PicoBlog

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When I visited the Helen and Allan Cruickshank Sanctuary last month, a conspicuous sign in the parking area warned us not to feed the scrub jays, warning that it is illegal, and also that “non-natural foods can affect their health.”

In the past decade, warnings like this have popped up in many places in Florida where I see scrub-jays, but feeding them wasn’t an issue when I added the species to my life list in 1999 at Lake Kissimmee State Park. A man was sitting in a lawn chair with a bucket of peanuts near the entrance gate, and the gate attendant told us that the jays flew right to him every day. She suggested that we bring peanuts next time we came, too.

That became our policy for more than a decade. Splendid as it was to see the jays that first time, it was even funner having them alight on our hands and heads when we brought peanuts. I have lots of treasured memories of my family feeding them.

In all those years, I never saw a scrub-jay eat even one peanut—they always flew off with them or buried them to eat later.

There is a dark side to feeding Florida Scrub-Jays. Any feedings near roadsides increase their chances of being hit by cars—a major cause of mortality for this species. As omnivores, they almost certainly benefit nutritionally from high protein peanuts, at least in moderation, but there’s evidence that supplemental food availability at times of year when natural food is low may affect the timing of their breeding cycle so it’s not in sync with when the optimal seasonal animal protein—insects, lizards, etc.—is available to feed their nestlings. Peanuts can easily become contaminated with extremely dangerous aflatoxins so they must be tested to be sold for human, pet, or livestock consumption, but there are no similar mandates on those sold for wildlife feeding. And unfortunately, even perfectly safe peanuts can can get wet and moldy with aflatoxin-producing fungi, which flourish in warm, humid environments like Florida.

At least one study showed that those Florida Scrub-Jays who approach people for feedings may have better survivability than those who don’t, but that may be related to personality traits—curiosity, adaptability, and ability to exploit novel occurrences—that foster longevity regardless of whether an opportunistic omnivore is fed or not.

Florida Scrub-Jays are one of the most well-studied birds on the planet in part because they do so often approach people for feedings. For birds with such excellent memories, they don’t seem to hold grudges; even after being trapped and banded by humans, they approach close enough to allow researchers to identify individuals by colored leg bands. Of course, in most long-term research projects, they’re banded as nestlings, but the parents who witness the bandings don’t become less approachable nor warn their young against approaching people. And there is no evidence at all that the artificial feeding by these researchers has harmed the birds in any way.

But researchers have both expertise and professional guidelines that minimize potential dangers. The general public includes the kinds of horrible people who have been known to “feed” birds very dangerous things, and also well-meaning people who feed them bread and other unhealthy but filling human foods. If we’re going to set policies to protect a bird that is endangered in every way except legally, we should err on the side of caution.

Nowadays, more and more parks and other public spaces prohibit all wildlife feeding. Where the policy is followed, this may protect people from at least some insistent squirrels, gulls, and pigeons, but even if no one ever fed a Florida Scrub-Jay, they’d still approach us because that’s what they do with any large, interesting mammal who might drop something edible or might cause insects or small lizards to scurry.

Russ and I already knew from decades past that when we carried food, sometimes the jays didn’t come near us even if we could hear them off in the distance. They have lives of their own, same as us. When they don’t approach, well, it’s possible they’re avoiding us the way we sometimes elude an unwelcome visitor. It’s more likely that they’re busy doing something that just doesn’t include us. It should be the scrub jays who decide whether it’s a good time for a get-together or not—after all, we’re intruding on their home.

We live on a planet so strewn with lovely miracles that it’s easy to take them for granted. But when Florida Scrub-Jays approach for a visit, the sparkle in their eyes has enough heat to warm my heart, even just remembering the experience via photos, even in the days approaching life-altering surgery. I’d call that a miracle.

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