SWALLOWS: REVELRIES OF INDECISION

Barn Swallows

Swallows are the aerial acrobats of the avian world. They soar, dive, twist, roll, bank, glide, and engage in almost every other kind of flight movement imaginable, with the possible exception of flying directly backwards. The second-to-second directional changes are so quick and unpredictable that I am inclined to agree with something poet Leonora Speyer alluded to in the poem at the end of this posting: Swallows are masters of indecision.

My favorite swallow is the barn swallow, known for its deeply forked tail, its steely blue back, its bright blue crown and face, and its cinnamon-colored forehead and throat. Whenever I have a chance to observe these magnificent birds in their daily revelries, it's always a pleasure, and that's precisely what happened yesterday morning.

While driving slowly down a country lane in northwest Anderson County, I came across a young barn swallow perched on a fence post at the edge of a pasture . . .

After watching the swallow for a few minutes, I realized that it was anxiously searching the sky for something, and I presumed it was for one of his parents to return with a tasty breakfast.

My presumption turned out to be correct; the young swallow soon spread its wings and opened its mouth widely, suggesting that the parent swallow was quickly approaching.

Bam! The adult suddenly appeared in my viewfinder and hit its target, the gaping mouth of its offspring.

After hovering for not more than a second, the adult vanished and continued to forage for insects in the skies above the pasture.

The now-fed young swallow turned and began waiting impatiently on the next morsel to be delivered by its parent. Immediately, however, it was joined by a sibling which had obviously figured out that it needed to share the fence post feeding station if it wanted to share the food deliveries.  As you can see, the first young swallow was not enthusiastic about sharing either its spot or its food with the intruding sibling.

The first young young swallow then placed one of the wings over the newcomer, and appeared to be fending off any competition as the parent swallow was returning with another round of food. Frustrated, the newcomer left the perch for a moment . . .

. . . but returned aggressively as soon as the parent returned with food.

All hell broke loose for a second, but the first young swallow ultimately prevailed and got the reward once again.  As you can see, however, its sibling remained frustrated and visibly perturbed.  Such is life, I suppose.  It seems to happen among all species. 

So much for my morning with barn swallows. I'll close with the lovely poem I referenced at the outset. Written by Leonora Speyer (1872 - 1956), the poem captures beautifully the energy and spirit of most swallows 

Swallows

by Leonora Speyer

They dip their wings in the sunset

They dash against the air

As if to break themselves upon its stillness:

In every moment, too swift to count,

Is a revelry of indecision,

A furtive delight in trees they do not desire

And in grasses that shall not know their weight.

They hover and lean toward the meadow

With little edged cries;

And then,

As if frightened at the earth's nearness,

They seek the high austerity of evening sky

And swirl into its depth.