A Common Inhabitant Of Gardens & Forests — Written by Te Korowai o Waiheke Team Member

Silvereye (Tauhou), Captured by Marie Kerr

It’s another cold morning in the bush, I sling my pack to the ground and take a moment for a drink and a bite to eat beneath a canopy of gently swaying kanuka. As I lay back into the carex grasses, I realise that the branches are not swaying from the wind, but from the hopping of tiny green birds from branch to branch.

Tauhou jump and flutter between trees, chasing the small insects feeding on their small, white flowers. I try counting the flurry of birds, but there must be at least thirty in my frame of view and none of them want to sit still. Their soft, olive and grey plumage blends into the canopy, only their bright, white eye-ring stands out against the thick green. Some have a dusting of orange powder on their forehead from feeding on a nearby harakeke, others sit tightly bundled on the edge of the chaos, the action seeming a bit too much to handle.

Tauhou, also known as silveryes, waxeyes, or white-eyes, are a common inhabitant of the gardens, orchards and forests of Aotearoa. Originating in Australia, they are one of the country’s most recent additions after they self-introduced in the 1800’s, their name tauhou translating to ‘stranger’ in Māori. Silvereyes are just slightly smaller than a sparrow, feeding on nectar and small insects and spiders. During the winter they descend on gardens in large flocks with a particular taste for aphids and scale insects, able to clear a whole lemon tree of the tiny pests in a matter of minutes! The tiny birds make equally tiny nests. The delicate bowls are woven with thin branches, pieces of moss and lichen, strands of hair, wool and even strands of spider web.

Their excited chatter continues above me, talking on and on like they haven’t seen each other in months. The sweet chorus of tauhou is joined by pīwakawaka, squeaking and fanning its tail. The bush is alive with warmth, even on such a cold day. I hate to move on from my spot to continue with my walk, but as I do, the pīwakawaka swoops down to the disturbed ground at my feet. Looks like I will have a companion for a bit. The tauhou are too preoccupied to realise I have come and gone, but I am just glad to see them reap the rewards of of such lush native forest. 

— Written by Te Korowai o Waiheke Team Member, Charlie Thomas.