Grading the State Birds
And Correcting the Mistakes of the Past
When I proposed writing a post about the 50 state birds of the United States, the response from my readers was an overwhelming Yes!
Duly tasked and aware of the work ahead, I immediately got busy. Two weeks and 50 states (and five territories) later, I’ve graded every state’s decision on an A-F scale and, with the kind of impunity reserved only for gods and bloggers, determined which birds can stay and which must go. For those on the chopping block, I’ve named a replacement I hope will be considered sufficiently representative of the state to which it’s been assigned.
This was a long and taxing challenge. Perhaps more taxing than expected. Some decisions were easy. Some not so. Rarely have I experienced such violent ebbs and flows. Joy. Rage. Joy again.
Before starting, I laid a few basic ground rules, and I’ve managed to stick to them, (with two notable exceptions).
Absolutely no repeats—my one hard and fast rule
In the case of a repeat, the first state to choose the bird had the right to keep it
No exotics or domesticated birds
Before beginning, I’ll note that it was fascinating to learn that the general movement to adopt state birds was driven by the General Federation of Women’s Clubs. Often, statewide factions of the GFWC lobbied for their own preference. Other times, they deferred to schoolchildren by way of a statewide vote. There were also instances when state legislatures or single politicians took matters into their own hands. I’ve done my best with the research, given my self-imposed time constraints. I apologize for any erroneous claims and welcome all corrections.
In all, I evaluated 55 state/territory birds, but a total of just 33 taxa. As you’ll see, my main corrective measure was to eliminate repeats.
Without further ado—
The Revised List of State Birds, as Recommended by Birding with BillBow
In alphabetical order—
Alabama: Yellowhammer, AKA Northern Flicker, yellow-shafted subspecies. 1927
I enjoy learning archaic bird names, but “Yellowhammer” earns an immediate disqualification for being a relic of a Confederate uniform (Huntsville, AL company), which had a gray and yellow color scheme reminiscent of a Northern Flicker. Flickers should not be associated with the pro-slavery South. No bird should.
Grade: F-
Better option: Northern Flicker. Alabama keeps its woodpecker but as penance must live with a bird name containing the word North.
Alaska: Willow Ptarmigan. 1960
I’m not sure how to describe Willow Ptarmigans. They sound almost human, but the language is not of this Earth, or at least not of this earthly dimension. Earth-adjacent. Or maybe they remind me a bit of how adults talk in Peanuts animations. Adults weren’t responsible for the selection, however. That was left to the territory’s schoolchildren, who chose the Willow Ptarmigan as the symbol of the Great Land in 1955. When Alaska became a state in 1960, it was made the official state bird. The kids got it right this time. Not always the case, as you will see.
Grade: A+
Better option: None. There’s a lot to choose from in Alaska, but I’m not sure anything is so much better it should undermine the will of the children.
American Samoa: No official bird
The people of Samoa surely have more important issues on the table, but choosing an official bird would be a fun way to highlight Samoan avifauna, and a uniquely Samoan bird could replace the Bald Eagle on the Samoan flag, which makes no sense.
Grade: Incomplete
Better option: Mao. This was a tough one, given I couldn’t name a single Samoan bird before embarking on this exercise, but an endemic is always a safe choice, and picking an endangered one can serve as a wider call to action to protect the species. And the Mao just seems like a cool bird, almost grackle-like with its size, shape, long tail and intense stare–not necessarily the most beautiful but certainly charismatic, and its whistle sounds like trying to tune an old-time radio. Bonus—watching rabid nationalists squirm at the name Mao.
Arizona: Cactus Wren. 1931
Yep. Nailed it. There may be sexier choices out there, but it’s hard to argue with State Representative M.V. Decker’s push to make this big, brash, beautiful cactus-nesting wren the state bird. Cactus Wren gets extra credit for letting me get this picture.
Grade: A-
Better choice: I mean, maybe Arizona Woodpecker? Or Red-faced Warbler? Harris’s Hawk? Costa’s Hummingbird? Montezuma Quail? There’s dozens of Maybes, but why fix what’s not broken?
Arkansas: Northern Mockingbird. 1929
As I mentioned above, the movement to adopt state birds in the 1920s and beyond had a strong driving force in the General Federation of Women’s Clubs. A fine ambition, but the execution? Maybe states should have taken their time instead of rushing to choose the same goddam bird. The Arkansas chapter of that federation cited the Mockingbird’s helpfulness to farmers in its push for the legislature to formalize its status as state bird. Understandable, but also lazy, given Arkansas was the third state to adopt it. But since I’ll be taking it away from the two preceding states for reasons that will become obvious, Arkansas can keep its Northern Mockingbird. There are certainly more compelling options out there though.
Grade: D
Better option: Loggerhead Shrike. If I lived in the shadow of an oversized neighbor, I’d consider choosing the mightiest of songbirds. Don’t mess with Texas? Yeah, well, think twice about messing with Arkansas, unless getting impaled and eaten is your cup of tea.
California: California Quail. 1931
This is the one I agonized over the most. I’ve lost sleep, weight, and hair. I may stand to lose friends and gain enemies. The more I look at California Quails, the more enraptured I am. Gorgeous bird, a great recommendation made by the Audubon Society, but the best choice? Given the giant, majestic, mountain-dwelling icon that was rescued from the brink of extinction, my answer has to be no.
Grade: B+
Better option: California Condor. California also has a wonderful endemic in the Yellow-billed Magpie, but the Condor is too impressive and too important a symbol to pass up.
Colorado: Lark Bunting. 1931
When the decision to choose a state bird came down to three options, Colorado eschewed the Mountain Bluebird and Western Meadowlark because they were already taken. Bra-VO! Lark Bunting fit the desired criteria of being both available and a year-round resident. When I return to the state I once called home, I will mend one of my biggest birding regrets by getting my lifer Lark Bunting.
Grade: A-
Better option: Brown-capped Rosy Finch. This near-endemic, year-round denizen of the Rockies is the best choice, but Lark Bunting is a terrific bird that doesn’t deserve the boot.
Connecticut: American Robin. 1943
Connecticut’s unimaginative, uninspired General Assembly was the second to adopt the American Robin as state bird. Look, if I was president and a bill came before me designating American Robin as the official bird of the United States, I’d sign it before you could blink. This isn’t about hating on Robins. Or Cardinals. Or any of the repeats—it’s about states getting their shit together, demonstrating some flair for independent thinking, and appreciating our wildly diverse avian life.
Grade D-
Better option: Common Eider. You sit right on the Long Island Sound. Pick a water bird, bitches. Though tempting, I suppose it would never do to restore a king to one of the original colonies, and anyway King Eiders are a rare visitor to Connecticut. Common Eider is the one.
Delaware: Blue Hen Chicken. 1939
Another state bird with wartime roots, a Delaware company of Revolutionary War soldiers, known for its courage, came to be known as “Fighting Blue Hens,” or “The Blue Hen’s Chickens” (see the irony here?), the Blue Hen purportedly being a hen famed for defeating roosters in cockfights. Obviously it’s ridiculous to have a domesticated chicken as a state bird, but I also kind of love it. The backstory is colorful and Delaware did it first, so I’m allowing a one-time breach of the rule. Keep your hen if you must, Delaware, but fair warning—imitators will not be smiled upon.
Grade: B-
Better option: Northern Gannet, or any of the other cool seabirds found off the coast of Delaware.
District of Columbia: Wood Thrush. 1967
The Wood Thrush is a magnificent species that absolutely deserves to be one of the official birds, but not for this den of vulgarity. While Wood Thrushes fill our forests with beauty and perhaps the most melodious song in all of birddom, the villains of DC are busy spewing bile.
Grade: A+
Better option: Passenger Pigeon. Let the extinct Passenger Pigeon become a national symbol, a constant reminder of how a failure in vision and leadership led to a slash-and-burn mindset that, in less than a century, robbed us of forests and meadows and what was once the most populous bird in the world.
Florida: Northern Mockingbird. 1927
You gotta be kidding me, Part I. When Senate Concurrent Resolution No. 3 made the Mockingbird the state bird of Florida (the second state to do so), the American Flamingo, Wood Stork, White Ibis, Roseate Spoonbill, and any number of more representative birds were snubbed. Those all would have been better choices, but still not my choice. I mean, come on—how many states can boast an endemic bird? Not many. How many states can boast a Mockingbird? Like a million.
Grade: D-
Better option: Florida Scrub Jay. Leave it to humans to degrade this bird’s habitat to the point that 90% of its population is gone and is likely still falling. Florida Scrub Jays deserve to live, and making it the face of Florida can only spread sympathy for their plight.
Georgia: Brown Thrasher. 1970
Georgia bucked a trend and refused to make a mock(ingbird)ery of this decision when Eugene Talmadge declared the Brown Thrasher the state bird in 1935, though the legislature would not ratify it for another 35 years. The only problem? Talmadge was a segregationist and all around trash human who in life was friendly with, and in death mourned by, the KKK.
Grade: A
Better option: None. Human filth like Talmadge shouldn’t be allowed near any important decisions, but perhaps there’s some irony in a white supremacist choosing a brown bird to represent his state. The man is dead. Brown Thrashers live on. Keep it.
Guam: Guam Rail. 2000
Guam did it right—an endemic species, a stunner at that, and one that was until recently extinct in the wild. I love this bird’s chestnutty back and the black-and-white barring of its underparts, and I always admire an elegant eyestripe like the one a Guam Rail sports. The bird is largely flightless and thus vulnerable to invasive snakes, but things are looking up. Here’s to an ongoing and everlasting recovery!
Grade: A+
Better option: None. That’s how it’s done.
Hawaii: Néné (Hawaiian Goose). 1957
Absolutely. As much as my thoughts have dwelt on the 'Akikiki, which will surely go extinct short of some breathtaking conservation success, the Néné has faced some conservation trials of its own. The world’s rarest goose was down to 30 individuals by 1952, but captive breeding successes have helped increase their numbers in the wild to nearly 4,000. The decision to adopt the Néné as state bird surely played a role in raising awareness of its critically endangered status.
Grade: A+
Better choice: None. That’s how it’s done, 2.0.
Idaho: Mountain Bluebird. 1931
Yep. No notes. Though there seems to have been some disagreement among members of the Idaho Federation of Women’s Clubs whether Mountain Bluebird or Western Tanager should be named state bird, Idaho really couldn’t have missed with either. Mountain Bluebird won behind the strength of a poll among schoolkids, whose other choices of American Robin and Western Meadowlark were rightfully nixed due to having already been claimed by other states.
Grade: A
Better choice: None. I do feel some sympathy for the Western Tanager, which certainly rivals the Mountain Bluebird in beauty, but with so few spots available, some birds have to take an L. Take the L, Western Tanager, and keep on living your best life.
Illinois: Northern Cardinal. 1929
Nice try, Illinois schoolchildren, but you were a few years behind Kentucky when you picked Northern Cardinal from a field of five birds in 1929. I’d advise you to think for yourselves next time, but I doubt there are many, if any, of you left to scold.
Grade: D
Better choice: Grasshopper Sparrow. I love conservation successes, and I’ve been inspired by
’s stories and sketches from Chicago’s Park 566, formerly the site of a steel mill and now nesting grounds for Grasshopper Sparrows and a host of other birds. Apologies to Savannah, Henslow’s, Vesper, and other worthy sparrows.Indiana: Northern Cardinal. 1933
Indiana has a permanent place in my heart, and not just because of a certain hamburger joint I frequented. My wife Alex and I lived there for five years, and our first child was born in the city of Lafayette. That said, and please take this with love—go to hell, Indiana! Or at least go to hell, Indiana General Assembly, which was the fourth such body to adopt the poor, overworked Northern Cardinal as state bird.
Grade: D-
Better choice: Ruby-throated Hummingbird. No chance the Ruby-throated wasn’t making this list. You want an iconic bird, Indiana? Why not the only hummingbird to nest in the eastern United States?
Iowa: Eastern (AKA American) Goldfinch. 1933
When Iowa Ornithologists’ Union president Walter Rosene called on his members in 1926 to suggest a state bird, the “Eastern” Goldfinch, a popular year-round inhabitant, emerged as the immediate frontrunner. Nine years later, the state legislature made it official. Iowa was the first of three states to adopt the Goldfinch and therefore has the right to keep it. I give a slight deduction only because American Goldfinches are everywhere to the point they should be in the running for national bird.
Grade: A-
Better choices: Common Nighthawk, Chimney Swift. This is my experience bias talking, but when we traveled to Iowa last year, it seemed like every day, in every town we visited, these two species would appear at dusk in numbers I’ve never seen to perform their acrobatic, bug-swallowing dances. But never mind—American Goldfinch is a good pick. Keep it.
Kansas: Western Meadowlark. 1933
The schoolchildren strike again. Can’t really blame the kids, though. I doubt any of them were members of the legislature that ratified their misguided preference. Honestly, shame on you, Kansas. You were fourth to adopt Western Meadowlark. Just because the shape of your state is boring doesn’t mean your choices have to be. Break free of rectangular thinking.
Grade: F
Better choice: Dickcissel. By all means, have a prairie bird. Just pick a different one, FFS.
Kentucky: Northern Cardinal. 1926
Kentucky knew a winner when they saw one. Not only was the Bluegrass State the first to adopt Northern Cardinal as state bird—citing its constant presence, bright color, and cheerful song (remember those three criteria)—in 1926 it became the first state to adopt a state bird period. Well done, Kentucky. You chose an icon and made yourself a trendsetter in one swoop.
Grade: A+
Better option: None. Yes, I might have considered Kentucky Warbler had they not been first to jump on Cardinal.
Louisiana: Eastern Brown Pelican. 1966
Slam dunk. Eastern Brown Pelicans were endangered when the state legislature made them the state bird. Did that move aid in their recovery in Louisiana and beyond? Couldn’t have hurt. And you know what? Louisiana gets a bump for also having an NBA team named for one of the truly great coastal birds. Side note—the state flag features an American White Pelican. Louisiana really loves its pelicans!
Grade: A+
Better option: None. And I’m not sure I’d entertain alternative suggestions in this case.
Maine: Chickadee. 1927
Yes! Way to jump on one of the best birds in the eastern US! Also well done in outmaneuvering your silly little neighbor to the south. But hold on—did you mean Black-capped or Boreal Chickadee? The legislature didn’t specify, and maybe it’s not important. Maybe Maine just wanted to celebrate chickadees in general. That’s fair, but to be honest, I’d prefer it be Black-capped—one of the beloved birds of my youth. Let Canada have the Boreal variety. Who knows, maybe New Brunswick would consider swapping out Black-capped as its official bird?
Grade: A
Better option: Black-capped Chickadee. Make it specific. Also, I know—Atlantic Puffin. I hear you, but I simply cannot depose one of my favorite birds on Earth. Anyway, the Atlantic Puffin is already the official bird of Newfoundland and Labrador. That’s good enough for me.
Maryland: Baltimore Oriole. 1947
Okay, yes, there are many states where this would be a better fit. But Maryland and Baltimore and Orioles are so inextricably tied that the only criticism possible here is—what took Maryland so long? And please don’t give me any Ravens crap. That team should still be in Cleveland and named Browns.
Grade: A
Better option: None. Again, Baltimore Orioles are more suited to other states and other birds are more suited to Maryland, but I fear there might be riots.
Massachusetts: Black-capped Chickadee. 1947
Absolutely not. You lose this time, Massachusetts. Take your all your stupid sports championships and console yourselves with those. Maine whipped you fair and square, and by a whopping 20 years. Honestly, do you think you have to win everything? Obnoxious.
Grade: F
Better choice: Getting bent. Or, in lieu of that, Red-bellied Woodpecker, the bird equivalent of Danny Ainge. Piping Plover. I can’t resist a comeback bird, especially such an adorable one, so I’ll defer to Massachusetts native
Michigan: American Robin. 1931
Few have botched this choice more egregiously than Michigan, but I guess the one redeeming factor is that Michigan was the first to adopt American Robin. But seriously, come on. Astonishingly, it was the Michigan Audubon Society that pushed the Robin as state bird. Did the whole society get drunk at the worst possible time and somehow forget the unique and critically endangered warbler hanging on for dear life in Michigan’s jack pine forests? This was a blown layup of epic proportions.
Grade: F+
Better choice: Kirtland’s (soon to be Jack Pine) Warbler. Not only is the Kirtland’s Warbler an incredible conservation success story (from less than 400 individuals in the early 1970s to around 5,000 today), it’s unique among warblers—chunky, sluggish… one of the few warblers who will deign pose for a picture.
Minnesota: Common Loon. 1961
Here’s another no-brainer that only raises eyebrows because of how long it took. Apparently American Goldfinch was once in the running. Hell no. So was Scarlet Tanager. More compelling, but also no. Today it’s impossible to separate Minnesota and its lakes from the legendary diver. That any other bird was considered? Allow me to go full Wallace Shawn here—Inconceivable!
Grade: A+
Better option: None. Sorry, I just can’t get over it… Goldfinch? For Minnesota?? LOL
Mississippi: Northern Mockingbird. 1944
Did all of these southern states pick Northern Mockingbird in mockery of Texas? No, it’s just that the state Federations of Women’s Clubs seem to have loved Mockingbirds to the point that the map of state birds is lousy with them. Look, I don’t want Northern Mockingbirds to take a beating here. They’re an amazing bird, worthy of being a state bird and of their place in American literature. But we can’t revere them at the expense of so many others.
Grade: F
Better option: Mississippi Kite. Here’s where an eponymous choice makes all the sense in the world.
Missouri: Eastern Bluebird. 1927
Gorgeous bird. First to claim it. High five, Missouri—your legislature did right by you in choosing Eastern Bluebird for being a “symbol of happiness.” Though I’ve never been sure why or if bluebirds inspire happiness more than any other species of bird, I’m not going to be a sourpuss and argue with that rationale. Happiness FTW!
Grade: A
Better choice: None. May Eastern Bluebirds deliver happiness to Missouri forevermore.
Montana: Western Meadowlark. 1941
Not even close to being the first to adopt Western Meadowlark, the schoolchildren blew it again. Honestly, why are folks so critical of kids these days when the youth of yesteryear were proving such dullards?
Grade: F
Better choice: Prairie Falcon. Better, but maybe not Best. I struggled mightily with this one. Ideas? I’m listening.
Nebraska: Western Meadowlark. 1929
The Ornithologists Union of Nebraska, the Nebraska Federation of Women’s Clubs, and the state’s schoolchildren were not egregiously late in choosing Western Meadowlark, but third place isn’t good enough. Keep your bronze medal, but say goodbye to the Meadowlark.
Grade: D-
Better choice: Sandhill Crane. I was going to give Sandhill Crane to Wisconsin, but I can’t resist the annual Nebraska gathering. I’ve never witnessed the largest conglomeration of Sandhill Cranes in the world, but it must be quite a spectacle, and loud AF.
Nevada: Mountain Bluebird. 1967
Thirty-six years after Idaho. Thirty-six! In fact, a broad coalition of Nevadans threw its support behind the Mountain Bluebird decades earlier, but the state legislature dawdled to the point of embarrassment—Nevada was among the last states to adopt an official bird.
Grade: D-
Better choice: Sagebrush Sparrow. Have I ever been to Nevada? No. Have I ever seen a Sagebrush Sparrow? Nope. Am I willing to be talked into something else? Yep. But the Sagebrush Sparrow is a handsome bird and Nevada appears to have the most robust year-round population, per the range maps I consulted.
New Hampshire: Purple Finch. 1957
Forester and State Senator Robert Monahan rescued New Hampshire from adopting yet another domestic chicken by proposing the Purple Finch, which soon gained the backing of the Audubon Society of New Hampshire. I commend this choice, though I’m actually shocked New Hampshire didn’t opt for the Common Loon, given the wealth of Loon imagery and merchandise around the state. Big W for New Hampshire for backing the often overlooked Purple Finch.
Grade B+
Better option: None. Although I’m tempted to wrest the Common Loon away on behalf of my beloved NH, where I used to summer with my family, Minnesota has an equal claim, if not better. Purple Finch may not be a flashy choice, but the year-round resident is a solid one.
New Jersey: Eastern Goldfinch. 1935
Honestly WTF? You have Cape May right there and you go with a retread??
Okay, after an initial tantrum, I watched this video on the history of the selection of American Goldfinch in New Jersey. State Senator Dryden Kuser was a bird enthusiast dedicated to avian conservation, and his Goldfinch-centered campaign that sought to raise awareness of birds among New Jersey’s youth was a noble mission. Still, while my outrage may have subsided, my mind hasn’t changed.
Grade: D-
Better choice: Broad-winged Hawk. The spectacle of a kettle of hundreds or thousands of Broad-winged Hawks in the sky makes it worthy of state birdship. Red Knot. When my pal and New Jersey native
New Mexico: Greater Roadrunner. 1949
I’m only shocked that 1) it took so long for any southwest state to adopt Greater Roadrunner, and 2) not every southwest state adopted it. Good on you, New Mexico, for righting that wrong—Roadrunner absolutely had to be a state bird, and now we have representation of the cuckoo family covered as well.
Grade: A+
Better choice: None. My grandmother loved Texas and she loved Roadrunners. Doubtless she’d prefer I unite the two. Sorry, Grandma. Can’t do it. Love you!
New York: Eastern Bluebird. 1970
Really, New York? You waited until 1970 to adopt a bird that had already been adopted? And 43 years earlier? You procrastinated to the point that you were the very last state in the union to adopt a state bird? One wonders if you give a shit about birds at all.
Grade: F
Better choice: Black Skimmer. You don’t deserve such an awesome bird after that performance, but I guess I have a soft spot for my former home state.
North Carolina: Northern Cardinal. 1943
When the North Carolina Bird Club conducted a public vote to determine the state bird, it proved that some decisions are too important to entrust to the people.
Grade: F+
Better choice: Tricolored Heron. A somewhat arbitrary choice, but there has to be at least one representative of the Heron/Bittern/Egret family among these ranks. I’d be good with almost any of them for North Carolina, but the Tricolored is a bit extra among herons, isn’t it?
North Dakota: Western Meadowlark. 1947
I’m unclear exactly what moved North Dakota to choose Western Meadowlark, but it certainly wasn’t the spirit of independent thinking. The sixth and last state to adopt the bird, Western Meadowlark is a symbol of North Dakota at its most lemming-like.
Grade: F
Better choice: Yellow-breasted Chat. I was tempted to go with a tossup between Yellow Warbler and Common Yellowthroat, but I’ll go with a bit less common, a bit more personality, and every bit as much yellow.
Northern Mariana Islands: Mariana Fruit-Dove. Year unknown
Yep. I have nothing to say about this. I know less about the Mariana Islands than I do about American Samoa. The bird is endemic to the Mariana Archipelago, and if you can name a more gorgeous bird, let alone dove, I’d like to hear it.
Grade: A+
Better choice: None. However I do invite my vast readership in the Mariana Islands to chime in.
Ohio: Northern Cardinal. 1933
Okay, here’s where things get complicated on a personal level. Ohio is my home state, and Northern Cardinal is my favorite bird. I’ll rhapsodize about Cardinals to anyone who will listen, and my seminal birding memories are linked to Cardinal song in my childhood neighborhood in Akron, Ohio. As tempted as I am to pull rank here… I won’t.
Grade: D
Better option: Ring-billed Gull. I’m going to catch hell for this, but no bird has a better claim on Ohio than its most abundant gull, who has done a far better job keeping the shores of Lake Erie clean than humans have.
Oklahoma: Scissor-tailed Flycatcher. 1951
Following a push by numerous wildlife societies, Oklahoma snatched up the ABA area’s most spectacular flycatcher, which no other state had yet claimed. Aside from its presence throughout the state during breeding season, supporters touted the Scissor-tailed Flycatcher’s diet as beneficial to agriculture.
Grade: A+
Better option: None. In fact, I’m tempted to give Oklahoma an A++, given how most of its neighbors chose.
Oregon: Western Meadowlark. 1927
The Oregon Audubon Society polled, yup, schoolchildren, and was juuust edged out by Wyoming in choosing Western Meadowlark in 1927. I can’t be too harsh on them, given the narrow loss.
Grade: C
Better choice: Spotted Owl. The northern subspecies of the Spotted Owl has been pummeled by a combination of deforestation and an invasion of Barred Owls, and there has been a long and contentious struggle between logging interests and conservationists, the latter of whom I hope will win a sweeping victory resulting in the recovery of Northern Spotted Owl populations and their habitat. Sorry, logging companies. Find wood somewhere else.
Pennsylvania: Ruffed Grouse. 1931
Okay, it’s technically the “state game bird,” but I think we can dispense with the qualifiers by now. Though I suspect Ruffed Grouse was singled out because of a general enthusiasm for shooting them, this is a commendable choice. As a resident of Pennsylvania, I hope to fill this embarrassing hole in my life list soon.
Grade: A-
Better choice: None. Worm-eating Warbler occurred to me for a brief moment, but what a disservice that would be to the Ruffed Grouse.
Puerto Rico: Puerto Rican Spindalis
The Puerto Rican Spindalis is the island’s de facto bird. This stunning endemic is the perfect choice. I know I’ve made a point of emphasizing endangered birds, but I was happy to learn that this bird doesn’t seem to be in imminent danger from cats, rats, snakes, disease, or any of the afflictions that can doom island birds to obliteration.
Grade: Incomplete
Better option: Make it legal. Your A+ is waiting, Puerto Rico.
Rhode Island: Rhode Island Red. 1954
I said I was only allowing one domesticated chicken, and I meant it.
Grade: D
Better choice: Dovekie. A lil’ seabird for a lil’ state.
South Carolina: Carolina Wren. 1948
My one reservation is that Strom Thurmond was the governor who made this choice official, but the act he signed replaced the Northern Mockingbird as state bird and made it a crime to kill a wren. I hate the idea of anything burnishing the image of a segregationist, but I also can’t rewrite history. I remember Thurmond as a barely sentient tumor in the halls of congress. Can a malignancy get something right? In this case, yes. The bird makes sense for the state, and not just because of the name—the Carolina Wren is a noisy, twitchy, delightful year-round citizen.
Grade: A
Better option: Not electing segregationists.
South Dakota: Ring-necked Pheasant. 1943
They’re gorgeous, but as much as I like them, choosing an exotic game bird is preposterous. No matter how delicious they might be, the bird wasn’t even established in South Dakota until the early 1900s.
Grade: F
Better option: Greater Prairie-Chicken. How about a native landfowl? An endangered one that South Dakota and the nation can rally around? Habitat restoration, anyone?
Tennessee: Northern Mockingbird. 1933
Pathetic. What makes this particularly depressing is that the Mockingbird was chosen following a vote conducted by the Tennessee Ornithological Society. With bird experts at the reins, Tennessee should have ended up with a better state bird, not four-time also-ran.
Grade: F
Better option: American Woodcock. One of your year-round birds is a woodland sandpiper and one of the goofiest looking species on the continent. And with that walk, that Peeent!, and that courtship display… what’s the holdup here?
Texas: Northern Mockingbird. 1927
You gotta be kidding me, Part II. I don’t care if Texas was first to adopt it, and I don’t care if the line of thinking was that the Mockingbirds of Texas are everywhere and at all times singing their blessed hearts out. Every other southern state can say the same. You fancy yourself an outlier? A lone star? Prove it.
Grade: C. Deserves an F, but Texas was first and I do love Mockingbirds, so C. But you’re not keeping it.
Better options: Whooping Crane? Crested Caracara? Golden-cheeked Warbler? Elf Owl? Actually, let’s go with the latter. You like things BIG, Texas? I’m giving you the world’s tiniest owl.
Utah: California Gull. 1955
Goddamit. This is so tough and partially why I hate naming birds after states, unless it’s an endemic. On its face, the choice seems breathtakingly bad, but there’s more to it. Utah’s history with the California Gull is long and so fascinating that I cannot bring myself to change it. Also, it should be noted that it wasn’t specifically the California Gull that became a sacred bird to Mormon settlers in the 19th century, but the generic “Seagull.”
Grade: B
Better choice: Changing the name of the gull. Note—I am by no means suggesting the name change to Utah Gull.
Vermont: Hermit Thrush. 1941
Like its next-door neighbor New Hampshire, I have to credit Vermont, and its Federated Women’s Clubs, for thinking outside the box. The choice was apparently controversial, as the Hermit Thrush is only a seasonal resident and, as you might guess, secretive, but members of the Federated Women’s Clubs were so enraptured by the Hermit Thrush’s song, they pushed for its adoption and eventually won out.
Grade: A+
Better option: None. My one objection is that, with Eastern Bluebird (2x), Mountain Bluebird (2x) American Robin (3x), Wood Thrush, and Hermit Thrush, the state bird landscape is rather saturated with thrushes. I’m working to purge the repeats, however, so Hermit Thrush stays.
Virgin Islands: Bananaquit. 1970
I hate to do this to one of the most adorable birds on the planet. The Bananaquit did absolutely nothing wrong, and neither did the people who chose it. I simply want a parrot on my list.
Grade: A
Not necessarily better choice: St Thomas Conure (AKA Brown-throated Parakeet). Aside from just wanting a parrot, this is a pretty cool looking one, even by parrot standards. I’m not sure how many parrot species are associated with the color brown, but it’s a nice contrast to its bright and more typical yellow, green, and blue. I’ll make it up to you, Bananaquit. Somehow.
Virginia: Northern Cardinal. 1950
The seventh and last state to adopt the Northern Cardinal, Virginia was apparently swayed by its constant presence, bright color, and cheerful song. Sound familiar? That’s right—Virginia couldn’t even come up with a unique rationale.
Grade: F
Better options: Eastern Whip-poor-will. To pay for your sins, Virginia, your new state bird is nocturnal—one you will rarely see and can only hear at night. Eventually you will come to realize the favor I’ve done you, giving you the one and only nightjar on the list.
Washington: Willow (American) Goldfinch. 1951
I’m tempted to let Washington keep this one for the use of a fun archaic name, but they were third to adopt it and therefore must lose it. Also, who the hell envisions an American Goldfinch when they think of Washington? No one. Except schoolchildren, apparently. Again. And Washington’s Federation of Women’s Clubs. Again.
Grade: D
Better option: Tufted Puffin. I think when you can boast one of the more spectacular birds on this planet, that’s the bird you go with, and I don’t care if you need a scope or a boat to find it.
West Virginia: Northern Cardinal. 1949
Again we must lay responsibility on a collection of civic organizations and public school students. Listen, I get it—Cardinals are spectacular year round. They seem perfectly adaptable to humans, no matter how much we beat up their habitat. They’re here for West Virginia, rain or shine. Or rather they were. Because it’s time for a new state bird.
Grade: F
Better option: Tufted Titmouse. You want a songbird that brings delight every day and in every season? The adorably feisty Tufted Titmouse is your bird, West Virginia.
Wisconsin: American Robin. 1949
I know children are admired for their robust imaginations, but when the Federation of Women’s Clubs appealed to Wisconsin schoolkids to choose a state bird, their creative flame collectively petered out. Called on to name the bird most representative of Wisconsin, they must have turned to the nearest window and, slack jawed (possibly benumbed by a boring lesson plan), pointed to the first bird they saw.
Grade: D-
Better option: Canvasback. Sorry to rob you of Sandhill Crane. I truly am. Please accept my favorite duck as a peace offering.
Wyoming: Western Meadowlark. 1927
Wyoming’s legislature jumped at the chance during the 1920s push for states to choose an official bird, and it was first of six states to choose Western Meadowlark. Breathe, Wyoming—Western Meadowlark is yours, and congratulations on your fine choice. As for the other five… I think I’ve made my feelings known.
Grade: A+
Better option: None. Once again, a bird falls victim to its own celebrity. The Western Meadowlark is a spectacular beauty with a voice to match. No wonder it was chosen so often.
Featured Photo—Northern Cardinal
Did the parties responsible for the selection of the Northern Cardinal for state bird no fewer than seven times give a second’s thought to the female of the species? Maybe, maybe not, but we’ll feature her here, understated and beautifully swathed in fall colors.
10/10 Recommends
The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek, by Kim Michele Richardson
How timely that I just finished this incredibly researched and crafted novel, which takes place in Kentucky—the first state to adopt a state bird, the first to adopt the Northern Cardinal, and the ancestral home of the Blue Fugates, the Kentuckian family with a genetic disorder that gave their skin a blue tint. Richardson spins a fictional yarn about the blues living in FDR’s America, when social programs proliferated, including the Pack Horse Library Project. Book Woman follows the adventures of Pack Horse librarian—and blue woman—Cussy Mary Carter as she seeks to bring books, education, and humanity to the hills and hollers of Troublesome Creek.
That’s all for this week. I hope you’ve enjoyed this list and found it more entertaining stroll than interminable slog. My decisions were made with much thought and care, but ultimately this process was meant to open a dialogue. I invite you, dear readers, to opine on any or all of my choices, to offer your own, to engage lively and respectful debate, or to just call me an asshole. Got something to say? Let 'er rip in the comments 👇
Until next time, choose your state bird wisely!
nwb
If you enjoyed this post, consider supporting my mission of spreading bird joy and conservation awareness by becoming a paid subscriber. As always, 5% of earnings donated to the American Birding Association.
Or buy me a beer. Holy shit could I use a beer.
This post was human-generated. All photos by Nathaniel Bowler.
What a great breakdown! This was fascinating and educational. I like the alternatives you present, Nathaniel. And what is with New York State taking their sweet time and then choosing the Eastern Blurbird decades after the same bird was already chosen by another state? Definitely low-effort from the decision-makers on that selection.
As a northern neighbour to my good friends in New York state, I suggest the Pileated Woodpecker as a state bird. Bold in colour and manner, a bird of most striking appearance. A lot like New York City and the state itself.
Love the cardinal photo! I feel like female cardinals get ignored, so yay. Yes! And Book Woman has few birds (if any) but you can't beat its mule, Junia!