As our many different springs draw migratory birds to the northern hemisphere, it’s a nice time to think about the contributions women have made to the field of ornithology. For example, Eleanor’s falcon, the slender long-distance migrant that stuffs dragonflies into its mouth while flying, and wings across the Sahara when travelling between the Mediterranean and Madagascar each year, is named after Eleanor of Arborea (1347 to 1404) As one of Sardinia’s most important judges, Juighissa Eleanor included protections of raptors’ nests when she enacted the Carta de Logu, Sardinia’s legal code in place from 1395 to 1827. As you can probably guess, those protections were among the first that we know of. (The Carta also gave daughters and sons equal inheritance rights, among many important things, but not for here.)
Charles Darwin wrote to a friend in 1860 that “the sight of a feather in a peacock’s tail, whenever I gaze upon it, makes me sick,” apparently because he didn’t understand the utility of male adornment. Long observed that male birds sing longer and more complicated songs than females, Darwin later came up with the idea of sexual selection–the more complicated the song, and the snazzier the get-up, the more irresistible to choosy females. Arguing that females are “too amused by passing fancies” to have any evolutionary sway, Darwin’s Victorian colleagues attacked his thinking for giving females control. One argued that peacock plumes came from “a surplus of strength, vitality, and growth power.” In order words, Darwin’s colleagues were cute when they were mad.
A big controversial topic still. Yale ornithologist Richard Prum recently argued that beauty is the driving force behind extravagant plumage, animals are “agents of their own evolution,” and “birds are beautiful because they are beautiful to themselves.”
But getting back on topic, regional differences in bird song have led to bias toward documenting the predominantly male voices of the temperate regions where, to protect territory and attract females, male’s songs have become “more elaborate over evolutionary time.” As ornithology became more gender balanced, female ornithologists broadened the geographical range of song study to Australasia, where song birds are believed to have originated. They found many singing females, some singing to protect territories alongside males throughout the year. The old question–why do only males sing? –has been replaced by an effort to understand why in many migratory species the females have severely cut back or dropped their songs.
Additionally, University of Northern Colorado’s Lauryn Benedict and Cornell’s Karan Odom have documented far more female bird songs in the northern hemisphere than most understand, including duets with males, and other forms of communication.
So, take Dr. Odom’s advice, and don’t assume every bird you hear singing is a male. There are even conservation consequences—it you think all singing birds are males, you’ll put together some mighty challenged habitat maps.
You can give Drs. Odom and Benedict’s team a hand by reporting instances of singing females you observe here, and please note the international effort, emblematic of science.
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“…because they are beautiful to themselves.”
As our many different springs draw migratory birds to the northern hemisphere, it’s a nice time to think about the contributions women have made to the field of ornithology. For example, Eleanor’s falcon, the slender long-distance migrant that stuffs dragonflies into its mouth while flying, and wings across the Sahara when travelling between the Mediterranean and Madagascar each year, is named after Eleanor of Arborea (1347 to 1404) As one of Sardinia’s most important judges, Juighissa Eleanor included protections of raptors’ nests when she enacted the Carta de Logu, Sardinia’s legal code in place from 1395 to 1827. As you can probably guess, those protections were among the first that we know of. (The Carta also gave daughters and sons equal inheritance rights, among many important things, but not for here.)
Charles Darwin wrote to a friend in 1860 that “the sight of a feather in a peacock’s tail, whenever I gaze upon it, makes me sick,” apparently because he didn’t understand the utility of male adornment. Long observed that male birds sing longer and more complicated songs than females, Darwin later came up with the idea of sexual selection–the more complicated the song, and the snazzier the get-up, the more irresistible to choosy females. Arguing that females are “too amused by passing fancies” to have any evolutionary sway, Darwin’s Victorian colleagues attacked his thinking for giving females control. One argued that peacock plumes came from “a surplus of strength, vitality, and growth power.” In order words, Darwin’s colleagues were cute when they were mad.
A big controversial topic still. Yale ornithologist Richard Prum recently argued that beauty is the driving force behind extravagant plumage, animals are “agents of their own evolution,” and “birds are beautiful because they are beautiful to themselves.”
But getting back on topic, regional differences in bird song have led to bias toward documenting the predominantly male voices of the temperate regions where, to protect territory and attract females, male’s songs have become “more elaborate over evolutionary time.” As ornithology became more gender balanced, female ornithologists broadened the geographical range of song study to Australasia, where song birds are believed to have originated. They found many singing females, some singing to protect territories alongside males throughout the year. The old question–why do only males sing? –has been replaced by an effort to understand why in many migratory species the females have severely cut back or dropped their songs.
Additionally, University of Northern Colorado’s Lauryn Benedict and Cornell’s Karan Odom have documented far more female bird songs in the northern hemisphere than most understand, including duets with males, and other forms of communication.
So, take Dr. Odom’s advice, and don’t assume every bird you hear singing is a male. There are even conservation consequences—it you think all singing birds are males, you’ll put together some mighty challenged habitat maps.
You can give Drs. Odom and Benedict’s team a hand by reporting instances of singing females you observe here, and please note the international effort, emblematic of science.