Dan's Feathursday Feature: Warbling White-eye (メジロ)

Since my very first winter in Japan—longer ago that I care to say—there has been a special place in my heart for the Japanese Plum blossom, and by association, the bird the Japanese call Mejiro.

The diminutive Japanese Plum is not a strikingly beautiful tree, but in a manicured Japanese garden in winter it stands out because of its stark simplicity. It’s a short tree, with spindly, gnarled branches and deeply furrowed bark. The crooked and twisted trunk of a 70-year-old plum tree is like the hands of an old potter or woodworker, worn by their trade, and all the more appealing for their wrinkles and swollen joints. Passers-by often touch the old branches, as if to ask: How did you get each of these bends and wrinkles? Tell us your story.

In late February, when it is still cold and gray, and no trees have leafed out yet, the Japanese Plum awakens to tell its story. In that drab landscape the quiet plum tree bravely pushes open its blossoms. It’s not a flashy, dramatic display, like the sakura, that won’t have the courage to bloom until April. It’s a gentle, patient, calm awakening. Soft dabs of pink and white appear along the dark branches, and soon the barren garden is alive with color.

And as the blossoms open, they emit an aroma that is other-worldly. It draws you in and invites you to sit a spell, so the old plum tree can tell its story. Even the most frenzied Tokyo commuter cannot pass by a plum tree in bloom and fail to take notice—first of the aroma and then of the blossoms.

Those who do stop to smell the plum blossoms will likely also be rewarded with a visit by the tiny Warbling White-eye. You’ll probably hear it before you see it, chittering non-stop as it bounces from blossom to blossom in search of insects attracted by the sweet aroma. Its bright white eye rings compete with the plum blossoms for attention, and its soft green and yellow plumage is like an early spring leaf, unmoored, fluttering from branch to branch, on loan to the plum tree until it can send out leaves of its own. The White-eye will visit each and every flower, poking and prodding with an urgency that says: You cannot bloom without me!

Does the plum bloom because the White-eye visits? Or does the White-eye visit because the plum blooms? I don’t know. I’ll let the poets address that question. But I do know that when the plums are blooming and the Warbling White-eye is visiting, I want to be spectating—watching and listening and smelling and feeling the drama that unfolds in that quietly beautiful tree.

Unfortunately, we won’t be seeing Warbling White-eyes in Chicago in February, or anywhere else in the continental US. They are native to Japan, and also very common in other parts of east Asia. If by chance you will be traveling to Tokyo this summer for the Olympics, take the opportunity to visit one of the city’s many beautiful gardens, and look for the Warbling White-eye. Better yet, why not head to Japan five months early, in February when the plums are blooming. In one small plum tree you can experience a drama that has unfolded between flora and fauna thousands of years longer than our Olympics. The scale is smaller, but the thrill is every bit as wonderful.

Dan's Feathursday Feature is a bi-weekly contribution to the COS blog featuring the thoughts, insights and pictures of Chicago birder, Dan Lory on birds of the Chicago region.