Bird Watch: An Ode to an Oklahoma Summer Resident

A few years ago, as my husband and I were leaving our neighborhood to run errands some Saturday morning, we noticed a little hawk in the middle of the street. Phillip had seen it earlier and figured it would eventually fly off, but it was still there some hours later.

We stopped the car, and I grabbed an old suit jacket in the trunk. Delicately, I wrapped the jacket around the stunned bird and put him in a box. She sat quietly in her box on my lap for most of the forty-five minute drive to Wildcare in Noble. At one point, she let out a single piercing cry, which was startling to say the least. According to the Wildcare intake specialist, this was a Mississippi kite, and she was probably tired, dehydrated, and exhausted. Since she wasn’t injured, the bird would likely be able to fly free in a few days.

Mississippi kites can be found in Oklahoma during the hotter months, but they prefer to spend their winters south of the equator. Photo courtesy Oklahoma Deptermant of Wildlife

Maybe because I feel responsible for that one kite, I am a little obsessed with our local population. I can’t wait until they return to our neighborhood each April to nest.

Though they build their abodes at the top of the tallest trees, they tend to hang out much closer to the ground. As I drive through the Yukon/Bethany area, I see dozens of them diving to grab fat dragonflies, getting into fights with squirrels and other birds, and soaring high in the sky. Even though they only weigh about half a pound, kites have a wingspan of three feet. Sometimes, they look almost two-dimensional their wings are so flat.

Mississippi kites, which are also called mosquito hawks, don’t live in Oklahoma year-round. They migrate from central South America each year to the southeastern United States to breed, then return south for the winter.

Some Oklahomans don’t look forward to the flock of kites that sweep in each spring. When I mentioned writing about them at my nail salon, I heard a harrowing tale of the ferocious little hawks dive-bombing mourners at a funeral home.

Not that I wish a bird attack on anyone, let alone someone who just lost a loved one, but the fact that kites are divisive makes me like them even more. They aren’t showboats like painted buntings or graceful as red-tailed hawks. Their two-note cry has been compared to a squeaky toy. Their arrival heralds the upcoming wave of heat that eventually turns the world brown. But when I think about what makes my home worth loving, Mississippi kites are definitely on the list. After all, they choose to come back year after year.

Written By

Karlie Ybarra

Managing editor Karlie Ybarra loves to explore her home state—and meet many of its animal citizens—any chance she gets.