The Bobolink Dilemma

Instinct draws the sweet-singing birds to make their homes in the same fields that farmers must harvest for hay.

have a unique vantage point from my property: Look to the west and there is a hayfield, not a large one but big enough to yield a few wagonloads of hay each year, as well as a clear horizon. To the north is another hayfield, about the same size though not as well situated, so the crop is less vigorous. And to the south is the big field, the one that opens its arms to the sky and yields a superabundant harvest of hay.

When I first came here, I didn’t know much about the bobolinks, migratory birds small enough to hold in my hand. I knew only their cheerful song, broadcast out across the greening fields, happy as the rest of us to welcome spring. In those early years of my tenancy, I had no idea that these birds nested in the fields instead of the trees. Animal instincts have always struck me as an ingenious way of keeping creatures from harm. The bobolinks must have a reason for nesting on the ground, but doing it that way seems extremely dangerous.

Birds and haying do not necessarily clash. But what happens when the fields are hayed is that, quite immediately, there is what one might call “road kill,” as the big blades of the cutter inevitably leave all manner of animals in their wake, from field mice to skunks and even a fisher-cat or two—whatever could not escape in time. Some of these unfortunate creatures even end up baled into the hay.

At first I didn’t fully understand the bobolinks’ plight. Friends were advocating to stop the farmers from haying until the babies had left the nest, but my sympathies went to the farmer. In haying, weather is crucial to getting in a good crop. I know how hard it is to harvest when weather won’t cooperate. The birds simply made a fatal mistake by nesting in a hayfield. What were they thinking?

Then, a few years ago, I was sitting at my kitchen table as the first cut began, the green tractor sweeping across the field, usually a cause for joy, a signal of new life. And I saw behind it a wave of young bobolinks, hopping and struggling in the cutter’s wake.

It was as if these small birds were drowning in the incoming tide of hay as it churned off the blades. It took several minutes for my brain to process the fact that the words of my bird-loving friends were true. The bobolinks’ instincts had led them to their end, silencing their beautiful songs.

For the rest of the season, each time I looked at the field my heart sank. But what was there to do? Every year, trucks hauling horse trailers line up at the gate to pick up the farmer’s freshly baled hay. Who or what is more important in the natural pyramid? I thought about it constantly as the season wore on. The farmer has to figure into this formula as well. A farmer friend of mine always has said, “Nature takes care of everything.” Maybe. Maybe sometimes it takes a while for the pendulum to swing back to where it’s fair.

Last June, there were no bobolinks nesting in the field. Had they learned their lesson and moved on to greener pastures? Or were there simply none of them left? There must be a reason why the bobolinks build their nests in the hayfield, but so far I don’t know what it is.