This article is from the spring 2025 edition of Mobile Baykeeper’s print quarterly, CURRENTS. The magazine is mailed to active members who have given more than $50 in the past year. To get on the magazine’s mailing list, donate here.
Text and photos by Susan Rouillier
The Little blue heron, a quiet bird of wetlands and coasts, thrives where food, shelter, and safety meet. Its soft blue feathers and sharp instincts make it a perfect fit for shallow waters — marshes, mangroves, tidal flats, and estuaries teeming with life. These places are cradles of existence, shared by countless species.
But the balance here is fragile. Near where herons once nested in peace, a rookery was destroyed. A pipe cut through their sanctuary, upending the ecosystem and silencing their breeding grounds. Industry erased not just a place but a life-sustaining home. The herons moved on, their absence a stark reminder of how quickly nature unravels when we fail to protect it. The loss invites us to marvel at these resilient birds — and mourn the spaces they’ve lost.
Green Legs, Toe “Teeth,” and Tool Use
On their middle toe, the Little blue herons sport a row of “teeth” — a built-in comb for scratching their head, neck, and throat. Unlike other herons and egrets, they escaped hunters’ guns; their muted blue-gray feathers offered a natural disguise. Smaller and darker than Great blue herons, they carve out their own quiet distinction.
Often mistaken for Snowy egrets in youth, Little blue herons wear white feathers and green legs as adolescents. Their diet is an eclectic buffet of frogs, crayfish, fish, and insects — anything small and wet. Nesting in colonies with other wetland birds, they lay three to six eggs per clutch. Spring brings a dramatic transformation: both sexes sprout vibrant chest and back feathers, with spiky, punk-rock purple plumes crowning their heads. Females, ever so subtly, keep their colors a shade quieter.
The World of Little Blue Herons
Little blue herons thrive in shallow waters no deeper than a wading knee, where they patiently stalk their meals. Clean, unpolluted waters are essential — not just for hunting but for the health of the small fish, amphibians, and invertebrates they rely on. Carnivores at heart, they feed with precision, standing statue-still or moving with a slow, deliberate grace to ambush prey.
Remarkably, these clever birds can use tools. I once saw one wield a stick, stirring the water to mimic movement. When curious fish swam closer, the heron dropped the stick and snapped up its meal — a quiet display of ingenuity. Not an accidental happening, I watched it repeatedly lure the fish with the same stick.
Vegetation is their sanctuary, especially for nesting. Dense mangroves, shrubs, or tall grasses near water offer safety from predators and shelter for their delicate nests. They breed in colonies, often in subtropical or tropical climates, sharing space with other wading birds. Their nests, tucked into trees or bushes, keep hatchlings close to abundant food sources.
These intricate habits reveal how deeply these herons depend on their environment. Protecting their habitats is vital to preserving the delicate balance that sustains them.
Why Protect Bird Habitats?
Protecting bird habitats isn’t just science — it’s a matter of conscience. Birds are tied to the planet’s health, their survival bound to the ecosystems we all depend on. To protect their habitats is to honor our duty as caretakers of the Earth. It ensures future generations inherit a world still alive with the richness we were given. Around the globe, people and governments work to save these spaces. Their efforts remind us of the shared responsibility we bear to protect the natural world — not just for ourselves, but for every living thing.
They pollinate plants, spread seeds, control insects, and keep the cycles of life moving. Migratory birds tie distant ecosystems together, keeping forests, wetlands, and other places alive and healthy. They protect crops from pests and stop imbalances before they start.
Without birds, the system breaks. Biodiversity suffers, and so do we. Protecting their habitats isn’t just for them — it’s for the balance of nature and the survival of our own way of life.
It’s Our Job
Some people and organizations go to great lengths to protect bird habitats, showing the moral weight of conservation. The Cornell Lab of Ornithology stands out. For decades, they’ve led the way in bird conservation through research, education, and outreach. They’ve raised awareness, driven change, and seen real success.
One of their key efforts is eBird, a program that invites ordinary people to report bird sightings. These observations help scientists track bird populations and measure the damage of habitat loss. By involving the public, Cornell reminds us all that protecting bird habitats isn’t someone else’s job — it’s ours.
Death of a Local Rookery
In the spring of 2019, along the Alabama Birding Trail site called Blakeley Island — South Blakeley Disposal Area, 1200 Cochrane Causeway, there was a sanctuary. About 300 yards from this site’s entrance on the south side of the dirt road was a beautiful rookery of Little blue herons. The rookery consisted of a 250-foot oblong pond surrounded by tall reeds and shrubby trees. Thirty-four nests of Little blue herons were cradled behind the fortress of six-foot reeds. A narrow gap in the reeds offered a glimpse, a secret window into their world.
Each week, I brought my ladder, climbing up to see and photograph the birds over the reeds. One nest holding five fragile sky-blue eggs drew me in. I returned to watch and photograph them every few days, capturing all stages of their life cycle: the eggs breaking open, life emerging in faint tremulous chirps with tiny, straining necks, chicks growing, then peeking out, and later — testing unsteady wings, and venturing to nearby twigs. One day, they took to the sky. This place was untouched, natural, a sacred wildness with soft cries of life rising like prayers.
When I returned months later, I was dismayed to see that the entire rookery was gone — the reeds were leveled, and the pond filled in. A huge dredge pipe now severed the heart of the rookery. The herons would not return. Those who worked there had known of the nests, the lives they held, yet no one stopped the machines.
That season alone, the herons might have brought 90, even 150 fledglings into the world. But now there is only silence and pavement where wildness once breathed — a haven erased for convenience. The rookery has never come back. Nor will it.
A Matter of Conscience
Such actions reflect a stark disregard for nature’s fragile balance. The rookery wasn’t just a home for the herons — it provided food, shelter, and breeding grounds for countless other species. Its destruction didn’t just harm the herons; it rippled outward, eroding the stability of the entire ecosystem. The herons no longer return, a silent testament to what has been lost.
This act is a glaring reminder of the clash between human progress and nature’s survival. Industry often takes, leaving little thought for what it destroys. In a world losing wildlife faster than it can heal, protecting what remains must matter — not just to conservationists, but to those shaping the land. When one thread is cut, the whole web unravels. Where is our reason? Where is our care? We know the cost. We can choose better.
