The Patina Journal-Flamingos: A Forgotten Florida Legacy

Flamingos wading in the tranquil waters of Merrit Island.

There’s something about flamingos that doesn’t feel real. They look like a painter dreamed them up—those long, coral legs, the improbable curve of their necks, that shock of pink against the blue. For most of my life, I thought of them as exotic visitors, not true Floridians. 

Spoonbill in the trees near flamboyance of Flamingos. Spoonbills and Flamingos get the pink color of their feathers through their diet.

For more than a century, the official stance was that American flamingos (Phoenicopterus ruber) weren’t native to Florida. Any that appeared were considered escapees from zoos or roadside attractions from private collections. But recent research has cast that assumption aside. Historical records, museum specimens, and 19th-century naturalists’ accounts paint a different picture—one where flocks of thousands once filled the skies over South Florida. Historical records from the 1800s show they were once a familiar part of Florida’s landscape, feeding in the shallows of the Everglades and nesting in remote mangrove islands. At the time, they were as native to Florida as spoonbills or herons.

So what happened? Why were they written out of our ecological story?

Ladies hat from Victorian era using Flamingo feathers as decor

Victorian woman sports feathered hat.

Flamingo feathers in Victorian hat design.

In the late 19th century, fashion collided violently with nature. Feathers became a symbol of wealth and elegance in high-society fashion, and no accessory was more desirable than a hat adorned with rare plumage.  A booming demand for decorative feathers led to widespread hunting of wading birds throughout Florida. Flamingo feathers—vivid, long, and luminous—were among the most prized. Hunters raided Florida’s rookeries, killing birds by the thousands. This pressure, along with habitat disruption and confusion over their migratory behavior, caused local populations to dwindle until they nearly vanished. And it wasn’t just flamingos. Roseate spoonbills, egrets, herons, and countless others suffered the same fate. In 1886 alone, an estimated five million birds were killed for the American plume trade.

Close-up of bright Flamingo feathers.

But this devastation ignited a turning point. Two women, Harriet Hemenway and Minna Hall, rallied society women in Boston to boycott feathered hats, sparking the formation of what would become the National Audubon Society.

Their activism helped lay the groundwork for federal protections, culminating in the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918. That act made it illegal to hunt, capture, or sell most migratory birds—and it’s widely credited with ending the feather trade in the U.S.

Archival image depicting sign courtesy of Audobon Society from early 1900s.

For decades afterward, any flamingo that appeared in the wild was thought to be an escapee. With no nests being observed and few consistent sightings, the assumption stuck. But scientists and conservationists weren’t convinced—and slowly, the evidence began to build.

In 2015, researchers from Zoo Miami and the Tropical Audubon Society undertook a comprehensive study to answer the question once and for all. By analyzing historical records, museum specimens, and even feather chemistry from modern birds, they demonstrated that wild flamingos had not only historically lived in Florida but that recent visitors were behaving like naturally occurring, free-ranging individuals.

Flamingo setting flight on Merritt Island.

And here’s the fascinating part: these modern flamingos are beginning to return all on their own. Over the past few decades, American flamingos have begun reappearing. Some show up after major storm events, likely displaced from Cuba, the Yucatán Peninsula, or the Bahamas. Others have appeared in places like the Everglades, Biscayne Bay, and Merritt Island, seemingly retracing their ancestors’ paths. There’s even growing evidence that small groups may be attempting to nest in remote, undisturbed areas.

Flamingos are social, long-lived birds that thrive in coastal lagoons and mudflats. They filter-feed on algae and invertebrates using a unique upside-down beak motion. And while they may look delicate, they’re remarkably resilient—capable of traveling great distances and adapting to a variety of wetland habitats. Given the right conditions, there’s every reason to believe they could reestablish a foothold here.

To see them now, rising over the water in a quiet corner of the lagoon, isn’t just beautiful—it’s a reminder. They’re living proof that nature remembers. That absence isn’t always the end of the story. And that sometimes, with patience and protection, a species can begin to write itself back into the landscape.

We're working to bring more of these forgotten stories forward—about birds, about history, and about the changing rhythm of Florida’s wild places.