Let Florida be for the birds - every dang one of them

Every so often, someone — through a sense of mischief or environmental justice — sets off a debate over Florida’s state bird. It’s not hard to see why: The mockingbird, drab of plumage and pugnacious of character, doesn’t evoke “Florida” in the slightest. That’s no slur on mockingbirds: They are solid citizens who take good care of their kids and probably would go to church every Sunday if such a thing as bird church existed.

And, like a certain former president of the National Rifle Association and the law she inspired, they clearly know when to stand their ground. They’ll dive-bomb any animal, even the large, two-legged variety, that they see as a threat to their nest. We’ll leave it to Marion Hammer to explain other reasons she likes mockingbirds so well, as she does in today’s edition.

This isn’t the first time Hammer has taken up arms — so to speak — in defense of the mockingbird. The issue first came in 1998, when thousands of Florida schoolchildren voted and chose the endangered scrub jay as a better candidate for Florida’s favorite feathered friend. It was a lovely choice: The scrub jay is friendly and will often approach humans; it’s attractive with bright azure feathers; it has strong family values: Scrub jay offspring  can stay with their parents (who mate for life) for five years or more helping to raise younger siblings. And it’s critically endangered. The official state estimate is that there are 7,000-10,000 birds but that count is more than 30 years old. Conservation groups put the real number closer to 4,000, if that.

But the happy notion soon turned ugly. Hammer took aim at the scrub jay hard, calling it a robber, a murderer and a welfare seeker (for its habit of soliciting handouts). The bills stalled out in 1998 and 1999. As The News-Journal’s Mark Lane reports, the issue came back in 2000 and 2005 but since then the mockingbird has reigned unchallenged, here and in four other states.

The reaction was so vicious that we’re reluctant to put the scrub jay forward again — or single out any other species. Flamingos have come up but they’re not really native — and they might be disqualified because they work for the state as the spokesbird for the Florida Lottery. Some might advocate for the gawky yet graceful sandhill crane. We’re hesitant to put them forward because in other states, they are actually considered legit targets for hunting  with some wags in Alabama tagging them as “ribeye of the sky.” We’d hate to see what Florida gun-rights advocates do with that information.

At the same time, however, we don’t think Florida should have to settle for the mockingbird. We’re Florida. We need something big, noisy, bright and unique to us.

So how about this. Florida’s new state bird is: Bird.

Claim every single one, from the tiniest hummingbirds to the hulking turkey vultures (which are a more important part of Florida’s ecosystem than many realize). Claim the funny-gorgeous roseate spoonbills and the common pigeons. Claim the often misidentified grackles (they’re not crows) and the instantly recognizable Northern Cardinals and brown pelicans.

It is too late, alas, to claim the ivory-billed woodpeckers, which were officially declared extinct last week. But we can claim their equally striking pileated cousins.

Then do what a state should properly do for any of its flagship creatures: Protect those birds, and in so doing, benefit all Floridians. Protect the shorelines where gulls and terns swoop. Protect rookeries like Port Orange’s Bird Island, which is often crammed with fledglings of multiple species and under near-constant development threat. Protect the marshes where the shy spoonbills can be spotted and the wetlands where wood storks flourish. Protect the forests beloved by the American birds-in-chief, the bald eagles, and protect dry, sandy uplands that — yes — harbor the last remnants of a once-thriving population of scrub jays.

In so doing, we save the shorelines, the marshes, the rivers that contribute so much to this state’s quality of life. We save the uplands that provide recharge to the drinking-water aquifer we all rely on. And we save the ability of future Floridians to witness a sandhill crane’s stately dance, or hear an owl’s distinctive cry.

Florida doesn’t need just one bird. It needs them all. Why not make it official?