SNOW BUNTING 
     
    
   
   
    
     by Margo Guignion, Green Meadows 
     
    
   
   
    
       
     
    
   
   
    
     One looks out on a rather wintery bleak day and is practically blinded by 
     
     the vast whiteness of snow cover. The lonely scene seems to add to the winter 
     
     doldrums until suddenly a wave of swooping white birds makes its way into sight. 
     
     Closer they come as they spy the grain strewn about out of pity for any poor 
     
     creature looking for a morsel in a chilling, barren land after night's snowfall. 
     
     Our visitors are snow buntings, south (as far as they are concerned) for the 
     
     winter. 
     
    

    
     Snow buntings are inhabitants of the far north, beyond the tree line, etching 
     
     an existence where much of our feathered wildlife could not sustain itself. During 
     
     June and July they breed in a land of plenty, as this is the land of the midnight 
     
     sun; working overtime to entice its shortlived bounty into bloom. Flowers and I 
     
     insects abound, providing a perfect nesting atmosphere. 
     
    

    
     Breeding further north than any other species, this bunting usually builds 
     
     a secluded nest of moss, grass and sedges among rocks and bush foliage. A touch 
     
     of luxury is achieved with the addition of feathers, fur or hair for a soft 
     
     interior lining. After laying four to seven yellow, brown or black spotted eggs 
     
     which may be white or various hues of blue-green, the female cuddles her eggs 
     
     protectively for fourteen days. The whiteness of the sitting females is not 
     
     nearly so obvious as it seems in overhead flight. The underside of both male and 
     
     female is white, but the head, back, and wings are veiled in a blotchy brown with 
     
     a touch of black added to the male's wings. During the breeding season, as in 
     
     other species, males take on a more distinguished look for courting. His formal 
     
     attire then, is mostly black in place of rusty brown. 
     
    

    
     While in the north, buntings feed a great deal on the lavish insect population 
     
     until colder weather sets in. A seed eater by design, its menu is chosen from 
     
     the variety of weed seeds available, as well as whatever bounty they may find in 
     
     scattered low woody plants proffering buds for a future of brighter days. During 
     
     sparse times they have been known to take advantage of civilization and may 
     
     filtrate around Eskimo Villages where they will feed on scraps occasionally. 
     
    

    
     During late fall snow buntings migrate south, some as far as northern United 
     
     States, apparently following the snow as it blankets our world in winter. Snow 
     
     is their element, providing their seed source does not become buried. Accustomed 
     
     to the treeless tundra our visitors like to forage in open country. 
     
    

    
     Now as I watch this enthusiastic little flock scurry over the snow, indulging 
     
     its appetite on our grain, the scene is no brighter, but a lot more cheery. 
     
    

    
     Our buntings stay on guard. My window approach must be slow since they are 
     
     only two or three yards from the house, and any sudden movement scares them away. 
     
     I note as I go about my day, that each time I might pass the window they perceive 
     
     less danger, and fly to lesser lengths to escape. Stopping for a period of 
     
     reflection, the buntings contribute a simple pleasure. A brisk breeze come up 
     
     suddenly and individuals scurry for the small pines a few feet away. Others just 
     
     seem to squat. It then becomes apparent that the buntings which headed for the 
     
     pine trees, weren't really interested in the trees, but in the protective hollows, 
     
     formed_as a result of snow drifting around the trees. The others happened to 
     
     find a footprint close at hand so ducked low and puffed up their feathers and 
     
     conserved their energy. 
     
    

    
     Later in the day as we brought in wood (to conserve our own energy) the 
     
     buntings were disturbed at first by our comings and goings. As trips increased, 
     
     and the noisy aluminum door slammed shut with no greater threat, the buntings 
     
     rather than fly out to the safety of the open field, just flew into the maple 
     
     hedge above the food, and there sat patiently and eyed us beating the path from 
     
    
   
   
    
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