“Men still live who, in their youth, remember pigeons; trees still live who, in their youth, were shaken by a living wind. But a few decades hence only the oldest oaks will remember, and at long last only the hills will know.”
- Aldo Leopold, “On a Monument to the Pigeon,” 1947
In the early 1800s, the passenger pigeon was the most abundant bird in North America, and possibly the entire world. Some estimates put the population at 5 billion birds.
Only 100 years later, in 1914, the last passenger pigeon, Martha, died in captivity in the Cincinnati Zoo in Ohio.
I’ve recently become fascinated by the contemporary accounts of passenger pigeons—what it was like to share this planet with another species of such magnitude that it rivaled human beings. No population of wild animals in North America today even comes close to the staggering numbers of the passenger pigeon. It’s hard to imagine what it was like.
In an article in Audubon Magazine (2014), B. Yeoman described an account of a passenger pigeon flock from Columbus, Ohio, in 1855: “…a growing cloud blotted out the sun as it advanced toward the city. Children screamed and ran for home. Women gathered their long skirts and hurried for the shelter of stores. Horses bolted. A few people mumbled frightened words about the approach of the millennium, and several dropped on their knees and prayed.”
Passenger pigeons used their sheer numbers to protect against predators. They would form “swarms”: flocks of hundreds of millions of birds that would move from forest to forest, constantly on the move to keep up with their voracious appetite. Swarms were so enormous that they could stretch literally as far as the eye could see. A swarm could be miles wide and hundreds of miles long. Famed American naturalist John James Audubon witnessed a swarm in 1813 that took three entire days to pass over him.
When a swarm would roost, it would completely take over entire forests. Trees would be so laden with nests that large branches would snap off. The forest floor would die out in a couple of weeks due to the constant battery of droppings.
Swarms of pigeons were exciting sights in the early 1800s. In fact, they would sometimes come to roost right here in Berrien Springs. Here is an excerpt from the Niles Republican, dated May 6, 1843:
"PIGEONS!--A gentleman from Berrien informs us that about three miles and a half from that village, the pigeons have taken possession of the woods, about 5 miles square, where they are nesting, and that there is from 10 to 75 nests on each tree. Large branches of trees are broken by them and the ground is strewn with eggs. On approaching the spot, one would imagine that he was near the Falls of Niagara, so incessant and loud is their thunder."
But by the time Battle Creek College moved to Berrien Springs and became Emmanuel Missionary College, the pigeons were gone. How could this have happened?
We happened. The sheer density of a pigeon swarm, which was effective in protecting against conventional predators, made the wholesale slaughter that unfolded in the mid 1800s laughably easy. Pigeons were hunted for food, sport and just for plain old boredom. They were so thick and dense that you didn’t even have to aim—just point your gun in the sky and shoot. One birdshot could kill 40 birds, or more. Young children could kill them by simply waving long poles in the air.
Hunters and trappers would follow large swarms around the country using the newly laid railroad system, then pack the processed meat into barrels and ship them around the country. They would throw large nets over swaths of woods, burn down their roosts, and even asphyxiate them with burning sulfur.
When conservationists realized what was happening, it was already too late. Passenger pigeons required large populations to keep reproducing. The last large nesting happened in 1878, in Petoskey, Michigan, a four-hour drive north from here. There, 50,000 birds per day were killed for nearly five months. When the surviving birds attempted second nestings at new sites, they were soon located by the professional hunters and killed before they had a chance to raise any young.
In 1907, only three passenger pigeons were left: Martha and two male companions, all kept at the Cincinnati Zoo. By 1910, only Martha remained. She became a celebrity in her final years, not only due to her endling status but also because of the $1,000 reward offered to anyone who could find her a mate.
None came. At 1 p.m. on Sept. 1, 1914, Martha died. For no other species are the exact time and place of extinction known.
Previous generations have bestowed upon us many great things. They’ve taken many things away from us, too. Many things that we don’t even realize are gone. One day, we are all plunked down somewhere in space and time, and we have to just live with it. We can’t change what those before us have done. But we can control what we impart to the future.
It’s springtime here in Berrien—I invite you to take a nice, quiet stroll through the woods and imagine what was and what could have been. Around this time, over a hundred years ago, maybe a swarm of pigeons was descending on this little town. Look up and watch the enormous multitude pass overhead. Listen to the cacophony of a hundred million voices.
A hundred years from now, what will we remember? And what will only the hills know?
Thank you to Jon Wuepper for his research on passenger pigeons in Berrien County and for finding the Niles newspaper excerpt.
The Student Movement is the official student newspaper of Andrews University. Opinions expressed in the Student Movement are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editors, Andrews University or the Seventh-day Adventist church.