For my Conservation Big Year, I’m focusing primarily on birds of conservation interest—those that are declining or, in some cases, increasing beyond ecologically healthy and sustainable limits. In the process of seeking out these birds, I’m also trying to see as many other species as I can, and my dream is to reach 600 species for the year. One bird that I really wanted to see not just to bulk up my list but also because I’m genuinely fond of it, despite it not being of conservation concern, is the Eurasian Tree-Sparrow.

As its name indicates, this is not a native American species. A few were shipped to St. Louis with some other European songbirds from Germany to be released in April 1870. That was when “naturalization” projects were in vogue. People with an interest in natural history were trying all over the world to bring plants and animals from various places to others around the globe. In the long run, some of these projects were disastrous for people or other species, and at the very least, all of them ended up exposing native species to new competitors and novel diseases. The introduction of Eurasian Tree Sparrows has been one of the least problematic of all the introductions of non-native wildlife in America. No real problems to native species or to human interests have ever been tied to them. Unlike most introductions in which a population becomes established, Eurasian Tree Sparrows never spread beyond extreme eastern Missouri, west-central Illinois, and southeastern Iowa. Everywhere they do exist, they’re closely associated with humans, but in the most urban centers both here and in Europe, they are usually displaced by the larger, more aggressive, and more urbane House Sparrow. Here and in Europe, the Eurasian Tree Sparrow is mostly found in wooded urban parkland, farms, and rural wood lots.

On first glance, Eurasian Tree Sparrows are fairly similar to House Sparrows, though they’re smaller and their facial markings noticeably different. I saw my first on October 28, 2004. The national Bird Chat listserv helped me make a connection with someone who got tree sparrows in his yard, and I’d worked out a trip, visiting a college friend in southern Illinois the night before. Unfortunately, I arrived in St. Louis the morning after the Boston Red Sox beat the St. Louis Cardinals in that historical final game of the World Series right there in St. Louis. Sadness seemed to infuse the very air I was breathing. I’d personally been delighted that the Sox finally won, hoping that would mean that the next baseball curse to be broken would be the one on the Chicago Cubs, but I could hardly feel elated on that particular morning in that particular place. Fortunately, seeing the sparrow tossed thoughts of baseball right out of my mind. (By some accounts, thinking about the Cubs wasn’t really thinking about baseball anyway, since it’s debatable whether the Cubs actually play baseball.)

Since then, I’ve seen Eurasian Tree Sparrows a few other times, in the yard of my good friend Susan Eaton. So this year, I stopped at her place in St. Louis on my way home from New Mexico and Texas so I could add the bird for my Conservation Big Year. I got there around lunchtime on July 25. Susan’s husband David had to head to work, but not before putting out a big plywood sign, “ETS for Laura.” I hadn’t realized that Eurasian Tree Sparrows are literate, but turns out they even recognize the local jargon for them, because the very first bird I saw in Susan’s lovely and very birdy yard was a Eurasian Tree Sparrow—my number 481 bird for the year. I took a bunch of photos, Susan and I had a lovely lunch, and she came with to keep me company when I got my oil changed. Then it was time for me to get back on the road. The fun of my Conservation Big Year is seeing so many birds in so many places with so many friends. The hard part is saying goodbye to all those birds and places and people so I can get to the next ones. And this is hardest when the birds and people are among my most treasured friends.

Of all the 639 bird species reported from Texas, only one is endemic, meaning it nests nowhere else in the known universe except within the borders of that one state. That endemic species is the critically endangered Golden-cheeked Warbler, first discovered by ornithologists in 1860 on its wintering grounds in Guatemala, which is also where I first saw the species, in early 2007. The Golden-cheeked Warbler’s nesting grounds in the hill country of central Texas were discovered four years later, in 1864. This elegant warbler breeds in old-growth and mature regrowth juniper-oak woodlands in limestone hills and canyons, and is reasonably common in what once been the dominant habitat of that area of Texas. Increasing urbanization and land clearing for agriculture put the habitat in dire jeopardy, justifying the bird’s listing as Endangered by the US Fish and Wildlife Service in 1990.

After I added my lifer Colima Warbler in Big Bend on July 21, I suddenly had the desperate urge to see the only remaining North American warbler I’d never seen in the United States, so when I left the Big Bend area, I headed straight to Balcones Canyonlands National Wildlife Refuge near Austin. I arrived a bit after 5 pm on July 23, a half hour after the refuge headquarters had closed, and so tried to find the Warbler Vista area on my own. I drove on the highway that circles the refuge, and after what seemed like a long drive, I passed a church on the refuge side of the road so figured I must have missed it. I went back to the headquarters entry to study the map some more, right as a woman pulled up to enter the code to open the locked gate. I asked for directions, and she said the Warbler Vista was not far beyond that church. I drove back and found the entrance about 5:45 or so. The gravel road up to the vista was rough and steep, and my car was skidding and struggling when a bird flew right in front of me. It had golden yellow cheeks, black wings, and a lot of white in the tail. A Golden-cheeked Warbler! I’d have stopped and tried to find and photograph it, but was having too much trouble negotiating the hill even as I kept moving steadily along.

The temperature was still over 100 degrees when I made it to the parking area, closed up the car, and started my hike on the Cactus Rocks Trail, which is one and a quarter miles through prime Golden-cheeked Warbler habitat. Immediately I saw a gorgeous male Golden-cheeked Warbler—not in the flesh, but painted on a rock with the number one. The trail had at least 16 of these markers, each numbered and showing a bright painted image of the Golden-cheeked Warbler. A pamphlet gave information about plants, animals, or ecological events that had taken place around each marker.

By late July, virtually all songbirds have finished the territorial phase of their breeding cycle, so songs are few and far between. I was at Balcones Canyonlands late in the afternoon, when fewest birds sing even during the height of territoriality, and it was a hot day to boot. The only sounds I heard on the entire hike were a distant Tufted Titmouse, the wind, and branches colliding in the wind. The only birds I saw, other than the ones painted on those markers, were Turkey Vultures passing repeatedly over and looking down on me hopefully as I roasted in my own juices.

I’d seen the warbler along the road well enough to count—I’d noted all the field marks—but after a similar brief, unsatisfying look at the Colima Warbler, I felt disappointed as I headed back to the parking lot. Suddenly, right in front of me came an adult male Golden-cheeked Warbler and two fledglings. Pairs split up when their chicks leave the nest, each taking part of the brood. Young remain with a parent until they are independent, 4 weeks or more after fledging. I was apparently seeing the male’s half of one little family. He gave me a few brief photo ops, and I took some fair pictures of both chicks. I was thrilled.

Balcones Canyonlands is one of the many national wildlife refuges with absolutely no fees to enter. I purchase at least a couple of Duck Stamps every year, knowing that 98 cents of every dollar I spend goes directly to habitat acquisition by the national wildlife refuge system. But I’m going to make a special donation to Balcones Canyonlands because research being done here and splendid habitat management are essential in the struggle to save this splendid bird.