Do you know who produces super cute babies? Many animals, of course, but I was completely surprised to learn how über darling coot babies are. Unlike their parents, feathered darkly in gray and black with a white bill, the young sport a plumage of exuberant color. Fluffy black down accented with cadmium yellow highlights covers the back. Collaring the face are orange and flame red feathers. Topping the body is pinkish bald pate and red bill.

I had the good fortune to learn this when I saw baby coots for the first time recently. I only knew that they were baby coots because of the company they kept, one of the parents in their classic coloring. I was clearly not the only one attracted to these spring beauties; a whole gaggle of bird photographers (what else would you call such a gathering?) were clicking and clacking away, trying to get the perfect shot of the dozen or so youngsters. Below are my two best photographs.

I have long been a fan of coots and appreciate that they spend so much time at Green Lake, about a mile from our house. They make an array of enchanting sounds, most noticeably their warning and alarm calls, a sort of raspy pulque, puhk-cowah, or puhk-uhk. One does not have to spend much time with the coot clan to hear these somewhat aggressive sounds. The species has been described as quarrelsome and belligerent birds, “more than ready, willing, and able to engage in either ritualized or outright physical conflict with [their] own or other avian species.” (Birds of the World, American Coot (Fulica americana))

Equally enchanting is their distinctive head-bobbing walk, which for far too long of time distracted me from the birds’ surprisingly large and curious feet and legs. Look closely next time you see coots, and you’ll find yellow-green legs and toes, the latter augmented by flappy lobes. Unlike ducks—which coots are not, they are in the rail family—coots employ their lobes, instead of webbing, to propel themselves. Lobes further provide a bit of balance when a coot is on a walkabout. The feet of the coot also play into that great adaptation of birds, flight. Watch one take to the air with their beating wings and running-on-water legs and you’ll understand two of their old time common names; splatterer and flusterer.

Because coots were widely hunted, they have a surplus of additional appellations. (Oddly for him, Audubon does not mention eating coots though he notes that “the poorer classes purchase them to make ‘gombo.’”) Most universal is mud hen, but also water hen, marsh hen, and meadow hen; pulldoo (a term that originated in Louisiana from poule d’eau (water hen)); blue-peter, pelick, and poulet dean; and a host more.

No one knows the exact origin of the word coot. The OED dates the first use to 1382 and an early Bible, in a list of birds one should not eat. Some claim coot originated with sounds the birds make. Others point to the Dutch Zeekoet or sea coot, a name for the Common Murre, also known at one time as a guillemot. The latter may also lead to a common usage of the word coot, as in Ya old coot. Early birders referred to the Foolish Guillemot “so called for their fatuity in the breeding season, in allowing themselves sometimes to be seized by the hand, or killed on the spot without flying from their favorite cliffs,” according to Thomas Nuttall in A Manual of Ornithology of the United States and Canada (1834).

One of the reasons I both love and shake my head at older texts is descriptions such as Nuttall’s. Unlike so many modern field guides, the language is colorful and evocative, and sometimes amusing. But it is dismaying to read of how people treated animals and plants in the past; we deem the birds foolish because we harassed and killed them and they didn’t do anything about it. The classic and most tragic example of this are dodos. The name comes from the Portuguese doudo, meaning a simpleton or fool. Perhaps we need to turn the mirror around and examine more carefully how we act.

As the years climb on my personal calendar, I realize that I am someone for whom the phrase “Ya old coot” is becoming more and more applicable; I am fine with this. In Green’s Dictionary of Slang, old coot is defined as “a foolish or cantankerous old person; also used affectionately.” Certainly sounds like me, a bit goofy and unserious with a curmudgeonly streak but generally a fairly decent chap. I guess if I didn’t like the being called an old coot, I could always dye my hair red with orange streaks; I already have the bald pate so I am half way to looking like a darned cute little coot.

April 22, 2026 – Seattle’s Locks and Ship Canal – 7pm – Third Place Books, Lake Forest Park – My co-author Jennifer Ott and I will be discussing the new edition of our book about the history of the Ship Canal and Locks. Here’s some info.

April 23, 2026 – History Comes Alive at Harbor Island – 6:30 pm – Harbor Island – I will be participating in a multidisciplinary event of incredible art, sound design, live performances, and projections. Come celebrate the island’s journey from time immemorial to the talent working there today. Here’s some info.

April 25, 2026 – The Story of Birds – 7:30pm – Town Hall – I will be interviewing paleontologist Steve Brusatte about his new book, which explores the deep history of birds and dinosaurs. Should be fun and educational. Here’s some info.

April 27, 2026 – Secret’s of Seattle Geology – 7pm – Science on Tap, at Third Place Books, Ravenna, Cafe Arta – I will be sharing stories of Seattle geology and how it influences and has influenced Seattle and her citizens. Here’s some info.

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