Celebrating the birds we see year-round

Late July is somewhat of a lull when it comes to the world of backyard birds: summer migrants have become old news, fall migrants are still months away and the flood of baby birds encountered in early summer has slowed to a trickle. That means that now is a good time to appreciate the birds that are always here, and few are as ever-present as the towhees, the two large members of the sparrow family that form a regular part of the neighborhood scene all year round. Both are engaging and well worth knowing: the elegant spotted towhee and the wonderfully mundane California towhee.

The attractive spotted towhee is the somewhat less ubiquitous of the two. Although it is a common and widespread species in habitats with an abundance of low brushy cover, from the wild chaparral and coastal scrub to neighborhoods with a similar richness in hiding places, the spotted towhee is not present in more open yards and open grassy areas, where California towhees thrive. But when you do see them, they are hard to overlook: crisp black on the head and back, rusty brown on the flanks, white on the belly and glaring red in their eyes.

As with many birds, spotted towhees are more easily heard than seen. But a wide array of distinctive vocalizations give them away. Even now in late summer, you may hear their song, a simple and explosive trill, fast and unmusical, sometimes likened to the twanging of a taut rubber band: CHWEEEE! Their year-round call is their namesake vocalization, a whining and mewing kind of sound that bears a recognizable resemblance to the word “towhee.” Third in their list of telltale auditory signatures is perhaps the most unique: the dramatically loud rustling of the leaves they produce as they powerfully kick with both their feet at once to reveal hidden seeds and invertebrates.

California towhees are different. They are not colorful, but plain brown, a monotony relieved only by a discrete rusty patch under their tails. They are in many ways less vocally expressive, completely lacking that irritated “towhee” call. So, why are they called towhees at all?

In truth, the word is somewhat of a historical quirk rather than a term of clear biological significance. Several birds of that name, including the spotted towhee, belong to the genus Pipilo: many of these make “towhee” calls. For a time, the California towhee was assumed to be an immediate relative and fellow member of the genus, despite its lack of such vocalizations. It has since been determined that they are not such close relatives, with California towhees recategorized within the genus Melozone, with many a sparrow and South American brushfinch separating the sundered groups of towhees. So, what are towhees? Two small groups of sparrows, similarly large, but not immediately related.

Given their lack of glamorous color and weirdly expressive moaning, what is appealing about California towhees? First is their ubiquity: “he is always around,” as the classic 1920s ornithologist William Leon Dawson summed up this bird’s claims on our affections. California towhees feel neighborly and familiar; their very lack of color and musical extravagance makes them feel more companionable, more like old friends than rare and elusive objects of pursuit.

But the biggest way in which these birds establish themselves as convivial members of our daily lives is through their intense monogamy. California towhees are most commonly encountered in pairs, their lifelong couplings constantly visible as two birds forage in close proximity. Loud, piercing “chip!” calls declare their year-round territorial borders, while subtle “seet” whistles maintain contact between the couple. Most wonderful of all are their duets, in which one member of the pair begins a buzzy jumble of notes, prompting the other member to audibly join in and rush physically to join their partner, often to the point of jubilant touching of toes as they rise jointly a few feet into the air.

California towhees live more clearly as consistent, bonded pairs than any other birds we see. This means that they exist more clearly as individuals, set out from the anonymous flocking practiced by so many others. I would not wish to lose the presence of these two birds in my life, the plainest but most faithful couple on the block.

Jack Gedney’s On the Wing runs every other Monday. He is a co-owner of Wild Birds Unlimited in Novato and author of “The Private Lives of Public Birds.” You can reach him at jack@natureinnovato.com.