Don’t mock Florida’s state bird

Here we go again. Interests in Tallahassee and beyond are arming themselves to dethrone our noble state bird, the mockingbird. When it happened three years ago, I did my best to fight the effort with a column on these pages. Now the danger seems more imminent, so I am pressed into action to make the argument again.

On one flank there are those who are lined up behind the pink flamingo. Images of this fabulous bird are ubiquitous in Florida (I’ve got three plastic ones in my garden) and needs no higher profile.

On another are fans of the scrub jay, a delightful little beauty, whose habitat is again and again threatened by Florida development.

Then there is Rodney Barreto, chairperson of the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, who should know better. Here is his argument: “The state bird of Florida is the (northern) mockingbird. However, five other states have the mockingbird as the state bird. I’ve got to believe we can find a bird that is different than five other states.”

Barreto leaves out the most pertinent fact: Florida picked the mockingbird first! Almost a century ago! The other states copied us. Why? Because the mockingbird is one of the most amazing creatures on the face of the Earth!!! (Yes, those exclamation points indicate that I am shouting.)

When it comes to official birds, I am not just a casual player. In 2019 I led a move to declare the brown pelican as the official bird of the city of St. Petersburg. The image of the pelican is everywhere in St. Pete, but it took the mayor and the City Council to vote on an official designation.

Compared to the pelican, the mockingbird looks plain. Because it is small and gray in color, it is mischaracterized as “boring.” It’s a slander that demands retraction.

The mockingbird, sometimes called the northern mockingbird, is no carpetbagger to Florida. Its territory expands across the state and beyond. It is actually a pretty bird, not ostentatious like the parrot or the roseate spoonbill. Its formal name is “Mimus polyglottos,” and you can see in those Latin words a wonderful translation: “the mime in many languages.”

Mockingbirds can not only imitate the songs of countless other birds. They have been known to mimic sounds made by cats, dogs and even human beings. This singing skill makes the mockingbird a mellifluous and versatile songbird, and a big hit at karaoke night in our oak tree.

Highly intelligent, great nesters, faithful to their mates, the mockingbird may also be ounce for ounce the greatest warrior on the planet.

Check out this note from Wikipedia: “The birds aggressively defend their nests against other birds and animals. When a predator is persistent, mockingbirds from neighboring territories may be summoned by distinct calls to join the defense. Other birds may gather to watch as the mockingbirds drive away the intruder. In addition to harassing domestic cats and dogs that they consider a threat, mockingbirds will at times target humans.”

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Years ago, while emptying the grass catcher on my lawn mower, I was startled by the flash of something near the bill of my cap. It’s not the size of the bird in the fight, I learned that day, it’s the size of the fight in the bird. I once gasped in amazement when it attacked a black snake, which slithered away.

Consider, for a moment, the influence of the mockingbird on American culture, from the gentle metaphorical meaning in the novel “To Kill a Mockingbird” to the traditional lullaby “Hush Little Baby,” turned into a great rhythm and blues tune by Inez and Charlie Foxx.

Florida crowned the mockingbird in 1927, followed by Texas, and then by Arkansas, Mississippi and Tennessee. Why would we want to rescind a great action that we thought of first? Why give up the mockingbird to the other copycats?

As for the mockingbird having a good lobbyist, it did. And I know her name. If you visit me down on the southern tip of Pinellas County, on the pink streets of Pinellas Point, I will show you a picturesque little city park looking out toward the Skyway bridge, where the gulf flows into the bay.

The park is named for Katherine Bell Tippetts, perhaps the most influential and civic-minded woman in the early history of our city. In addition to describing her great charitable efforts, the historian Karl Grismer writes:

“In 1909 she organized the St. Petersburg Audubon Society and was its president for 33 years. Largely as a result of her work, bird sanctuaries were established in Pinellas County, the mockingbird was named as the official state bird of Florida, a Bird Day was proclaimed by the governor of Florida, and laws were passed to protect robins. She also fought for the establishment of the first Fish and Game Commission of Florida.” What a woman!

I always thought that at their best, conservatives were conservers of enduring traditions, especially those that value the work of the founders of noble efforts. The work a century ago of Ms. Tippetts should be preserved and honored, not desecrated in the interests of branding.

I remember a humid summer evening, just before sunset, the sky ablaze in hues of pink and orange. I found myself on my porch looking up into our oak tree. It has been a paradise for birds, and we never know what species will show up. Blue jays, woodpeckers, parrots and doves are frequent visitors.

On this particular evening, a magnificent osprey circled the tree and settle atop a nearby light pole. Suddenly, a single mockingbird appeared out of nowhere. It bobbed and weaved at the tail of the osprey, a much bigger bird, like an English frigate charging a galleon from the Spanish Armada, like an X-wing fighter attacking a huge imperial starship.

As the mockingbird persisted, the osprey looked annoyed, like it was trying to ignore the pesky defender of its nest. Quickly, in the face of continued attack, the osprey shifted its weight, even raising one of its talons from its perch. The little bird would not give up, until the big bird flew off to the safety of a distant wire.

Moral of the story: Never mess with a mockingbird, our bold and courageous state bird.

Roy Peter Clark is a contributing writer to the Tampa Bay Times. Contact him at rclark@poynter.org.