American robins are migrants, wandering around in search of food sources, but they are a year-round specials in Maine.  Photo by Doug Hitchcox

Watching for signs of the seasons is a favorite thing for any naturalist. My first backyard groundhog emerged from hibernation on Feb. 24, which is a bit earlier than I’ve seen since moving to Windham. Winter visitors, like many beautiful ducks along the coast, are lingering but beginning their breeding behaviors. I can also tell it is winter when my inbox gets flooded with inquiries about robins: “Why are they here?” “Is it too early for them to come back?” “Will you come save them?” The short answer is “They should be here!”

I thought I would devote this column to all things robins in winter to hopefully answer questions and demystify myths about these ubiquitous birds. Let’s start with the myth that robins are a sign of spring. We definitely see an influx in their numbers during spring migration, but they are a year-round species in Maine and have been for a long time. Checking the 1949 Maine Birds by Ralph Palmer, he writes: “Individuals and small flocks are fairly common near the coast during most winters. That the Robin winters in the state has been known since the time of Audubon.” And indeed, John James Audubon wrote, way back in 1832, “notwithstanding the snow and occasional severe winters of Massachusetts and Maine, flocks remain in those States the whole season.”

It does help to acknowledge that bird populations and ranges are changing, increasingly so with the changing climate. I have long looked to red-winged blackbirds as a truer sign of spring in Maine, but even they are starting to become more regularly seen in winter. A true insectivore, like an eastern phoebe, is now a “real” sign of spring, but I should remind everyone to not misidentify singing black-capped chickadees with their clear whistled “fee-bee” song, for the raspy and rushed “feeBEE” of a phoebe.

Another fun thing to think about with American robins is how they move around. As mentioned, they are mostly migratory with their movements, but I like to think of them as more nomadic than traditional migrants that move from point A to point B. Check out its Latin binomial, Turdus migratorius. The genus Turdus captures our larger thrushes, and you can probably match the root from migratorius being “migratory,” but it also translates to “wanderer.” And that is what a lot of robins do; they wander around in search of food sources during these seasons when they aren’t tied to their nesting grounds.

In winter, they are primarily frugivores and can devour a bush of berries within an afternoon. It is interesting to watch their preferences change through the winter. At Maine Audubon’s Gilsland Farm sanctuary in Falmouth, the winterberry gets picked clean through December, but come February and March, the robins have to resort to staghorn sumac. The sumac doesn’t have as much pulp, but if you break up one of those seed heads, you can sometimes find insect larvae that might be a good protein supplement amongst those seeds.

As said, robins are migratory, but also seen year-round. The tricky part of this is that the birds we see in the winter are not necessarily the same ones we see in the summer. I often hear people call the winter birds “Canadian robins” (yes, they’d be Canadian-American robins), but the truth is, we don’t really know where an individual comes from (if only we could check their passports!). That said, there is a subspecies population of American robins that nests in Labrador and Newfoundland that are slightly larger and a bit darker. I would argue that it takes a very skilled eye to tell them apart because these physical size differences would probably only be noticed with two birds side-by-side, and there is enough variation within individuals and sexes of robins that make some birds (males) larger and darker than others (females). The male “Newfoundland robins” (Turdus migratorius nigrideus) do have the color of their dark heads extending down their backs, which helps pick them out from our summer birds with grayer backs. Still, I would guess that the percentage of nigrideus robins we see in Maine is very low; definitely less than 1% of all the robins I’ve seen fit this group.

Robins are one of the most common and recognizable birds we have, and soon we’ll be hearing their melodious songs filling the morning air. You can usually pick out a robin because it’ll wake you up even before the sun rises, but at least you know that means longer and warmer days are coming!

Have you got a nature or wildlife question of your own? It doesn’t have to be about birds! Email questions to ask@maineaudubon.org and visit www.maineaudubon.org to learn more about birding, native plants, and programs and events focusing on Maine wildlife and habitat. Maine Audubon Staff Naturalist Doug Hitchcox and other naturalists lead free bird walks on Thursday mornings starting at 8 am, at Maine Audubon’s Gilsland Farm Audubon Sanctuary in Falmouth.