your support!