Where Have All the Peacocks Gone?

One of my favorite places to visit and photograph was the Dunedin Cemetery in Dunedin, FL. It was unique, in my opinion, because of the 40 or so peafowl, who used to make the cemetery their home. In the past few years, though, people from neighborhoods around the cemetery have complained so much, the City sent our peacocks packing.

The Dunedin Cemetery is 7.75 acres of beautiful oak trees, blossoming frangipani and golden rain trees, floating butterflies, and many varieties of birds. It was established in 1876, and is the final resting place of many of Dunedin's founding "pioneer" families. It's tucked away on a busy road, not visible from the street, and, peafowl or no, is a serene haven.

Nevertheless, the peacocks were the main reason I loved going to the cemetery. I never fed them, but enjoyed observing them and photographing them. April is their mating season, and it was fun to watch the peacocks scratch in the dirt, fan, then shake their tail feathers, as they tried to attract peahens. It was equally fun watching peahens pass by them with ho-hum glances, although, obviously the displays worked at some point, because a few months later sweet, fluffy chicks would arrive. I never realized peacocks could fly until I saw one go up into an oak tree at the cemetery. I'd never seen juvenile peacocks before, young males with bright blue heads and necks, and just the beginnings of their magnificent fans trailing behind them. And peacocks battling one another is something to see. Fans waving, angry squawks, feet flying. There's so much I learned about peafowl from quietly watching them. They're fascinating, gorgeous creatures.

How did the peacocks end up in the cemetery? They arrived sometime in the late 1930's, thanks to a farmer who lived on the Clearwater/Dunedin border. In the 1920's, peacock feathers were all the rage in the fashion world. But, when the market bottomed out in the 1930's, this local farmer let his peacocks loose, and they settled in Dunedin Cemetery. They've been a constant in Dunedin, an attraction, and generations of Dunedin's residents have grown up visiting them.

In this modern world, though, there are fewer and fewer places for the wild to roam. In 2008, some residents in the neighborhood closest to the cemetery started seriously petitioning the City to relocate the peafowl. Residents complained the peacocks landed on their pool screens, pooped in their yards, pecked at their at cars, and cried all hours of the night. It seems to me, that's something those residents should have realized before choosing to live there. Sure, peafowl behavior can be annoying at times, but isn't that true of most of us? And aren't we taught to live and let live? It's unfair, I think, when people aren't willing to compromise, to share space, and win out over animals.

To give the City of Dunedin credit, our peafowl weren't destroyed. Initially, some of the birds were thinned out. Finally, the remaining ostentation (isn't that the perfect term for a group of peafowl?) was relocated, and, I'm assuming, is happily doing its thing somewhere undisturbed. But, I feel Dunedin has lost a little bit of its charm. I live a short distance away from the Dunedin Cemetery, and, on nights I had my patio door open, I could hear the peacocks' cat-like cry. I miss them.

Birds and Gators at Gatorland

If you've never been to Gatorland in Orlando, FL, put it on your must-see list. It has an old Florida roadside attraction quality to it (afterall, it opened in 1949), but it's a special place if you love Florida birds and the North American alligator.

My favorite part of Gatorland is their rookery, which has become part of the Great Florida Birding Trail. It surrounds a marsh filled with over 100 alligators, who serve as natural protectors by eating snakes, raccoons, and other predators hunting birds and their eggs. Of course, alligators also feed on birds and their eggs, so it's kind of a twist that the very creatures who save birds also savor them. But Mother Nature ensures everything works out for the best.

It's nesting season right now, and birds are busy building homes and laying eggs. Cattle egrets zip past, the workers of the marsh. Wood Storks glide overhead, also on the move for nesting materials. In quiet moments, you can hear the crack of branches as Double Crested Cormorants choose just the right one. White egrets float like angels. Anhingas fly quickly, but awkwardly, like they're being chased, or have too much to do, but not enough time. Blue Herons bully everyone who lands in the marsh.

Some chicks have arrived, too, looking like mini-Einsteins with stick-up hair that hasn't yet grown out into feathers. Baby Tricolored herons view their world with wide-eyed expressions, and don't have the sense to be frightened of people. You can hear the sounds of white egret chicks long before you see them. It's as though they're revving motors, their bodies swaying in time. There are Wood Stork chicks of all ages. The "toddlers" look like they're wearing hoodies, with white fluff up to their foreheads. Teen Wood Storks retain some fluff, but you can see the outlines of what will become adult bald heads. Cormorant chicks have black eyes and yellow bills, unlike the adults' aqua-colored eyes and orange bills, and I think they should win the award for Bird Most Annoying To Its Parent. While I saw many chicks demanding food that day, the Cormorants were by far the most aggressive, pecking their mother's head, and forcing her mouth open with their beaks. Not even her slit-eyed expression deterred them.

As for the alligators, they're late in the baby department this year, because of the long winter. They're finally in the midst of their mating ritual now, though, and it's something to behold. When you're in a marsh filled with alligators, and you think you hear trucks rumbling by, you're wrong. It's the sound of an alligator bellowing. This involves the gator lifting its body out of the water, puffing itself up, and letting out ... a bellow. There's no other way to describe it. One alligator set off a chain reaction, with other alligators bellowing, some on their own, and others in groups. Then, as quickly as it started, the noise stopped, and there wasn't another display for the rest of the day. That moment alone was worth the 2 hour drive and entrance fee.

My trips to Gatorland have all been different. The same birds and alligators may be there, but each and every one has the potential to be magical, and none has ever disappointed.