Did He Come Out?Did He Come Out?
When I boarded the train for home that evening I felt as though I had spent a day in the shambles. Such slaughter seems to me to be utterly unjustifiable, even in the name of sport.
A coon hunt is always interesting to me. Just as soon as night approaches and you call old Stump, who has lost the tip of his tail in a battle royal, he pricks up his ears, begins to whine, and seems to know that the boys are out for a coon hunt. As you approach to loosen the snap that ties him to the kennel he begins to wag what is left of his tail and seems to say, “Boys, I’m happy to be with you to-night!” The wrinkles in his face twitch as the excitement grows. His face and head indicate that he has been in many a coon fight. On one occasion he tracked a ground-hog into its hole underneath an uprooted tree. Being then of tender years and lacking experience, as the ground-hog came out, Stump made a grab and at the same time the ground-hog snapped Stump by the nose and held on like grim death. It took the combined efforts of men and dogsto separate them. Finally in the mix-up Stump made one desperate struggle to get away and lost the tip of his nose. Thus with the two tips gone Stump entered the arena as a full-fledged—shall we say?—and experienced coon dog.
The Hunting PartyThe Hunting Party
We gather at the country farm, boys and girls ready for the outing. Stump, Fan, and Towser all are anxious for a night out working the ravines and watercourses. Lanterns and “pit-lamps” are shining brightly as we start across the meadow. The dogs disappear in the darkness. The fireflies flash here and there as though to light our way across the fields. One of the party, and by the way afair one, steps into a pool of running water and the night air is pierced—in fact, sadly rent—by the shrill screams of the miss, for this is her first experience “trekking” in the dark. As we approach the woods the weirdness of the scene is enchanting. Shadows play on the trees and leaves, as though in imagination one were transplanted into some fairy-land. Away off among the timber the great horned owl can be heard calling to its mate, “Waugh ho! waugh ho!” just before it makes an excursion into the fields in search of some hapless rabbit or bird. The crickets are fiddling away, making music for their mates while they gather blades of grass for their burrow.
Presently our eager ears catch the low grunt of a dog as he gets the first whiff of the trail, not fresh, but spent. By the reflected light we see Towser wag his tail, slowly at first, but as the scent gets warmer the tail wags more vigorously. Soon one long, loud wail resounds in the stillness of the night and ere the echo dies away in the distance it is repeated, and we know the chase is on. Everybody runs toward the sound. The quarry has taken to the tree and the dogs bay up, but before the party reaches the scene of action the dogs are off again. Theyfind the trail where the coon has followed a grapevine for some distance, taken the ground again, and “put one over” on the old dog. After considerable delay the dog finds his mistake, picks up the scent and away he goes, and directly, on the other side of the ridge, bays up. Then the party goes pell-mell in that direction. And so the hunt proceeds, now here, now there, up hill and across ravine, until at last the coon is treed, and the dogs by their change of voice tell the news and summon the party, which arrives in installments, out of breath, at the foot of the tree where the dogs are panting after their long chase.
Every one is eager for the finish. The tree-climber of the party takes off his coat, hat, and shoes and begins the ascent to shake Mister Coon from the tree. A shout comes from the tree-top, “Here he is; look out below!” then follows a shake or two and a large house cat disappears into the darkness before the dogs can take hold. When the cat came down it alighted on all fours near the girls, and what with the girls screaming, the dogs barking, and the cat spitting, night was made hideous. We soon called the dogs off and “hied” them on for a fresh trail.
By and by the dogs took another hot scent.Down the hill, clambering over a stake and rider fence,—a ruse which for a moment confused the dogs,—then across a cornfield to the creek went the coon with the dogs in hot pursuit; he followed the course of the creek for several rods, then dashed through at the shallows and bid fair to make good his escape to the woods beyond. But old Stump had been through that maneuver before; the rest of the dogs knew it and followed him over to the other bank, up the hill, under the cliff, and erelong bayed up. Following as fast as possible over and under dead trees, a jump of several feet over an embankment, a slide of several feet more, a brief climb and we reached the dogs, who, excitedly voicing their triumph, formed a circle around the tree as though appealing to us for action.
The night was dark and just such a night as was well suited for “shining” the eyes of the coon. Lying flat on the ground and staring into every part of the tree, I finally descried two objects shining like stars near together in the zenith. We knew they were the eyes of the treed coon. Calling the dogs we prepared to photograph them and the coon in the mix-up. Setting up the kodak about twenty feet from the spot where wefigured the coon would drop from the tree, we fixed the pan for the flash, loading it with an ounce of flash-light powder. One of the party held the dogs and another lighted Roman candles and shot them towards the coon. Thus we had the artist at the kodak, the man in charge of the flash at the pan, the coon hunters holding the dogs, and one of Payne’s pyrotechnic men setting off the fireworks. The combination was too much for the coon. About that time the big dog began to jerk at his chain, and the pit-lamp in the hands of the man who held him registered on the exposed sensitive film a sort of stylographic record of the efforts of the dog to get at the coon as soon as the latter landed on the ground. As the coon dropped we set the flash off, and caught both the dog and coon about the time they came together at the very spot on which we had focused the lens.
The chase ended, the quarry caught, we straggled back over the hills to the distant trolley line, as Orion rose high toward the zenith. A few hours more, and the eastern sky would grow gray. Tired, but happy, we jogged along, most of us in silence, for about that time in the morning after a coon hunt, the songs and jokes of the early eveningare stale, and our spirits, with the night, are on the wane. Like an exploded skyrocket, we are getting back again to earth as fast as we can after our excursion into the realm of darkness.
Dog and Coon in the Mix-upDog and Coon in the Mix-up
Note the forefoot of the coon between the dog’s hind legs; his banded tail to the right of the dog’s right forefoot. The zig-zag line in front of the man at the left indicates the movement of his hand in which was a pit-lamp and the end of the dog’s chain just prior to the flash.]
Another denizen of the woods is frequently interrupted in his night prowlings by the dogs hunting for coon. I refer to the oppossum, who is himself frequently the object of the quest. In the Southern States the negroes arevery fond of hunting for ’possum. A successful hunt means a good dinner, thepièce-de-résistancebeing the trophy of the chase stuffed with sweet potatoes. Roasted and served as only an old “mammy” can roast and serve it, ’possum defies comparison. Perhaps roast suckling-pig comes the nearest, but even this lacks the flavor of the woods. We are used to thinking of the ’possum as a lethargic animal, but that is only when he is “playing ’possum.” He is really quite agile, and when treed by the dogs, furnishes no end of excitement by climbing, not into the tops of the trees, as does the coon, but merely far enough to be safe from his pursuers. I have yet in anticipation the pleasure of obtaining a flash-light of the hounds on their hind legs, pawing and clawing at a tree on which, just beyond their reach, the ’possum lies stretched indifferently on a horizontal limb. One really ought to have a dictagraph, so that when the picture is thrown on the screen, it may be with the appropriate accompaniment of the baying and barking of the hounds and the shouts of the hunters.
The little animal is very prolific and rears several families in a season. How interesting it is to watch the antics of the young clinging to the mother when disturbed! I have knowncases where an old ’possum, presumably alone, was shaken out of a tree, and as she fell, strange, plaintive cries were heard on all sides. The rays of the lantern disclosed perhaps a dozen young ’possums, who had been ruthlessly dislodged from the pouch or marsupium of the mother as she struck the ground. On such an occasion, if the parent is allowed an opportunity, she will gather up the young and hunt cover.
There is something quite comfortable and clinging about the young ’possums and their mother (Frontispiece). The little fellows are very roguish in their ways, and I have no doubt would in time become friendly. The ’possum has very sharp teeth, and can do good execution upon occasion, but as a general rule he may be said to have a "retiring" disposition.
As soon as the first harbingers of spring arrive we take to the forest. Life is just awakening in the northern woods. The winter has been long and severe. Following the course of the creek we see large cakes of ice thrown topsy-turvy all over the meadow, where they have been carried by the spring freshet. In the gorge block after block is piled; they are lying in every conceivable position. The spring sun is busy undoing what the hard winter has accomplished. The cakes of crystal ice are fast losing their deep blue color, becoming “rotten” and breaking off in huge chunks with a report that fairly startles one. The newly-exposed ice-prisms glisten in the sun like so many jewels. To add to the attractions of the landscape, the creek is lined with stately sycamores,—here and there a lonely buttonball clings by a slender stem to theparent tree, as though loath to break away. Or perhaps it is hopeful that by some imaginary elixir of life it may renew its youth and live the spring and summer over again, forgetful that on the verge of inaugurating a new cycle of existence,—the birth of another generation,—it has before it the great consummation of all life. Where the hills furnish a dark background the old tree stands out, weird and majestic, its limbs white and naked after shedding their cinnamon-like bark. It glistens in the sunlight almost as much as the ice-prisms. The high water is busy undermining the bank of the stream and an occasional cave-in appears, as though some muskrat surprised in his foraging were making a hasty departure for his tunnelled home.
Home of the CardinalHome of the Cardinal
The woods are ringing with the song of the cardinals (Cardinalis cardinalis cardinalis), and just as soon as you enter their “beat” they seem to take notice and are ready to fight any intruder. It is a noteworthy fact that the “sphere of influence” of a particular cock is limited to a portion of a tract of woodland as well defined as though surrounded by a fence. If you can conceal yourself in his zone and imitate his call, the bird will approach very near. In my younger daysmany were the cardinals I trapped in the following manner: In the mating season we would take a caged bird into the woods, the cage covered from the time we left home until we reached the woods. Selecting a likely place, we set our net, and attached a rope which led to a blind constructed of boughs put together as naturally as possible. Then when all was ready we lifted the cover of the cage. The sudden emergence from darkness to light seemed to fill the very soul of the caged bird with gladness, and even before we could conceal ourselves behind the blind it would break forth into the sweetest melodies, filling the woods with its songs, as though once again free in its erstwhile haunts. Ere the first notes die away in the distance, like an echo comes the answer from the proprietary lord of that particular section of woodland, as though he seemed to say: “Some miscreant has entered my shady bowers to entice my fair one away, so I’ll teach him a lesson and drive him out of my domain.” Again the voice of the caged bird peals forth in a loud, clear whistling call, but I have no doubt the notes are not so sweet to the suspicious wild bird, for he is answering in an angry tone. In the meantime the wild bird is cautiously advancing,flitting from limb to limb. If he comes from the direction of the blind, he may be so near that you can distinctly see the bristled rictus and black mask on his face, the crested top, and glowing red body. Presently he sees the captive bird, makes a dive for it, and hangs onto the wires, trying to get hold of the intruder, picking and striking through the narrow openings so excitedly that he does not notice the net being pulled over him. What loyalty to his mate we see in this little bird! Thus many cardinals are caught. If the other bird does not encroach on their beat they will not answer to the call, but by shifting the cage even fifty feet or less, it may enter the domain of another and then he will show fight even to the death.
The piping of the cardinal is shrill at times, again soft, mellow, and soothing to the ear. He is a perfect vocalist and is known as one of the best whistlers among the feathery tribes; indeed, by some he is called the American nightingale. At times when he ends up his song with “Pretty, pretty, pretty,” I repeat the words, agreeing absolutely with him.
Cardinal's Nest and EggsCardinal’s Nest and Eggs
He shows some strange antics occasionally. Once we found a nest built in a crab tree about three feet from the ground. Whenwe first found it there were four light blue eggs blotched with liver-colored spots, laid in a loosely-built nest of rootlets, grass, and grapevine bark. About a week laterwhen we visited it the nest was empty. Looking toward the ground by chance, I saw a little bird “in the down” apparently without life. Lifting it up in my hand, by close observation I noticed that it still breathed. We put the bird into the nest, went away, and returned in about thirty minutes, when to our surprise we found the nestling was gone again! Query, did the mother bird carry away its offspring to some place of safety where it would not be disturbed?
On another occasion we found a nest in the top of a grapevine. We drew down the vine, photographed the nest, and restored the nest to its original position. Calling the following week I found the mother bird had incubated the brood as though nothing had happened, but the young were taken from the nest as soon as they could be moved and some days before they would ordinarily have been allowed to leave home. Although the cardinal is naturally shy and retiring, at times he will permit one to get very close. I am glad to think that in many of the States this beautiful bird is increasing under the protection of the law.
While sitting on a moss-covered log enjoying the balmy breezes of spring, the “dee, dee,dee” notes of the tufted titmouse (Parus bicolor) came to my ear. What hardy little birds they are! The coldest winter of the north does not affect them. They are fearless of man at times, and if you keep quiet they will flit about from place to place, alternately disclosing to you now their ashy blue backs, now their dull white, russet-flanked under-parts, as they swing from twig to twig, scanning each little crevice for a choice morsel of insect life.
Winter in the NorthWinter in the North
When the first warm rays hatch the winged insects, the tragedy of the woods begins.A little cream-colored butterfly just out of its winter garb is on the wing, floating gracefully in the air among the leafless trees. The titmouse, with his bright eye ever on the alert, spies the insect, makes a sprightly dart, and seldom misses his mark. Then he perches on a limb with the fly and, like a bird of prey, takes hold with bill and feet and tears his victim apart, and as the remnants of the little wings float slowly to the ground, he feeds on the body.
The indigo bunting (Passerina cyanea) with its exquisite lay makes its abode very attractive to bird fanciers. In the mating season he can be seen perched on the topmost twig of one of the graceful drooping limbs of the elm bush, a little blue ball of feathers, throat expanded, pouring forth sweet music. If an instrument could be invented to record and reproduce the melody as he delivers it in the stillness of the morning when the little songster is at his best, it would become a very popular air. The indigo is frequently kept in captivity, but loses all the sweetness of song and the little male soon drops his beautiful livery and dons a distasteful shabby color, lacking even the somber luster of the female. During the period of mating, the cock-bird can be trapped very easily by using a trapcage with a bird in the lower compartment. As a boy, I have placed a trap cage on my head, walked under the tree where the wild bird was singing, with my mouth made a few kissing sounds, whereupon the bird would fly down into the cage and try to get through the wires to the captive. If some wheat grains were placed on the “paddle,” the wild bird would invariably light on it first, and picking up the grains would spring the trap and be caught while the cage was on my head.
Indigo Bunting's Nest with Cowbird's EggIndigo Bunting’s Nest with Cowbird’s Egg
The Young Interloper.The Young Interloper(He sits on one and crowds the other out.)
In constructing their nest they usually select a dense thicket and frequently build near the ground, where they deposit four or five bluish-white eggs not much bigger than a large pea. The cowbird (Molothrus ater), which is a sort of parasite, does not build a nest of its own, but lays its eggs in the nest of some other bird. In this respect it shows its wonderful instinct by selecting a smaller bird as foster-mother for its offspring. By experience they have been taught that the larger birds invariably dispose of the eggs by removing them from the nest. It frequently selects the bunting’s nest in which to deposit its brown spotted eggs, which are much larger. The cowbird, being of a larger species, grows much faster, and before long the foundling fills the little nest, forcing the rightful owners out of home and board. On one occasion I visited a nest and found it almost upset, with the “big cow” filling the whole nest. On the upper edge perched one little bunting, almost featherless, shivering in the cold. From underneath the “parasite” could be seen the head of the other, panting for breath and nearly stifled. We removed the cowbird, straightened up the nest, replaced the rightful owners of the house, and perched the cowbird nearby ona bush. We then went off a short distance and watched developments, and to our surprise the little male bunting fed the cowbird first. It was strange to see the youngster, as large as his foster parent, open his mouth so wide you could imagine he was getting ready to swallow the old bird,—indeed he looked as though he could, rapacious pirate offspring that he was. On telling the story to a friend, he remarked, “Well, how do you account for the foolish old man neglecting his own offspring and feeding the cowbird first?”I cannot answer that, unless the old fellow was proud of his big son.
A Well-Constructed HomeA Well-Constructed Home(Note the Cowbird’s egg in nest.)
Madam Vireo at HomeMadam Vireo at Home
The red-eyed vireo (Vireosylva olivacea) loves solitude. During the nesting season it seeks some dense thicket, selects a fork on a drooping limb, and constructs its wonderful basket-shaped, pensile nest. Intertwining about the fork a silky material for the basis of the structure, they put together with grasses, lichens, and plant fibres a wonderful little home for their progeny. When working away at building they are very cheerful,almost continually singing a sweet, pleasant warble, as though haranguing the dwellers of the silent places, hence their pseudonym, “preacher.” Very frequently in the dense foliage nearby skulks another member of the feathery tribe, watching every movement of the industrious pair, and now she gloats over them when, their work of art complete, they flit from limb to limb, closely observing the masterpiece and softly twittering their satisfaction, as though to say, “Well done.”Tired and hungry after their labors they wander away in search of food, singing cheerily as they twitch their heads now this way, now that, seeking a worm or insect. When they have gone, the somber-gowned, parasitic mate of a polygamist makes a bee-line for the nest, hastily drops a large speckled egg in the neat little basket, then quits the thicket and returns afield to the flock from which she came, leaving her ignominious progeny to be hatched and reared by the foster parents. When the vireos return, imagine the little red eyes looking with surprise at the egg that almost fills the cradle. They have not the strength, even if it occurred to them, to tumble the egg overboard, and unlike the yellow warblers, who sometimes build another nest on top of the egg, they resignedly proceed with the family duties.
The UsurperThe Usurper
The cowbird is a parasite of the worst kind; it lays its egg, not on the doorstep, like some foundlings, but in the bedchamber. The period of incubation being shorter than with most other birds, the egg is hatched sooner, the bird grows more rapidly, and consequently youngmolothrusfrequently stifles the rightful owners of the home. One by one the vireo fledglings die and are carried from the nest by the mourning parents, and so the survivorflourishes and grows fat, rocked in the cradle by the gentle breezes and under the care and protection of the little red-eyed vireos. The vireos are noted as good providers and protectors. During incubation they are fearless and loath to leave their eggs,—at times indeed, will permit you to approach the nest within two feet and photograph. We made several attempts to get the picture on page 260 but without success, until with a hand-mirroras a reflector we threw the rays of the sun on the bird. The light seemed to bewilder her and had the same effect as a “flash-light” has on a moose or deer in the stillness of a dark night. Thus we were able to take a photograph by time-exposure.
It is very seldom that a mixed family is raised. Usually the children of the home perish, and then how the young cowbird does continually call to the foster parents, “hungry, hungry, I’m hungry,” and how the little birds must work to satisfy the fast-growing changeling. At last one day the parents find their darling has disappeared; their summer’s work is finished; four cunning little vireo nestlings have met an untimely fate, and one arrogant young cowbird is well started upon his infamous career. Despite his careful rearing his blood will tell just as surely as if he were human.
Over yonder, a stone’s throw from my sleeping-porch, stands the stump of a hardwood tree, now soft from years of exposure to the elements. First the slender twigs decaying dropped one by one, then limb after limb, until all that remained of the noble tree, the growth of years, was this stump, where one bright morning in March I heard from my bed the familiar tapping sound characteristicof the woodpecker family. It was a flicker (Colaptes auratus luteus). The mating season was due, the ardent lovers were busy making holes here and there, as is customary, until finally they accomplished one to their liking and began their domestic duties in earnest. Some weeks later, in answer to my tapping on the stump, a head appeared at the door looking from side to side for the cause of the noise. It was the father of the family who reconnoitered the situation. The characteristic broad streaks of black throat feathers, commonly referred to as his “dark mustache,” served to identify him. For some time we had suspected the young were soon to leave their home. Tom climbed the tree in search of “data,” for the accumulation of which he is quite eager, but before he got half way up, shouted, “There goes one of the kids,—there goes another.” While their intentions were good, through lack of training “the kids” soon came to the ground. It is said of the flicker family that the parents coax and coax the young birds to leave the hole, but the latter are very reluctant to do so, and at times the parents are constrained to resort to starving or practically kicking them out. In the hole three were left. Tom brought them out and took them to a slantingtree. It was interesting to watch them. Like all climbers, they have two toes in front and two behind and in climbing are assisted by their rigid tail feathers. Tom was kept busy trying to arrange them within focus of the camera. For some time it was impossible to make them stay “posed”; they insisted on climbing the tree. After a while they got tired and then posed nicely for their picture. During the whole time they called in plaintive tone and the parent birds answered as they hovered around. After being photographed the birds were returnedto their home, where they seemed well satisfied to remain.
Young FlickersYoung Flickers
This member of the woodpecker family has some individuality. While the other woodpeckers stay in the trees, he spends a great deal of his time on the ground, some of it in feeding, and some of it certainly in amusement. He finds the latter on tree and ground alike. I have seen them going through various contortions and maneuvers, some of which closely resembled the figures in a minuet. On one occasion I witnessed a fight between two males on the ground. How they parried, juked, and dodged to avoid the sally of the adversary, until finally one got the better of the other and the vanquished took to flight. Every spring for several years a flicker takes up his abode near the home of a friend of mine, who relates with a great deal of interest how the bird attracts attention by visiting at frequent intervals a tin box on top of an arc-light pole, where he takes much delight in spending considerable time drumming away, as though the musician of the regiment were practicing his favorite tattoo.
Nest and Eggs of TanagerNest and Eggs of Tanager
Of all the birds of Pennsylvania the male scarlet tanager (Piranga erythromelas) is the most beautifully and attractively colored.Seldom seen by the occasional visitor to the woods, like a “Will o’ the wisp” he flits through the thick foliage, uttering his peculiar “chirp churr.” I remember well finding my first nest of the tanager after several years of search. On a horizontal limb of an elm tree about ten feet from the ground I noticed a few twigs and roots placed on the limb. So frail was the structure that even the sunlight shone through. Although I saw the female fluttering around considerably disturbed, I did not give it much thought, but left the location, only to return again to investigate. Imagine my agreeable surprise when,on climbing the tree, I saw four handsome bluish-green speckled eggs in the frail structure of twigs and rootlets. I have no doubt the scanty nest is a protection, for it requires a close observer to distinguish it as the living habitation of a bird.
Little Green Heron's NestLittle Green Heron’s Nest
Little Green Heron's NestLittle Green Heron’s Nest(Note frog legs to left of young bird.)
Leaving the NestLeaving the Nest
The green heron (Butorides virescens) dwells in colonies at times, and frequently in solitary pairs along creeks and ponds. They build their nests on small trees and bushes. The same birds will build in one locality for years if unmolested, and even if disturbed will probably find a site nearbythe following year. I remember finding a nest built on a small black-haw bush about ten feet from the ground. We visited the nest frequently until five bluish-green eggs were laid in the frail-looking platform of twigs. Its fragile appearance is deceptive, however, for the nest is realty strongly constructed amongst the limbs upon which it rests. An egg collector found the nest and removed two of the eggs, but the mother bird continued to incubate. We cut the limb off and removed the nest to the groundto photograph, then returned it, made it fast as before, and the bird hatched out a brood successfully from the three remaining eggs. One day upon visiting the nest I found one of the occupants in the act of swallowing a frog. All that remained of the frog was a leg sticking out of the nestling’s mouth. It was not long before the bird disgorged the legs, or all that was undigested of them. About a week later I visited the nest, and looking up saw three long necks and three heads sticking up over the edge. Before long they started one by one to leave the nest, stepping rather ceremoniously along the limbs towardsthe foliage at the top. Occasionally one would miss his foothold and partially lose his balance, but by the use of wings and beak would right himself. Often when in distress and hastening to get away, the young herons will use their heads and necks as a parrot does its beak, “chinning” themselves upon a limb and drawing up the body by main strength. These birds when frightened disgorge partially digested food; and because of their predilection to the generous distribution of ornithological whitewash at frequent intervals as they fly, they well deserve the name of “chalk-line.” While climbing the trees on several occasions when visiting the homes of these birds, I found to my sorrow that “discretion is the better part of valor.” Although they seem to be extremely shy, they will return from time to time to the neighborhood of their nests. They do not often approach closely, however, while a visitor is near, and on such occasions remain at some distance craning their necks curiously in every direction. They seldom utter a sound unless startled, when with a hoarse “quawk” and a shrilly harsh cry, they hastily fly away.
Nest and Eggs of GrosbeakNest and Eggs of Grosbeak
NestlingsNestlings
The rose-breasted grosbeak (Zamelodia ludoviciana) is one of the handsomest of thefinch family, and also one of the most useful to the farmer. The grosbeak’s chief diet is bugs and other insects, the potato bug being a favorite morsel in their menu. They usually build their nest on a bush and are very devoted to their home, so much so that when eggs are removed they continue to lay and incubate the remaining eggs. On one occasion in photographing a nest containing two eggs it was necessary to pull the slendor bush over and tie it within range of the camera. Thecord snapped, releasing the sapling and the eggs were thrown out and destroyed, much to our annoyance. On the following week when we returned we found the mother bird had laid two more eggs in the nest. The birds raised their small brood as though nothing had happened. I have visited many grosbeaks’ nests, and excepting on one or two occasions I have not seen the female incubating. This dutyseems to be performed more often by the male.
FledglingsFledglings
Tom at the NestTom at the Nest
The blue-gray gnat-catchers (Polioptila cærulea) are among the birds who build their nests early. When building is on, the nests are very easy to find, but ere the young are hatched out the foliage affords effective concealment. Their squeaky voices attract your attention, and looking towards the very top of the tree you can see them flitting from limb to limb. Before long, one or the other draws nearer and nearer the nest; then a quick flight, and there it is in the partly constructed home. Watching with the field-glass you can see them constructing the mostbeautiful nest in all bird architecture, save possibly that of the ruby-throated hummingbird, which builds a similar home. They usually select an elm tree, and at a height of thirty to fifty feet saddle the nest on the under or horizontal branch of a fork. Thus the branching system of the elm is peculiarly adapted to their style of architecture. It furnishes a shelter from storm and hawk overhead, and prowling boy or bird of prey in the brush underneath. The nest in the illustration accompanying the text was takenupon an oak, which my experience leads me to believe is an unusual site. How interesting to watch both male and female building their nest in the crotch! After several days’ work the structure begins to take shape and the master touches are being put to the little cup of lichens, moss, and grass. Alighting in it the builders crane their necks and with their long bills tuck in the moss and lichens all around, much as a mother tucks the clothing around her sleeping babe in the cradle. When all is complete the five littlespeckled eggs are deposited and incubation begins. The parent is quite plucky and resents any intrusion upon the sanctity of her home. On one occasion I saw a downy woodpecker come too close to a gnat-catcher’s nest. Like a streak of light she shot out, a mix-up followed, and the downy made haste to get away. Anothertime a redstart was taught the lesson that it did not pay to “hang around” this little bird’s home.
Nest and Eggs of the Blue-gray Gnat-catcherNest and Eggs of the Blue-gray Gnat-catcher
Nest and Young of GoldfinchNest and Young of GoldfinchPhoto by C. H. Brown
Photo by C. H. Brown
Red-spotted Purple Butterfly on Queen Anne's LaceRed-spotted Purple Butterfly on Queen Anne’s Lace
In the early spring we hear a concert of sweet voices coming from a flock of songsters in the summit of the elm, their favorite tree. Their period of love-making is long, as all their brothers and sisters of the same order have with very few exceptions finished their family duties before the American goldfinch (Astragalinus tristis) looks about and selects for his nest the fork of a bush or tree handy to some thistly field. Here the family ofthree to six young is reared. From his fondness for thistle seeds he gets his common name, “thistle-bird.” As the thistles ripen he can be seen picking away as he clings to the burr in every conceivable position, releasing the “witches” that float gracefully off with the gentle breezes over the field; regardless is he of the bees that tend the rose-purple flower-heads scattered here and there among the ripe thistle-tops. Over yonder a colony of the delicate blossoms of the “Queen Anne’s lace” is quite conspicuous. Hovering around are many flies and bees. A red-spotted purple butterfly lights gracefully on the plant, folding and unfolding its beautifully colored wings. He is safe from any molestation on the part of the goldfinch, who is essentially a seed-eater. Thus it is that these two highly-decorated creatures may often be seen gathering food side by side in the meadow.
There are some advantages in late building, and especially to the thistle-birds. They get rid of the parasite cowbird, whose season for propagation must needs be earlier in order to afford sufficient time for development; for the young cowbird is more phlegmatic in temperament and slower in growth, nor does he stay with us so late as the younggoldfinch. Again, the thistle-birds, being seed-eaters, find a more bountiful supply of food as the July days approach.
Young GoldfinchYoung GoldfinchPhoto by C. H. Brown
Photo by C. H. Brown
In the air they are readily distinguished by their undulatory flight. Frequently repeating their bubbling, laughter-like call, they pass overhead, describing circle after circle as though compelled thus to work off some of the buoyancy of their nature. The essence of cleanliness, they love to bathe in the purling waters of the brook where the pebbles lend their smoothness to the ever-rippling streamlet; there in some secludedspot during the sweltering weather of July and August the little birds delight to splash the crystal waters over their lemon-colored plumage. In my earlier days I have often caught them in the following manner: We would thrust a branch into the ground at one of the bathing places, and on the side of the stream from which by prior observation it was ascertained that the birds usually approached. They would alight on this branch as they came to the water, and after a while would become accustomed to linger on it before descending to the bath. In a few days we would cut pliant tips of the willow, smear them with bird-lime, and by means of slits cut in the branch would arrange the besmeared twigs high enough that when the bird alighted the limed twigs stuck to his breast feathers and swung around underneath, sticking the wing fast to his side so that the bird could not move. Invariably it would fall to the ground, unable in the case of the smaller birds either to walk or fly, and thus became an easy prey. Of course this was a boyhood prank, and my love to have the songster with me at home led me to place him in captivity. My ideas have changed and to-day I love the birds best in their natural haunts among the environments in which they sing the sweetest, their plumage is the finest, and where liberty of flight adds to their grace and charm.
Nest of Red-wing BlackbirdNest of Red-wing Blackbird
In selecting the place to trap the birds where they go to bathe, one must bear in mind that some birds will frequent one place, some birds another. We would set out a line of traps some distance apart. In going from place to place we gave the birds time to visit in our absence. If perchance a bird disturbed the twigs, we always knew it, for we kept the number of the smeared twigs set on each branch. If a twig were missing andno bird in sight, on looking around we were sure to find the bird, if small, somewhere near the branch, or in case of larger birds, some distance away, for while the smaller birds were hopelessly entangled, the larger ones could walk but could not fly, and frequently got away by going through the grass and working rid of the small willow twig.