Recently while making a deposit at my drive-through bank in Nacogdoches, I looked up and noticed chimney swifts darting about catching insects. I never thought about them being in town, as to me they are country birds that I’ve always associated with my grandparent’s old farmhouse where I live.
There it always begins the same way. One summer day, while pulling weeds, deadheading, or watering something, I look up and notice them. First one, then several, as they are communal by nature. Those fluttering, flickering birds high above the farmstead, tracing graceful arcs through the air like feathered crescents. To the untrained eye, they might seem like swallows, but they’re not. They’re chimney swift; and to me, they’re the essence of summer at the farm.
Chimney Swifts Overhead
Chimney swifts don’t just fly. They dance. Their stiff, crescent-shaped wings and cigar-shaped bodies are built for endless flight. They flap constantly, never gliding or soaring. They chirp non-stop, too, a dry, ticking twitter that sounds like a miniature sewing machine in the sky. I can’t hear them and not look up. Even Jackson looks up!
These birds aren’t just summer guests in East Texas; they’re part of the fabric of our warm months. Arriving in April and leaving by early October, chimney swifts spend their entire visit airborne except when nesting. They eat, drink, preen, and even bathe in midair. The only time they perch is when they cling vertically to the inside of a hollow tree, chimney, old water well (or outhouse!) where they roost and raise their young.
Before settlers cleared much of the Eastern forest, chimney swifts nested almost exclusively in large, hollow trees. They preferred old-growth forests with massive trunks that provided safe, vertical cavities for clinging. But as the old forests fell and chimneys rose, the swifts adapted. They began nesting in brick chimneys, barns, silos, and even abandoned wells. Unfortunately, that adaptation may have reached its limit.
Picnic Pocket Prairie
Modern chimneys, often made of metal or capped to prevent wildlife entry, are not swift-friendly. Fewer homes even have chimneys at all these days. Add to that habitat loss in their Central and South American wintering grounds, and you have a recipe for decline. And decline they have. According to the North American Breeding Bird Survey, chimney swift populations have plummeted by more than 70% since the 1960s. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service lists them as a bird of conservation concern.
I don’t know about you, but the idea of summer evenings without chimney swifts seems awfully empty. Their entire nesting routine is as remarkable as their flight. Mated pairs collect tiny twigs while in flight, snapping them right off the tips of tree branches midair. They glue them to the inside of the chimney with their saliva, forming a delicate half-saucer-shaped nest clinging to the vertical wall. There, they raise 3 to 5 young, who cling right alongside their parents until they fledge. And get this, the babies learn to fly by jumping out of the chimney, fluttering for the first time into open air.
Parents Building Nest
Chimney swifts are insectivores. That means every time one swoops overhead, it’s gobbling up mosquitoes, gnats, beetles, and other flying insects. A single swift can eat thousands of insects each day. Multiply that by a few dozen birds in a communal roost and you’ve got a serious mosquito control squad on patrol. That’s just one more reason I welcome them with open arms and eyes every spring. With all the rain up to this point, the mosquitos have been more than a nuisance. It’s a pleasure to see them flying over my Picnic Pocket Prairie, a bit of a “marsh meadow,” established specifically for the birds, bees, and butterflies.
Gardeners and homeowners can help chimney swifts in a few simple ways. First and foremost, leave your chimney uncapped during the spring and summer nesting season if it’s safe to do so. Birds usually arrive by mid-April, begin nesting shortly after, and fledge by mid-August. If your chimney is brick and uncapped, you may already be hosting a family and not even know it. One of the many exciting things at my grandparents as a child was when a baby would fall from the nest and get loose in the room!
If you don’t have a suitable chimney, consider installing a chimney swift tower. These structures mimic hollow trees or chimneys and provide vertical roosting and nesting habitat. They can be built from wood and placed in open areas where swifts are likely to spot them in flight. Several nature centers and schools have had success using these towers as educational tools and nesting sites. The North American Chimney Swift Nest Site Research Project offers excellent building plans for those inclined to help.
Juvenile Chimney Swifts
Another way to support swifts is to avoid using pesticides in your garden. Every insect killed by chemical spray is one fewer meal for a hungry swift, swallow, or scissor-tailed flycatcher. And the very presence of these birds helps reduce our need for spraying insecticides. As always, balance and biodiversity go hand in hand.
One of the reasons I admire chimney swifts so much is that they remind me of the beauty in adaptation. When their ancestral trees were cut down, they adjusted. When cities grew, they followed. But now they need our help.
For more than a half a century, I’ve had swifts in my chimney. I consider it a gift, even when an occasional stray ends up in the room. I never light a fire while they’re nesting, and I clean the flue each fall to prepare for the next brood. Hearing their high, happy chatter echoing down the flue on a June morning is a reminder that I’m not alone in the natural world. The swifts are there, on patrol, stitching the sky above. They may not be as flashy as cardinals or as charismatic as bluebirds, but chimney swifts have charm in spades. They’re little dynamos of the air. Their aerial agility rivals any hummingbird and their role in pest control rivals any spray. And unlike most birds, they rely almost entirely on human structures to survive. One year I had the pleasure of watching them nest and raise young in an old outhouse on my property. It was an incredible closeup experience.
The next time you’re in the garden near dusk, tilt your head and watch the sky. If you see a few flitting bat-like birds chittering overhead, give them a nod of thanks. They’ve earned it.
