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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT:
THRUSH RAVINE
BIRD PARADISE
AN INTIMATE ACCOUNT
OF A LIFELONG FRIENDSHIP
WITH BIRD PARISHIONERS
By
JOHN BARTLETT WICKS
PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
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Copyright, 1914, by
GeorceE W. Jacozns & Company
Published June, 1914
All rights reserved
Printed in U.S. A.
JUL ~3 1914
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OCiAR7663¢
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In memory of my boyhood home,
and of those who lived and died there,
and lived again,
I dedicate this book
to the ever gracious spirit of the lines :
«« How dear to my heart
Are the scenes of my childhood
When fond recollection
Presents them to view.
The orchard, the meadow,
The deep tangled wildwood,
And every loved spot
That my infancy knew.”
Illustrations
TurusH Ravine . : : . . Frontispiece
Birp ParabisE ; : : . Facing page 14%
THe Western GaTE . : a id: Aaa 30V
TanacerR Ho tow . : , PO ae Rs 48 @
Box Run”. ‘ : : pub eer) Eee 68
Warsier Retreat 4 : Sb acm utr wi go”
GrosBeak GLEN. : : ae ricat et age 116”
CHICKADEE OUTLOOK. : Sse Ty Soe 150
SguirrEL Home .. : : Bala SOR 178
THe Western HEIGHT . ‘ AO i 210”
Introduction
YeEaRs of close and cordial friendship yield
all the cardinal elements of true life. The ex-
perience of youth, and mature age,—the ripening
of advancing years—in short, the friendship of
the entire life, appears in the pages of this book.
The daily intercourse, —life living with life—the
citizens of nature walking hand in hand with
man. Surely the story of such a fellowship
must be replete with thought and things of vital
interest to every soul. The name of the book
‘* Bird Paradise’’ is suggested in the very nature
and shaping of the story itself. The wooded tract
on the eastern slope of the old farm has long
borne the name of Bird Paradise. It is an ideal
home of the birds. The life of its many residents
appears in these pages, just as that life is passed
in the daily experience of the creatures, each
page the shaping of an incident complete in
itself. The varied nature of the incidents re-
corded is of the varied nature of the real ex-
perience of true life. The key to it all is in the
7
8 INTRODUCTION
incidents themselves—the living of the daily life.
The outlook of it all is surely heavenward—the
windows of its ‘‘ House Beautiful” being open
toward the light, day and night.
Bird Paradise
THE migration of birds yet holds many secrets,
and I conclude will for many years to come.
Just why they migrate in many cases is yet a
mystery. One of the best reasons that I know
contrasts nicely with the action of the human
brother. The bird is free from all care and can
spend the winter in the South without neglecting
a single duty. Why should he not take one of
the many trains offered him and hie away to
warmth and ease? He can do it by easy journey-
ing if he so chooses. An hour’s travel every day
will bring him easily to the haven where he
would be, and the haven is bright with sunshine
and replete with food. On the simple ground of
change of scenery the bird is fully justified, or
change of food, or greater supply. Any of these
will do as a reason. So, too, the claim of a
milder climate has place, easily rivaled by the
strong inducement of plenty of good company.
In fact, I hardly know of any good reason for
9
10 BIRD PARADISE
the bird to refuse the winter outing in the South.
It does not, however, have the character of a
holiday outing as much as I should think it
would. The romping and the playing are in it,
and the feasting also, as well as entire freedom
from care, but the singing, cheery and bright, is
unknown. Why they should drop the song en-
tirely goes unexplained. There they are silent,
save a sort of monotonous chirp. Happier fel-
lows, however, are not to be met with anywhere.
To and fro they go, eating and drinking, careless,
almost entirely, of everything else.
The migration of birds, common as the years
are common, is crowded with mysteries and won-
ders. We know something of them, here and
there an item, but most of it is a sealed book to
us. Why they migrate is a question with a va-
riety of answers and perhaps most of them have
some place in the reply. Some birds change
location doubtless in order to secure their neces-
sary food. Others make the long journey as in-
stinct prompts, knowing nothing of the reason
for the impulse. Still others journey, I believe,
as people travel, for the enjoyment of the thing.
Some journey slowly and are weeks in making
the passage. Others accomplish the flight in a
single journey, like the Labrador plover, which
BIRD PARADISE II
leaves Newfoundland and, keeping well out from
the coast, passes to the tropics without making a
single stop. Some birds fly in the night, others
in the daytime. Some winter just on the edge
of the snow line, others near the Gulf. Others in
far-off South America. I have often heard their
call in the night-time as they were passing over
and have seen the flocks dropping down to the
ground in the early morning light. In their
flight northward the same rules govern as in the
passage to the South. With some birds as with
geese and ducks the migratory instinct seems to
be a gift to the flock, the single bird being unable
to use it. We often see birds of the migratory
species remaining at the North through the winter.
Someway they fall out of the regular line and
seem unable to pick it up again. As Artemus
Ward would say, ‘‘ There is a good deal of hu-
man nature in birds.’’
The best authority I can command makes the
assertion that nearly 400,000 species of creatures
have been discovered and classified in this world
of ours. Think of it, think of the number, then
of the creatures—each by itself—and the longest
life vouchsafed to man in the realm of time affords
12° BIRD PARADISE
but partial acquaintance with.a small portion of
the great host. The largest we see only in part,
and the smallest we do not see at all, only with
the aid of the most powerful glass. Care for
them all, watchful care—the kind that knows
where they all are; just what they are doing—
the ‘‘open hand,’’ which fills all things living
with plenteousness. Ah! the nearer vision of
the wondrous scenes. Only the infinite gathers
all the wheat in this boundless field. I glance
from this sheet to the window-pane at my side,
and there I note a minute speck, moving briskly
over the hard service. Nothing but the black
mote, visible to the naked eye. I put my glass
over the object and the transformation reveals
the perfect creature after its kind. Unlike the
work of man, the more I magnify the creature
the more wonderful it becomes. Bright colors
appear, and the texture of all I see glows with
a radiance that is surely born from above. As
I gaze, the insect moves from my sight into the
great world space—an aeroplane most perfect.
The thought quickly has place, ‘‘ the world about
us—a great school—the ‘university of univer-
sities.’’’ Knowledge free as the air we breathe,
the student always graduating, but always a
student.
BIRD PARADISE 13
Our fields have worn very gracefully the gar-
ments of early spring. How bright the green
has been, and what a variety of shades appear
all along the hillside. Just now the dandelion
is changing the color rapidly. How curiously
the golden blossoms are distributed. In a field
just beyond the cemetery they appear in groups,
each a household by itself. Farther along on
the hillside they seem to have place throughout
the entire field with no particular difference
in the distribution. In the old pasture at the
Swamp-side they are given a formation like the
well-ordered ranks of a great army. I half fancy
that I can easily point out the headquarters as
well as the other principal places in the camp of
the great host. Far down the Waterville road I
catch glimpses of the blossoms forming a broad,
beautiful selvage at the roadside extending to
the point where the hill hides the view. But
what a pure gold the color is—surely it is a
standard that lacks nothing. The texture of the
blossom rivals the color in beauty of shape and
finish. The entire disk of yellow is made up
of hundreds of minute flowers, each perfect after
its kind. I frequently put one under my glass,
getting a vision that always seems new. The
14 BIRD PARADISE
natural eye sees but a small part of what each
blossom contains. I find often that a tribe of
minute insects occupy the flower, making it their
home. Sometimes there will be several of these
tribes dwelling in the same blossom. Curious
how active these little fellows are. They go in
and out, between the minor blossoms, and seem
to have plenty of room—a palace of gold surely.
How clearly the heart of this common flower is
given expression in Lowell’s familiar lines: _
‘* My childhood’s earliest thoughts are linked with thee,
The sight of thee calls back the robins’ song,
Who, from the dark old tree
Beside the door sang clearly all day long,
And I secure in childish piety,
Listened as I heard an angel sing
With news from heaven which he could bring
Fresh every day to my untainted ears,
When birds and flowers, and I were happy peers.’’
From some points on our hill I can see with
my field-glass twenty and more teams plowing.
Such an outlook savors altogether of the spring
time. There is something in the steady move-
ment of the teams that is a picture of sturdy
strength, while the bearing of the plowman
uplifts the banner of one who rules. How easy
asidvavd cayig
wae Ge
ee ee
BIRD PARADISE 1s
it all seems when seen from a distance. It is one
of the instances where a certain kind of enchant-
ment becomes the offspring of distance. As I
see it from my far-off point of view the idea of
any effort on the part of the team or driver is
wholly eliminated. As a matter of fact, the oc-
cupation is a kind of service that is far up on
the list of man’s wide field of duties. On a
bright day, with the scene spread out before me,
I cannot very well connect it with the idea of
service and duty at all. It seems more like a
great privilege—a sort of deciphering of wonder-
ful things in a great temple of wonders. The
furrows roll into their places and I fancy the
hearing ear gathers of sounds that are the earth’s
shouts of joy. Why not? More and more I get
the idea that the earth itself is a sort of force,
alive in more senses than [I know. Why should
it not ery out with joy when its brother man
extends the hand of cheery help? While I write
the sower is sowing the seed in the great field
opposite my study window. Here again the
machine is doing its work, and here again I
entertain the notion that the happy, mellow
earth opens its heart to receive the gift. Some-
thing there calls for its own, and as surely as
the call is made its own is responding cheerily
16 BIRD PARADISE
to the call. Life finds life, and the husbandman
is ever at the point where the two great seas
meet. Right well he may rejoice, as a student
in the school of schools.
Occasionally I catch sight of a small flock of
shore or horned larks. They are common along
the New England seashore in the winter, scat-
tering out into the country, as the fancy seizes
them. Two little tufts of feathers give them the
appearance of wearing a pair of horns—thus
securing one of their names. The other name
is readily reached from the fact that the seashore
is their favorite haunt. Unlike most other small
birds, they walk through the grass as they are
feeding. In manners they resemble somewhat
the other members of the family, giving vent to
their feelings in a breezy way. I understand
that they extend their journeying over quite a
portion of our north country, frequently passing
well down into the Carolinas. I sometimes come
upon their nests in the spring and I think they
are the earliest housekeepers among our smaller
birds. In the realm of song they are not profi-
cient. Of course they have their common call
note, and in the breeding season, a succession of
BIRD PARADISE 17
notes that might be termed asong. The nest is
put into a little cavity in the ground, being con-
structed of grass and moss. When I come upon
them suddenly in the field they have a way of
throwing themselves into the air, whirling up-
ward as though shot from some strong bow.
Audubon says that they have the practice of
soaring and singing in the air, like the English
lark, but I have never seen them.
A family of bluebirds have made me a visit
of at least a week’s duration. They do their
own cooking, provide their own lodging, in
short, are no expense to the parson in the slight-
est degree. The young fellows look plump, and
are so. Their new coats fit them without a
wrinkle, but their voices are way off from the
usual cheery song of the race. At first I thought
some new bird had appeared, but investigation
revealed the fact that it was the old, old story, and
bluebird’s way of telling it. There is something
quite interesting in these family outfits, especially
as they draw on to the point of separating for the
rest of life’s journey. There doesn’t seem to be
any particular sentiment in their action, and
they go apart as a sort of matter of course; in
18 BIRD PARADISE
fact, it sometimes appears as though they really
enjoyed it. How is it that so much affection
apparently can be felt for a time, and then all
disappear, as with a turn of the hand? To-day
strong, to-morrow nothing. In brief, now ready
to die in the defense of the child, but soon for-
getting that the child ever was. Verily life’s
paradoxes are many and varied.
I hear the drumming of the partridge from the
coverts of the swamp. It is a spring sound, and
I sometimes think it is the fellow’s way of doing
his singing. Once in my boyhood I saw the
bird in the act itself. As he went along the log
upon which he was moving, he brought his
wings together in front of him, making the hol-
low sound which we give the name of drumming.
I enjoy watching these birds. They have an
independent way of doing things which renders
them quite attractive. In their leisure moments
they do some playing, but I fancy it does not
come quite natural to them. Of all our native
birds there is none that excels the partridge in
shyness. He is ever on the watch. How he can
get in a stroke of anything else is a problem.
Occasionally one comes into my lawn trees, but
BIRD PARADISE 19
I conclude from his actions that he has been
seriously disturbed in his native hauuts, or he
would not be seen so far from home. An event
of my boyhood reads: ‘‘ To-day, in the old cedar
swamp, I came upon a family of partridges that
were only a few days from the nest. There was a
commotion in the camp, and in less than a min-
ute the young fellows all disappeared among the
leaves. With the help of my spaniel dog I found
them all—fifteen in number. After a few minutes
I gave them their freedom again, greatly to the
delight of the parent birds.”’
A pair of bluebirds spent a good part of a day
investigating a cavity in one of my apple trees
this week. They went in and out, talked the
matter over, apparently a dozen times, and I
Suppose reached the conclusion that the place
was not suited for their purpose, as I have seen
nothing of them since. The gentility of good
breeding appears in all that the bluebird says
and does. I never have known him to speak
harshly or behave unkindly. If other birds take
his coat he is pretty certain to let them have his
cloak also. His song is always keyed to a gentle
quaver that overflows with peace and good will.
20 BIRD PARADISE
I have seen him give up on the demand of others
until he had nothing left for himself. Not a
word of complaint did he utter; on the contrary
he seemed more and more the embodiment of the
very spirit of patient, genial good nature. As
he does no striking, of course, he never strikes
back. If, as Burroughs says, ‘‘the bluebird is
the bird of nature, being earth brown below, and
sky blue above,’’ he is certainly most heavenly
through the pure white within. The old saying
that ‘‘it takes two to make a quarrel”’ is illus-
trated nicely in this bird’s behavior. He goes
about owning in fee simple everything, just happy
in the ownership, and yet never proclaims his
rights in any way only by letting the other fellow
have them all. Ah! what grace there is in this
one bird of all the birds. He is a preacher of
righteousness that needeth not to be ashamed.
The parson gives him the right hand of fellow-
ship as one sent by the Master in whom there is
indeed no guile.
Sitting in my porch last evening I noticed,
when it had become quite dark, not only my pair
of bats on duty but several chimney swifts circling
about with them, the entire company intent on
securing a sumptuous supper. They continued
BIRD PARADISE 2a
the exercise until I could only see them as they
passed from the shadow of the trees into the
lighter open space. The whole procedure was
exactly what I should expect from the bats but I
never before had seen the swifts up so late. It
occurred to me that flies of a particularly luscious
sort were making a short stop on our hilltop and
the swifts had to keep awake late in the evening
in order to get their share. There seemed to be
a sort of fellowship between the creatures which
argued well for the characters of both. I could
hear the bills of the birds snap as the flies passed
their portals but my bat friends gave no sound.
One of the toothsome viands that the bat enjoys
is the common mosquito. I encourage this taste
in the creatures, feeling that it is a good thing for
the bats and really a commendable use to which
the insects can be put. It may be that the swift
has a relish for the best groomed mosquitoes. If
it be so his indulgence of it to the utmost is fully
approved by the parson.
I notice that the ants are busy with household
duties very similar to those now occupying the
attention of the thrifty housewives in our hill
country. Among the busiest of these active citi-
zens I class those which bear the name of mound
22. BIRD PARADISE
builders. In the old pastures near the swamp
the little mounds of these tireless workers may be
seen scattered over quite an extent of ground.
Two or three of these curious houses have been
erected in my orchard and I saw last evening
that one which I have known many years, located
in the farther part of the cemetery, had been
given a new story this spring. Somewhere in the
ground below, the work of excavation had gone
on, the earth being brought up by the ants in
small particles and added to the stature of the
house. Fifteen or twenty doors were wide open
and hundreds of the dwellers were going and
coming every moment. I used what diplomacy
I was possessed of in trying to fellowship with
my diminutive neighbors, but they were too busy
to make much response to my effort. I half
suspect that they work night and day when they
have anything to do and I am pretty sure they
always have something to do. Why not aschool
of industry right under my eye ever proclaiming
‘‘to him who works as well as waits all things
come.’’
A friend brought me this morning a curiosity
in the construction of birds’ nests. He found
BIRD PARADISE 23
it on a beam in the barn where a robin had been
in the habit of putting its summer cottage.
There were three complete nests built in a row
and joined together strongly with stalks of dried
grass. I am at a loss just how to account for
such a novelty. A pair of robins frequently
rear two broods in one season, but I have not
known them to add still another. In those cases
where I have known two broods reared the
second nest was a new one in another place. I
never have known them to use a nest the second
time. If the nests were separate and only placed
side by side without being joined together firmly
I should conclude that they were built by the
same pair of birds—a nest yearly for three years.
But here they are with the foundation of dried
grass extending under the three, making them in
that particular virtually one nest. The theory
that three pairs of birds joined in the construc-
tion of the nests is not tenable from the fact that
in a venture of this nature the parties cannot
agree well enough to make such a common plana
real success. JI am quite disposed to regard the
venture as that of a single pair of robins who
took a ‘‘long look ahead,’’ planning their house
scheme so that three households were successfully
reared in one season. It certainly has the merit
24 BIRD PARADISE
of being a real time-saver and perhaps at times
robin needs to practice economy in that direction.
I hear occasionally the plaintive note of the
wood pewee. It has little in mere sound to rec-
ommend it, but I conclude it carries the heart of
the would-be singer, therefore is always valuable.
Pewee belongs to the family of the flycatchers—
none of them so far as I know noted as the
possessor of beauty of person. Sometimes with
the birds there is lack of personal attraction that
is nicely compensated in great beauty of song, but
nothing of the kind appears with pewee. His
voice, though clear, is keyed so sharply that it
avoids everything musical. Two notes comprise
the venture and the very close of the refrain is its
best feature. Pewee and his young family areall
voracious feeders. All kinds of small insects are
viands at his feasting, and his feasting occupies
his attention every moment through the day. I
notice he has a special fondness for the mosquito
and in their season cheerfully appropriates multi-
tudes of them every day. While nearly all
writers agree that this bird is a migrant—spend-
ing his winters in the South, I often hear his call
in the winter and frequently see him flitting
BIRD PARADISE 25
among the trees. Just what he finds of appetiz-
ing food in the cold weather I do not know. I
conclude, however, from what I have seen, that
the grubs and insects under the bark of the trees
furnish him with an abundant supply. I see
him sometimes enjoying the friendship of the
woodpeckers, so I conclude he is more socially
inclined than some other members of his family.
The birds are now well entered upon their long
vacation season. I fancy a real change in char-
acter marks their demeanor from this time on un-
til the housekeeping season returns again. The
young fellows, as a rule, dress in suits of their
own, though in some cases, as with the bobolinks,
the entire race adopt acommonraiment. Insome
instances, notably with the blue jays, the children
of the family are attired in a manner entirely
their own. A year passes before they don their
regular suits. Just how the plumage is shaped
and reshaped, sometimes appearing in the guise
of one color, then another—no mistake made in
any case—is no small mystery. The bobolinks
are now gathered in flocks and in a few days will
be on their way southward. I can easily see how
the annual journey southward is one of large ad-
26 OBIRD PARADISE
vantage, but how it should begin as early as it
does with the bobolinks and swallows is certainly
a puzzling thing. Plenty of food here, and good
weather, ‘‘ why not stay ?’’ is all answered by the
going, and the going seems to be all the answer
there is. Go and come at will seems to be
the law governing the birds’ migration very
largely.
The killdeer plover has taken his flight to the
Sunny South. The other members of his large
family are keeping him company—a merry party
wherever they are. With the killdeers, as with
the other birds, the season has favored the growth
and safety of their young. Years ago we had in
the spring and fall flights what was known as the
field or golden plover. They came to us from
the North at the time of wheat sowing, and usually
spent a month or morein our hill country. They
were sought as a table delicacy, and by some were
considered more appetizing than the wild pigeon.
I saw them on the plains of Oklahoma in great
flocks, where they spent most of the winter. On
some of our long journeys we found them quite
an addition to our daily cuisine. All the plovers
are bright stirring birds, seemingly ever on the
BIRD PARADISE 27
move. In their migratory flight I think they
outdo almost all other birds. Far upin the Arctic
regions they build their nests and rear their
young. Once on the wing for the South they
seem to think that the journey is incomplete un-
less they push far down to distant Patagonia. Not
all the species make this record, but some of them
do and seem to be none the worse for the extended
journey. The song of the plovers is nothing more
than a call note uttered mostly in flight. Asa
scavenger among the grubs and insects they are
very helpful to the farmer, and their cheery way
of making the most of life recommends them
highly.
A friend sends me a clipping from the New
York Times bearing the date of March 8th. It is
an item of news from Montclair, New Jersey, con-
cerning the birds. It announces that almost all
over the mountain top in Montclair to-day could
be seen robins and bluebirds in abundance.
‘‘To-day,” it says, ‘‘the robins are taking pos-
session of their old nests and putting them in order
for spring.’”’ My friend who sends me the para-
graph thinks the last item must be a dream.
Very likely, however, the snow in that locality
28 BIRD PARADISE
has gone and usually the birds come trooping in
as soon as it has melted away, especially if the
weather be warm and sunny. The species named
in the article push northward about March 1st,
keeping pace with the disappearance of the
snow. In 1857 many of them reached us in Feb-
ruary, both February and March being open
warm months. Some of the robins nested and
were caught in the great April snow-storms—
learning when too late that the birds with the
best intentions cannot force the season. Large
numbers of the robins when they migrate stop
for the winter just south of the snow line of lati-
tude. Some go farther, even extending their
journey to the shores of the Gulf. All of them,
however, turn their steps northward about the
first of February—ready, if all things are favora-
ble, to occupy the summer home.
days. This year, however, the birds seemed to
have been paired when they came. I suppose
that when the spring quota of birds is large it is
good evidence that all, or nearly all, of the birds
reared in this section last year have come back
to the old haunts. Sometimes all the birds of a
locality perish one way and another during the
winter migration. It usually takes three or four
years to restore the loss. Just here I notice from
my study window a pair of red-breasted fellows
putting grass and mud into place, shaping one
of their summer cottages. Both birds work at it
and both seem equally skilful. When they are
nest building I have a notion that they spend but
little time seeking the daily bread. It is all there
in the brown earth, suited exactly to their taste,
but they seem to have no time or inclination to
BIRD PARADISE’ | 103
seek it. A little later in the season, however,
they balance the books completely, scarcely doing
anything else but eat.
The dwellers on my smal] domain show many
traits of character that seem closely allied with
those of human nature. Each species of birds
conducts its affairs as though the title to the
entire lawn and garden was vested in that single
species. Of course such a condition is sure to
provoke somebody and that somebody is sure
to resent all such provoking. The battle spirit,
I notice, is fanned into a brighter flame just after
the young birds have left the nest. This morn-
ing a mother robin was putting forth large effort
to secure a miller that had strayed upon the
lawn. Catching insects on the wing is not robin’s
forte and yet he acts sometimes as though he was
not at all conscious of the fact. After quite a
little time of strenuous effort he managed to
secure the prize. While he was busy I noticed
an English sparrow equally busy in watching
him. Hardly had the first motion in the way of
dissecting the creature been made ere the spar-
row by a sudden movement snatched the prize
and darted away with it. Robin was too much
104 BIRD PARADISE
astonished to do anything but submit to the
affront with what grace he could command. The
English sparrow is given to these shrewd meth-
ods of replenishing his Jarder and, of course, the
other birds do not love to have it so.
I notice that during the dry weather the little
red ants that bore holes and build houses in the
hard trodden path are on duty, apparently, night
and day. I-see them everywhere and I conclude ©
that almost any place where they can find footing
in the hard earth will furnish them with the
requisites of what they call home. Passing along
the streets of New Hartford last week, I saw in
the hard path the little circles of red earth in
the centre of which appeared the open door with
the stream of ants going in and out. Later in
the day, in the city of Utica, I saw the little fel-
lows on duty-—putting the doors of their mansions
into the seams of the great flagging stones. Hun-
dreds of them are trodden on and killed every
day, but someway they keep their numbers
good. Of course in the city their supply of food
is much greater than in the country, and in the
main their home under the large stones is a safe
and roomy one. I am at a loss in determining
how these minute creatures can work their way
BIRD PARADISE 105
down into the hard earth, building houses there
that to them are abodes of light and cheer. The
old adage ‘‘many hands make light work”’ tells
a part of the story, and ‘‘always at it’’ tells an-
other part, but the task seems larger than the
genius of the workmen can compass. Still, they
do compass it and in so doing write out one of
the parson’s great object lessons: ‘‘ Being and
doing at one’s best is getting there in the first
movement at the beginning and in all the move-
ments that follow on to the end, and there is no
end.”’
The dry weather has been quite a burden to
many of my lawn tenants. Some of them are
furnished with means of defense which they use
freely. The earthworms laugh at the drought.
The hot and dry vie together and the surface of
the ground yields to their influence until there
is not a particle of moisture left in at least a foot
of the earth. The worms simply retire to the
cool rooms of their castle a little farther down,
and wait in comfort for the return of better days.
What a house it is that these fellows build!
Chambers everywhere, down five or six feet from
the surface of the ground. There are no other
plowmen like them. Our best workers stir and
106 BIRD PARADISE
pulverize the earth eighteen or twenty inches
deep ; these fellows multiply that depth three or
four times. I suppose they work night and day
at their task. But is it a task? I never have
seen anything on their part that seems to indi-
cate it. If it be work then it is play also, and
the spirit of such a combination is the very
laughter of living. Sufficient unto the day is
everything that belongs rightfully to the day is
a prominent article in the earthworm’s creed.
Nearly every day I make the acquaintance of
some creature in my lawn or garden that I have
not met before. This morning as I was inter-
viewing the potato-bugs, a member of the beetle
family came from somewhere, saying in his mild
mannered way that he was a tenant of my small
domain and would enjoy being a little better ac-
quainted with the proprietor. Of course I as-
sured him that I knew of no reason why he
should not have place in my inheritance and not
only place, but daily bread and all the protection
that such a home provided. He certainly car-
ried with him the attitude of a listener, though
I discovered no full assurance that he understood
the real meaning of the welcome. To the nat-
ural vision there is nothing very attractive in
BIRD PARADISE 107
these creatures, but when I put him under my
glass he passed to a beauty of person everyway
attractive. Curious how the work of the Divine
artist becomes more and more beautiful the
closer we come to the secrets of its being. Each
new revelation entrances the beholder and also
gives sign of larger mysteries lying farther on.
I love the realm of mystery, not that the realm
of knowledge is without its satisfaction but the
condition ‘*seen and unseen”’ is the very order
of being. In it my joy of living gets all its own
—in short, lives, dies, lives again. The crea-
tures that journey with me, how little I know of
what they hold as their own. But much, or
little, it is mine in being theirs and theirs in be-
ing mine.
I do not recall a season when the fireflies have
been so plentiful as they have been during the
past week. Usually they appear for a short
time in low, wet places in comparatively small
numbers. This year they are to be seen in every
direction, making some of the evenings quite
brilliant. What a curious furnishing itis. In
a certain direction it aids the insect, but at the
same time reveals him to his enemies. How full
life is of these contradictions, and how true the
108 BIRD PARADISE
passage of Browning reads, ‘‘ All our best inter-
ests are on the dangerous edge of things.’’ Fire-
fly has good command of his lantern. Hasily he
flashes the light, and just as easily commands
the darkness. I half fancy, sometimes, that he
makes use of his extra furnishing to guide him
in his flight. Then, again, I get the notion that
the fellows are having a sort of Fourth of July,
or Old Home Week celebration. Each one lights
a bonfire and carries it around with him. If
there is any shouting I do not catch the ac-
cents. About all I get of the gathering is the
fireworks, and these last a good part of the night.
I rather enjoy looking out in the night and see-
ing these fellows going to and fro with their lan-
terns. They seem to be saying, ‘‘Sleep on,
parson, get a good rest, we will look after mat-
ters outside,’’ and so far I have found their vigil
most efficient.
A sparrow-hawk ventured into my orchard
this week and not only failed to secure any prize,
but met with several strokes of adversity that
evidently he had not counted upon. From all I
could gather I conclude that he made a vigorous
attempt to bag one of the little chip sparrows
that was housekeeping in the corner apple tree.
BIRD PARADISE 109
I heard the commotion and soon discovered that
the fellow had not only missed his aim but was
made the mark of all the birds in this part of
the village. When I saw him he was rushing
hither and thither, a dozen birds and more help-
ing him to move with unusual celerity. Their
methods of attack varied. The robins flew full
tilt against him while the sparrows gave loose
rein to their voices, but keeping at a respectful
distance from their active enemy. The swallows
were the most venturesome. Some of the chim-
ney species went far up into the air, dropping
down upon the hawk much to the fellow’s dis-
comfort. After a few moments the hawk found
his bearings, and went rapidly off to the swamp
—no doubt glad to escape even though the feast
he had anticipated lacked its principal viand. I
know full well that the hawk is shaping his
course aright when he levies on his fellow birds,
making them contribute all that they are to sat-
isfy his needs, but at the same time I have a de-
cided feeling of pleasure when he fails to carry
out his plans.
Nearly all young swallows are now on the wing.
I notice frequently a family of the fellows sitting
quietly on the telephone wires, the children busy
ae BIRD PARADISE
learning the many duties of outdoor swallow life.
I have seen the old birds occasionally feed the
youngsters as they flewby. Likeall other young
birds they are more conscious of hunger the first
week of outdoor life than they are of anything
else. What a perfect movement the swallow uses
as he passes to and fro on the wing. I never tire
of watching them and the one I see last is the one
I fancy is excelling all others. The young of the
barn and eave swallows I never have known to
tumble from the nest until they were ready to use
their wings nicely. The children of the chimney
swallow have quite a different experience. It is
not an unusual thing with them to end their first
journey from the home nest at the bottom of the
chimney. With them, however, it is not a
serious matter. They easily clamber up the sides
of the chimney and soon emerge from the top
none the worse for the first trip into the region
below. Next month they all start on their long
journey to the far South, giving us no more of
their company until another spring.
I notice that the killdeers are gathering in
small flocks. Their annual housekeeping has had
its day and the wider community life has taken
its place. Curious how easily the home life is set
BIRD PARADISE DiI
aside and the new introduced. The children of
the family roam far and wide, apparently entirely
divorced from all home ties. One would very
naturally conclude that they would grow stronger
with the passing of the days. There is every in-
dication during the helpless days of the young
birds that the relations of the family are steadily
increasing in strength. This continues until the
nestlings are equipped to care for themselves.
That point reached all home relations are sundered
as with a single stroke. In fact, it seems to set
aside with all species of birds very largely the
real affection that appears so strong during the
nesting season. The flocks that are now gather-
ing will increase in size until they enter upon the
flight southward next month. We saw the dif-
ferent species of plover passing the winter on the
plains of Oklahoma. Among them the killdeer
had place as a stirring and attractive member.
Sometimes when we were out on our long jour-
neys we levied on these flocks for a portion of our
supply of food and found it a most appetizing
addition to the sometimes scanty stock.
Occasionally I hear a call from high in the air,
telling of a company of water-fowl passing on their
way northward. Geese and ducks are both now
a2 BIRD PARADISE
on the wing and I hardly know which can make
its call heard the greatest distance. The ducks I
think are quite apt to do more talking than the
geese, though both are pretty sure to be heard
most of the time. ‘Two or three times in my boy-
hood I was present when a party of travelers
were lost in a dense fog. Once it wasin the early
morning, before it was hardly light enough to
discern objects very clearly. I heard the rush of
wings, and the loud calls, the entire flock tossing
about in the old orchard, apparently wild with
fright. In and out among the trees they went,
some of them almost fanning me with their wings.
For several minutes they wandered back and forth
from the pasture to the orchard, a really ludicrous
sight. Finally the sun broke through the fog,
giving the fellows the cue to where they were, and
what they needed to do. The leader took his
place, the others quickly following his example,
and the entire flock was soon on its way none the
worse for the misadventure of afew minutes. In
my boyhood the fall and spring migrations of the
ducks and geese were large, great flocks passing,
sometimes, for several days in succession. Fre-
quently they stopped for an hour or two on our
ponds and streams, giving the local sportsmen a
chance to bag a goodly number.
BIRD PARADISE 113
Our water birds seem to be all here. How
quietly the creatures come and go in their migra-
tions. Someway I think this class of birds move
in their accustomed places with the least appear-
ance of display of all our feathered friends.
About all I know of their leaving us is that they
are gone, and when they return in the spring to
their Northern haunts when I first see them they
are fully domiciled, no signs perceptible of their
ever having been away. Downattheswamp side
I hear the whistle of the woodcock, the sharper
notes of the snipes, the loud call of the killdeer,
and. the softer strains of thelittle tip-up. I inter-
view them and each has his own story to tell and
he tells it well. Mr. Woodcock, the largest bird
of the family, I usually see on the wing, though
frequently I find him busy in a marshy place,
securing his daily bread. He has a scheme of
thrusting his long bill down into the soft mold
and by the sense of touch uncovering his food.
He must secure a large supply, for he always has
the appearance of a well-kept bird. The snipe
has many of the woodcock’s habits and is a good
second to many of his ways. The killdeer comes
out into the open fields, and is quite a master of
rapid flight. I saw a small flock this week pass-
a14 BIRD PARADISE
ing high in the air—uttering frequently their loud
clear call. Perhaps the most interesting of all
our water birds is the littlesandpiper. From his
frequent use of the word tip-up, we have given him
that as his local name. In two or three places in
the swamp there are sandy places where the
tip-ups enjoy what I should term their many
games. They are expert in these games, I am
sure, and frequently an encore of mine closes a
contest that looks like a great neighborhood
gathering.
I noticed that the robins engaged in nest build-
ing about as soon as they arrived in their North-
ern home. Mud, one of the principal materials
for the nest, they find now in abundance. Dried
grass also abounds, but perhaps the chief reason
for the unusual haste lies in the fact that the sea-
son is a little late. Then, too, they really have
nothing else to do. So far as I can see they have,
on their arrival, settled all the preliminaries of
housekeeping, and of course the house after that
is the first thing needed. I have no particular
admiration for the robin as a house builder. I
suppose he does the best he knows, and that is as
high as the imperfect ever reaches. Just now I
BIRD PARADISE 115
notice that the song sparrow is busy shaping a
mansion which is really a work of art. On the
swinging branch of one of my evergreens the
foundation of the house is laid. What a marvel-
ous cup itis! But the adorning of the inner walls
is the marvel of this bird palace. The long fine
hairs are woven in until it seems like a fairy
home, born some way out of the very heart of na-
ture. It is not at all strange that the author of it
all should secure thereby the name of hair bird.
Among the songs of our early birds I fancy there
is no other that ranks quite as high as that of our
chippy friend. I am quite apt to regard it as
No. 1 among the sparrow melodies.
My neighbor tells me that a pair of hen-hawks
have put their nest in a large tree in the Birming-
ham swamp. Just how they keep their incubator
warm enough in this cool weather to hatch the
hawk chickens is a problem with the parson.
The nest is loosely constructed and even though
the old birds alternate in keeping the house warm
it would seem as though the venture would be a
failure. In my boyhood the swamp covered many
acres of land east of the village. Several of the
hawks’ nests were built there every season. Part
aio. BIRD PARADISE
of the boys’ regular pastime was climbing the
great trees for an interview with the hawk house-
hold. Several times we tried the experiment of
domesticating one of the young birds, but never
with any great success. Even when we had grad-
uated the bird as a real member of the farm fam-
ily he never became very domestic in his be-
havior. The young crow repaid us for all the
trouble we had with him in living such a humor-
ous, jolly life that his presence was always quite
enjoyable. The hawk never seemed to be quite
at home in a domestic state. He was built for
the wild and he seemed to know it, and I remem-
ber we were quite well satisfied when he took
wing and sailed away.
One of my bird parishioners that interests me
without being very attractive is the little fly-
catcher. He has some of the traits of his race
and some that are peculiarly his own. One of
his habits keeps him before the public every mo-
ment of his waking time. Several times a min-
ute he expresses his feelings in a metallic voice
that once heard is not easily forgotten. His rai-
ment is plain, no bright colors being allowed.
His form is that borne by his family, beauty hav-
ing not been considered when he was given being.
NaI) Mvadsouy)
BIRD PARADISE 117
After the housekeeping duties have once been
assumed the male bird seems to consider it an im-
portant part of his duty to scold vigorously every
other bird that comes within range of his voice.
I have noticed that the oriole seems to give the
little fellow a stir-up that rouses all his ire. Let
the notes of the bright-colored bird sound through
my lawn, and flycatcher makes reply that lacks
nothing in sharpness. The other birds as a rule
pay no attention to the little fellow, none of them
apparently taking him seriously. Curious how
the way one is considered by his fellows makes
itself felt in the character. My little friend, pro-
testing with all his might, grows red in the face
as no one pays the slightest attention to what he
is doing. He keeps the fires burning, however,
and grows into a stout complainer that hasn’t a
particle of influence with anybody. His work
among the flies is the saving clause in his record.
His appetite seems to crave anything in the shape
of an insect, hundreds passing his way daily.
Unlike many other species of birds, I have never
known but one pair to nest in a given locality the
Same season.
On Tuesday morning I saw the first oriole of
the season. His hearty whistle from the maples
i118. BIRD PARADISE
in the churchyard told of his presence, and a lit-
tle later his full song given in the old apple tree
close to the rectory rehearsed the whole story.
How fresh and bright his new suit appeared, and
how his whistle seemed to give a stir-up to all the
bird life that came under its influence. My little
flycatcher had an attack of rage instantly. Such
scolding as he indulged in seems to be an accom-
plishment all his own. Oriole paid no attention
to the tirade, but went about his regular business —
in a matter-of-fact way which insured its being
well done. No other bird rivals him in nest
building. He seems to have areal genius for this
kind of architecture, and expresses it in the deed
with wonderful skill. How deftly he hangs the
structure to the swaying limbs, and when once
secured, with what rare finish he weaves and
shapes his mansion. No other nest quite like it,
and none that shelters the little brood in greater
safety. Three or four of these oriole houses are
built in our village every season.
When the time came for the last member of
the class to appear on the stage, he seemed a
little dazed by the unusual performances of his
fellows. He clambered up to the door of the
Bike PARADISE 11g
flicker temple, took a long view of the outside
world, then retreated to the remotest corner of
the place. The second attempt was more suc-
cessful. He stepped boldly out, and after bal-
ancing a few moments on a near-by limb, went
forward without a moment’s hesitation. How
nicely he met all the calls of the moment. Out
over the lawn, right toward the rectory, his
flight of flicker oratory lifted him to the broad
porch. Here he took his stand and after survey-
ing his surroundings for a moment there came a
clear, ringing shout of victory. Without any
question his effort bore off the prize of the day.
The happy faculty of the institution seemed to
so consider it and the hand-shaking which fol-
lowed was fully up to the commencement stand-
ard. The entire afternoon was given up to a
reception that was every way first-class. Feast-
ing, speeches, songs, calls, dancing in the broad
house of the summer air, how merrily each flicker
took his part. When the day was measured, the
sentiment of the entire assemblage gave voice, in
a most resonant ‘‘ well done.’”? The next day the
halls of the bird university were silent, nothing
more of flicker education to be known there
until the advent of a new class in the coming
year.
120 BIRD PARADISE
Most of the bobolinks have left us and are
journeying toward the South. I saw a flock this
morning high in the air gaily pushing on their
way. The monotonous chirp was all the sound
they uttered and that they kept up while they
were within hearing. The male birds have
dropped their distinctive coloring, and the en-
tire tribe appears in its common, sober brown
dress. What an experience they will have from
this time on to next spring! Perfectly free to
go and come at will, plenty of food always at
their command, nothing to do but live and enjoy
life, it would seem that they might rank with
the happiest of the happy. In a measure they
do, but the vicissitudes of life company with
them wherever they go. After they leave the
North they lose largely all legal protection.
When they reach the rice fields of the South they
become real pests to the farmers of that section
and in self-defense the farmers are obliged to
wage war upon them. Thousands are killed and
used for food. About the first of January they
come to the waters of the Gulf. Here they tarry
for a little time, then launch out for their ulti-
mate destination in South America. Here they
Spend a few weeks on the great plains—entirely
BIRD PARADISE I21
removed from all sights and sounds of civiliza.
tion. Just how they know when to start north-
ward again I have not discovered, but they do
_ know, and as surely as May comes the bobolinks
appear fully equipped for the summer’s campaign.
The courage of the little sparrow-hawk is
hardly excelled by any member of his large
family. The other morning I was busy in my
garden when suddenly a great commotion in the
orchard attracted my attention. Thirty or forty
birds of all species were participants in the up-
roar, the noise increasing until I felt quite sure
all birddom was celebrating a real Fourth of July.
Just at this juncture I discovered a little spar-
row-hawk, dashing out into the field beyond the
garden. I saw he carried an extra burden, and
a little later found that he had picked up one of
the young robins on my lawn. The birds pur-
sued him, making his course anything but pleas-
ant. He dropped down on the farther end of the
garden, but found that his troubles had only just
begun. The attacking party grew more and more
excited. They tumbled over the hawk almost
in a body. Again he tried to escape by flight,
but the birds kept with him, and the last I saw
joo )6BIRDD PARADISE
of the party they were far over by the swamp,
where, no doubt, Mr. Hawk finally escaped with
his prize. I felt like interfering but concluded
on the whole to let the birds manage their own
affairs. ‘‘Is there a place where the creatures
will live, without preying upon one another ?”’
The great seams of deep ravines opening down
the slope, each holding a rippling brook, and -
each a stroke among the hills, made when the
‘morning stars first sang together,’ ah! how
they seem to call to each other across the broad
slope, ‘‘The hand that made us is divine.” The
great hemlocks on their rugged sides are the
green pastures of the wood, all the year through,
and when the winter gale searches their high
places, the harp of the forest yields its richest
notes. But what shall we say of the life that
nestles everywhere in these broad aisles? On
the trees and in the trees, under the leaves, just
at the surface of the ground, and deep down in
the earth, life in a myriad forms revels and goes
forward. All the new experiences are so much
new life, and all the new life is the old trans-
figured. ‘‘ Paradise regained’’ starts with para-
dise, and moves on to paradise,—all of it that
BIRD* PARADISE 123
blessed ‘‘hath” to which all is given. Bird
Paradise, as I see it, at any time, at all times,
is the ‘‘ house beautiful” always building, never
built.
I conclude, from what I see and hear, that at
least two families of the large hen-hawks have
nested in the cedar swamp east of the village. I
hear their clear calls every pleasant day and
usually see them soaring high in the air. Ihave
thought that this species of hawk was gradually
lessening in numbers, but this year, and last also,
there appears to be a setting of the tide in the
opposite direction. They have some virtues,
though they are not well pronounced. Hawk
virtue savors of the quarry from whence it is
hewn and needs considerable pruning before it
can be given much of a place among the good
things of time. The old birds seem to live a sort
of solitary life. Their predatory habits alienate
them from all friendship with other birds. Ilke
the way this bird defends his home castle. Un-
like other birds he makes no noise aboutit. His
blows come first, and they are hearty and vigor-
ous. I remember an occasion when I was watch-
ing a nest of them in the old swamp years ago.
g24° BIRD? PARADIGE
A party of crows were foraging on the upland just
beyond. Something disturbed them and they
came lumbering into the swamp in their heavy
way. One of them dropped down into the very
tree where the nest was, nearly into the nest it-
self. He had no sooner struck the spot than the
father of the callow brood struck him. He
tumbled over and kept tumbling over, the hawk
rendering all the assistance he could. The
sounds the discomfited crow uttered are nowhere
written in the vernacular of Croker’s tongue.
The order of his going had no stay in it until he
was well out of the woods. The entire flock took
their departure with him, the hawk remaining
master of the field.
Passing near the Bailey swamp I discovered
a marsh-hawk, evidently preparing his midday
meal. Somewhere in the marsh he had picked up
a Savory morsel and when I saw him he was seated
on a limb dissecting and eating his prize.
Among our many species of hawks this fellow
that dwells in the marshy places is in many
respects the most interesting. He has many of
the characteristics of his large family, though in
the main he seems of a more genial temperament
Din D) PARADISE 126
than most of his fellows. His cupboard which
includes the entire Swamp where he dwells is al-
ways well filled with a great variety of food.
From what I have seen I conclude that among
the smaller creatures that live there he classes
them all as welcome parts of his daily bread.
This hawk is quite apt to take excursions in the
night, being closely allied in some of its habits
with the common barn-owl. It puts its nest on
the ground or in a tussock of grass, taking care to
select a location well surrounded by water. I
enjoy the easy movements of the marsh-hawk as
he goes to and fro over his watery domain. The
other day I was watching one that seemed to be
out for a little pastime when suddenly hestopped
and dropped down to the bog and when he arose
again bore a large frog in his talons. I have
seen once or twice a party of crows invade the
precincts of this hawk’s summer home. Their
coming to the place is the signal for the most
vigorous action on the part of the hawk, the
crows tumbling over each other in their eagerness.
I heard the call of the cuckoo this week. He
is the last comer of all our birds and does not
seem to have a friend outside of his own house-
126" BIRD: PAR AD tot
hold among the entire host of birds. He al-
ways goes neatly dressed, and glides around among
the trees very much like the catbird. We have
two species, known as the black billed and the
yellow billed cuckoos. In general appearance
they are so much alike that one cannot tell the
difference only by close inspection. From what
I see of these birds I conclude that they are fully
entitled to the dislike of their fellow birds.
Their sly, gliding movements are a very fair in-
dex of their character. Audubon gives them a
name that is not at all to their credit. He says
they not only lay their eggs in the nests of other
birds but they suck their eggs and kill the young.
I never have seen them engaged in these vandal
acts, but from what I know of their habits I am
prepared to believe that they are fully competent
to show some bad behavior. Their call is
broken and abrupt—a sort of breaking forth of
the heat in sound. In my boyhood a pair of
them nested in the large barberry bush on the old
farm every year. I remember we gave them
what fellowship we could, but they acted as
though they cared little for it. I notice that with
birds, as well as with men, the stroke of the will,
made large enough, shapes all the character.
Cuckoo wills the hurt of his fellows, and soon finds
BUM PARADISE’ } ¥27
his hand against every man and every man’s hand
against him.
Of all the smaller birds that visit my lawn the
small flycatcher seems to be the most demonstra-
tive in asserting his presence and proclaiming his
wants. He has a metallic voice that he uses
without much intermission, during all his wak-
ing moments. He seems to regard himself as one
of the magnates of the bird world. Other birds,
however, accord him very doubtful prominence.
His appearance is the signal for a sort of indiffer-
ence on the part of his fellow birds that is quite
noticeable. Just as soon as a pair of these fly-
catchers establish their summer home the male
bird is organized into a vigilance committee that
leaves no stone unturned in doing his entire duty.
The tone of his metallic voice is gauged to a key
and manner of the genuine scold. The presence
of any other bird opens the flood-gates of the fel-
low’s feelings and the protest that follows is
belligerent in every particular. The oriole seems
to be his special dislike, so much so that I havea
notion that the brilliant-colored fellow has in
some way vented his spleen on his smaller brother.
Of course the robins and blackbirds receive their
128 BIRD PARADISE
share of the flyeatcher’s attention, but it is not
quite so sharp-edged as that which he bestows
upon the oriole. How the diminutive body bears
the stroke of his abrupt call all day long without
being utterly worn out is a problem. In the
realm of our innumerable flies the flycatcher does
himself honor and performs a work that cannot
be overvalued. I have a notion that the fellow’s
eye can detect a fly that is too minute for the
human sight to discover. I have watched them .
many times and was quite sure from the snapping
of the bill that the flies were passing in goodly
numbers, though I was not able to see any of
them. Asa scavenger of the air our small friend
shows a redeeming trait that goes far in restoring
him to the good graces of the parson.
Tuesday was a very perfect spring day. Its
warmth and beauty lured the parson to a long
walk far afield. The first sign of creature life
that I saw were myriads of small fiies that
seemed to have just entered upon the journey of
life. There were many species and all intensely
active. I had the notion that once well out in
the fields I should get entirely clear of the com-
mon house-fly, but the fact was that I only
BIRD) PARADISE 129
seemed to get a little more right where he was.
Curious that the fellow seemed glad to see me
when I had no shadow of friendly greeting for
him. The minute fellows that I could only see
as the sunlight was reflected from their wings
were in such numbers all along the swamp side
that it could be truly said they filled the air.
What a feasting place for the flycatchers who
will be with us a little later. At the brook side
I stopped for a time to hear the song it sings
when the spring storms swell the volume of its
waters. I had seen it a thousand times before,
but this morning it was practically a new brook.
The sun’s rays played with the ripples, shaping
a variety of shadows—every one seemingly alive.
In one place the long spears of sedge grass
swayed from side to side like living creatures.
Their shadows on the gravel of the channel gave
them the appearance of gems of ‘‘ purest ray
serene.” Just at the crossing in the old road-
way I sat for a little time, and to my astonish-
ment and delight the water spiders made their
appearance. There were a pair of them to look
at, the same fellows I used to see there in my
boyhood. How easily they walked over the sur-
face of the water. I half fancied that they were
moved by the desire to show the parson how
1300°”—CU«C«C&iBI RDO PARADISE
easily they could pass and repass on the shifting
element under their feet. Rising to go, my
shadow was thrown across the brook and in-
stantly the spiders dropped to the bottom and
disappeared among the stones.
I notice that the hawks of different species
seem to enjoy the swamp scenery better than
that of any other locality in our hill country ; at
least their action seems to warrant that conclu-
sion. Yesterday I saw a pair leisurely tossing
about over the marsh just east of the village.
They belonged to the species known as marsh-
hawks, in some respects the most interesting of
the large hawk family. How easily and grace-
fully they move to and fro on their broad wings.
It certainly looked like an hour of pastime, though
there was every indication that they had an eye
for business. Quite a variety of food was pre-
sented for their choice and they improved the
opportunity offered to the best of their ability.
I am quite sure they picked up some frogs and
in one instance a field-mouse was added to the
menu for the day. I fancy the hawks really
enjoy their hunting expeditions. Success quick-
ens the blood in hawks as well asinmen. LEspe-
cially so when the effort is stimulated by hunger.
BIRD PARADISE = 131
In the bird it may not be less than a virtue and
in the man ranks the same if it be rightly used.
A fine specimen of a male bobolink came into
my lawn this week and stayed some little time.
During part of the visit he was quite close to the
porch and seemed really disposed to make the
parson understand that he meant to be especially
friendly. I do not recall an instance where a
member of this family put himself into such fa-
miliar relations with the human brother. If he
had his song with him he did not use it, neither
did he open his mouth to say anything of why he
was making such an unusual visit. From all
that he did not say, however, I received the im-
pression that the fellow had been grossly mis-
used. Very likely a hawk or some wandering
fox had visited his home and he only was left to
tell the story of wreck and ruin. What trage-
dies there are in bird life! Every day they occur
and it is only a few of the large number that we
ever hear of. After an hour or two the fellow
went his way, carrying with him my warmest
sympathy, though I know it was very doubtful
if he knew what it meant. This certainly is al-
ways true, that true sympathy extended always
132 BIRD PARADISE
does the sympathizer good whatever the effect
may be on the one that it is intended to reach.
I am now receiving visits from the warblers
who have spent the summer in the far North.
The little worm eating warbler was the first to
pay his respects to the parson, and he did it
handsomely, as all his family do. I saw him
first gliding up one of the long limbs of the
larches. How easily he threaded his way, just
as much at home on the under side of the limb
as on the upper. Evidently it was his dinner
hour, the feast not limited in the least by time
or quantity. Curious how birds keep so well,
eating almost without intermission during the
day. I see by the books that this warbler is
given the range as far north as southern New
York. I wonder if the books are correct. The
birds I see answer to the description of the war-
bler in every particular and I see them only in
the fall and spring. I never have seen their
nests but am told they are built on the ground
and resemble very closely that of the oven bird.
It speaks in audible tones very seldom and at its
best uses but little that is very musical. My
visitor stayed an hour or two and I should think
BIRD PARADISE 133
managed to secure several score of grubs in that
time.
Passing near the swamp thicket this morning I
was greeted cheerily by the song of the thrush.
It came out of the coverts so smoothly and sweetly
that one wondered how such a place could yield
such music. It was the stirring trill of Mr.
Thrush at his very best. What asongit is and
how it commands the attention of all the denizens
of the wood. I noticed that when it was given
utterance the other singers were silent. Very
likely the clear ripple of the notes was so bright
and entrancing that no others could be given a
moment’s thought. Usually the singing of one
of these birds is answered by another from some
point near by. I waited for the response and
half fancied at times that it was in the air, but
none was made. The lack of response, however,
had no perceptible effect upon the singer. He
went on and seemed entirely satisfied in having
the parson for a listener. The nest, no doubt,
was hidden away in the thicket, the young being
now nearly ready to shift for themselves. It has
occurred to me that if the young birds could only
shape and use the song of the species it would add
much to the attractiveness of our groves. We
134 BIRD PARADISE
have four species that are common here—all of
them fine singers.
I saw on my recent journey south quite a
number of hawks, large and small. They were
far enough south to escape the snow, and seemed
entirely at home. One large hen-hawk was en-
gaged in the pastime of soaring high in the air.
It was a bright, clear day, and the fellow ap-
peared to be enjoying every moment of his out-
ing. Not far from him were two or three turkey-
buzzards—first-class rivals of the hawks in the
art of soaring. With clear fields and warm
weather I could readily understand that the con-
dition of my old acquaintances was greatly im-
proved over their winter condition at the North.
But I could not help propounding the question,
‘Will these bare fields yield the fellows any large
supply of food?’’? The thick grass carpet which
we have at the North is not seen at the South.
With us this carpet furnishes the favorite resort
for innumerable bugs, grubs and mice. The
hawks know this fact and rely upon the supply
for the main part of their food. Of course in the
winter the doors of this great cupboard are all
tightly shut. In the South they are all wide
BIRD PARADISE 135
open, so far as the place itself is concerned, but
the carpet being entirely absent, there is no cover
for creatures of any kind. Doubtless there are
other retreats for the fellows, but I have the no-
tion that the fields of the South are not the pro-
lific home of the smaller creatures such as I have
named above. I noticed a small sparrow-hawk
prospecting in the immediate vicinity of several
negro cabins. He dropped down into one of the
yards, and I thought secured a luckless sparrow.
As we passed down the river from Wilmington I
noticed a small conference of the buzzards gath-
ered about some dead creature that the receding
tide had left above the water line. Two or three
hawks and as many crows took their departure
when the buzzards came upon the scene. A large
amount of food is furnished every day from the
river and ocean. The keen sight of all the birds
named above is simply wonderful. They quickly
discover the dead as well as the living animals,
and are certainly adepts in appropriating the de-
licious viands offered them.
In my boyhood several species of owls were
common here. The great hollow trees of the
wood furnished them with homes entirely to their
16. BIRD PARADISE
liking. The trees are all gone and most of the
owls also. I occasionally see the small screech-
owl, but rarely any other. As a boy I well re-
member hearing the calls of the larger owls in —
the great ravine of Bird Paradise. They often
gave them in the daytime and we sometimes saw
the staid fellows in the great openings of the trees.
At one time a family of owls dwelt in the old farm
wood, that indulged in unusual hoots and calls.
Occasionally they would give a sound like the.
tolling of a bell, especially solemn on the evening
of a calm summer day. I half fancied that the
fellows were holding some sort of service, and
that the bell sounding was a call to the gathering.
Another fancy of mine was that the great horned
owl was a sort of father and all around adviser
among the birds of the wood. A slight increase
of knowledge, however, dissipated all such crude
ideas and left the owl barren of any particularly
ornamental or useful traits of character. One
thing, however, the owls made most familiar :
they were lovers of the dark, and we were early
taught that with such belonged the deeds that are
evil.
The haleyon days for the minute insects are
mostly measured in the fall of the year. The
Die ARADISE . 197
sunny, dry afternoons they enjoy in the true in-
sect manner. The little gossamer spider is among
the most interesting of the great host. I wasover
at the old farm the other day and strolled down
to the hillside near Bird Paradise. At first I
thought the little fellows were not on duty. A
little later, however, the company assembled and
surely I never saw it larger. Out from the fence
and bushes the silver threads streamed with a
minute spider at the end of each one. There were
thousands in sight from where I stood, and every
fence and bush in our hill country was presenting
the same scene. The threads and the insects can
only be seen when the sun’s rays are reflected by
them. Curious how the thread is spun from the
little body—the creature letting it buoy him up
as the spinning goes on. Curious, too, how it can
all be wound up again and used over and over.
Down at the swamp side I lingered, hoping to see
another friend of my boyhood days, and sure
enough there the fellow was, seemingly the same
I saw sixty years ago. The little pool of water
enticed the boy again, and there on the surface
of the water was the happy boatman, just as I
saw him in my boyhood,—the water-spider, walk-
ing over the water as easily as some of his kin
walk over the smooth surface of the wall. I take
138° (BIRD PARADIGCB
the old seat and watch the little creature. It goes
to and fro, sinking to the bottom at will, a verita-
ble wizard of navigation. Master of his craft in
his appointed sphere, lacking nothing, so I sit at
his feet sure that I am listening to one of nature’s
great preachers.
The growth of the present season, I think, I
have never seen equaled. My garden apparently
has not lost a moment since it entered upon the
race last spring. I find it necessary to visit it
several times a day in order to keep abreast of
its forward march. At times I fancy there is a
well-ordered contest between the different vege-
tables. Those that revel in vines seem to have
the advantage. A squash vine has pushed its
way so vigorously that it is already twenty-five
feet on its march and the end is not yet. Here
and there it has camped, leaving a memento of
the stay in a squash of no mean proportions.
The wise heads of the place are the lettuce and
cabbage. If they nod at all it is when I am look-
ing the other way. Just now the early potatoes
are proving their worth in the test that is the
proof of the pudding. What delicious balls of |
fluffy white they present when they are bringing,
BIRD) PARADISE | 139
as they do, the best bow the garden can make.
But the variety of leaves that appear in the dif-
ferent growths is a sort of school that I enjoy
attending. Hach has its own way of telling what
it is, and each is fashioned after a pattern ‘‘ seen
in the mount.’’ Why not a revelation—every
leaf, every vegetable, all the growth of things
unseen? Why uot a school replete with law and
gospel ?
I have seen it stated that the rose-breasted
grosbeak, whenever the opportunity offers, feasts
upon the potato-bugs. How true the statement
is I do not know, but if the fact be as stated it
does seem as though the fellow’s taste had gotten
largely astray. Of course I have no real concep-
tion of the flavor of this species of bug. It may
be of a luscious character and no doubt the bird
so regards it. The potato-bugs are scarce this
year and as a matter of fact so are the grosbeaks.
Like other birds, the fellow may go where he
finds his favorite food abundant. By the way,
what a curious package of life the potato-bug
is. J know of but one attractive thing in his
make-up. He wears a suit that shows a stroke
of color all right. Otherwise he seems like a soft
a40° BIRD PARADISE
pulpy lump of matter that never is quite so
happy as when gorging himself on a stalk of a
potato vine. Grosbeak may show some defect of
relish by using the fellow for food, but if he does
it is about the only defect I know in the bird.
Among our wood birds he ranks high in both
song and appearance. The nest he constructs,
while not first-class, serves his purpose hand-
somely. The song is a warble that feels its
course along the aisles of the wood in a way
most attractive. In fact it is one of the delight-
ful songs among the wood melodies. I think they
extend the season of song longer than any other
of our wood birds.
I saw near the swamp last week a bright crim-
son colored fly. It was perhaps half larger than
the common house-fly, and appeared to be just
entered upon the life of the spring season. What
a singular provision it is that graduates the fly
in fall dress, thoroughly furnished for all the
good work that he seems ready to engage in.
This fellow was just a little dazed by the glamor
of the new world upon which he had so recently
entered. He would climb a spear of grass and,
balancing himself at the top, spread and shake
BIRD PARADISE 141
his wings as though he were testing his new
capacities before he ventured to use them. With
the glass I readily saw that his new suit was |
ornamented with a variety of colors, though he
seemed quite unconscious of the fact. I saw, all
about, where the crows had been, and congrat-
ulated Mr. Fly on his good fortune of being
hatched a little too late for their early visit. I
looked about for the fellow’s native place, but
did not discover it unless a little cavity at the
base of a decayed stump was the spot. I saw
several other species of flies—all of them accom-
panied by a retinue of their fellows, but this one
paddled his own canoe without fear or favor of
any of his kind. After a brief space of balanc-
ing and warming he set the entire machine of his
powers in motion. To his evident surprise all
went well with him and the last I saw of his
retreating form he was well out over the marsh—
gaining new confidence with every stroke of his
wings. I could but moralize something like this:
Here is an exposition older than any man has
devised. He who made it all keeps it open and
keeps it in order right through the ages. On
every side are things and creatures, millions of
them, each one a marvel of construction and
beauty, in almost every respect. What else is it
i42) BIRD PARADIS&E
but a Jamestown of wonders, its myriad doors
ever wide open to him who lingers there with
eyes to see and ears to hear?
I notice in my garden a great number of small
toads. The little fellows do not look large enough
to take care of themselves, but they seem to get
along very well. A few days ago they left their
home in the water and came out upon the land.
I have seen them making the venture in com-
panies of a hundred or more, all intent on finding
a location that they can regard as home. What
a curious instinct it is which leads them out of
the water home and establishes them in the snug-
gery on the land. Who would imagine that the
curious thing hatched in the water would ever
become a toad? The name tadpole or pollywog
seems to represent the newcomer very nicely.
‘‘ Pretty much all head and tail’’ was what the
boy said when he first saw one of the fellows.
For weeks they swim about in the water, furnish-
ing food for the fish and many water birds. When
the time arrives the great change occurs. The
tail disappears, the legs are put in place and a
new spirit takes possession of the fellow. He
hies away to a new world and in a sense drops
all the knowledge that his experience in the water
BIRD PARADISE 143
house has given him. I suppose their food is the
minute flies which are found in the grass in im-
mense numbers. If the weather be warm, as it
is this season, most any place in the lawn or
garden will serve as an abiding spot. They grow
quite rapidly for the first season, but I conclude
are several years in obtaining their growth. It
is a tradition in our hill country that they live to
a great age and doubtless the idea is in the main
correct. From what I see I infer that the crows
make the young toad a favorite article of food.
It is a little difficult to understand how such a
creature can be a very savory morsel. The toad’s
work in the garden catching flies commends him
highly. He is a first-class helper in securing
good vegetables.
Among the diligent workers that dwell in the
fastnesses of my lawn, I should give high
rank to the burying beetles. Their right to the
name is secured by askill and diligence as workers
that are quite remarkable. Frequently on the
old farm in my boyhood we would come upon the
fellows pushing one of their ventures that meant
food for the entire tribe for weeks to come. How
they find the dead creature that they bury so
nicely is an unsolved problem with the parson.
44" BIRIDO PAR ADIGE
I have known the pioneer of the band to appear
in a very few minutes after a young chicken had
died. In a short time others would arrive—all
bringing their burying tools with them, and all
getting right to work just as soon as they arrived.
Little by little they remove the dirt from under
the body, letting it down gradually until it is well
below the surface of the ground. Then they
tumble the particles of earth on the upper side
until the treasure is entirely covered. The time
of the task may take many days, but when done
it is certainly well done. The food which one
creature repels is the favorite article of diet with
another. 'The beetles enjoy with keen relish the
food that is only made savory to them by corrup-
tion. The eggs are deposited where the larve
as soon as hatched can feed upon the buried
body. The beetle to the ordinary vision seems
quite devoid of beauty, but when I put him under
my magnifying glass a new creature appears.
‘¢ He hath made all things beautiful in his time”’
is verified completely when we see things, ‘‘ not
through a glass darkly, but face to face.”’
The other morning I discovered a piece of meat
dropped by some one at the side of the road. A
:
i
BIRD PARADISE 145
single blue fly was investigating the prize, not an-
other of his fellows being insight. Returning
about two hours later I found the single fly
multiplied by at least two hundred. Where did
they all come from and how did they learn of the
feast spread for them? I think their system of
conveying news must be wonderfully efficient.
But the number assembled on the occasion noted
above was simply astonishing. They must have
been dwellers in the grass of the field near by and
doubtless the company I saw was only a corporal’s
guard of the vast number on duty in the wide
country. They may do harm as our wise men
tell us, and certainly they are not very agreeable
companions, but there is the other side of the
matter. The things they feed upon are of that
character which would be injurious in many ways
if they were not removed. The fly is ascavenger
of large value, and until we have a better system
of preventing his increase we shall need him for
the good he does.
If what the toad now says corresponds with
what he does then it conveys the single idea of
winter quarters. Under the clinging vines at the
side of the barn a venerable specimen of this
Ao) OBR DY PARA DIC®
ancient family has passed the summer. He
makes his presence known by certain utterances
that surely have nothing pleasing in sound, and
so far as my knowledge extends are not freighted
with valuable meaning. Mr. Toad doubtless is
more fully informed and in his own way enjoys
his special knowledge. I notice the fellow makes
full preparation for the winter some time before
the chilly blasts are exerting their influence. I
frequently find them nicely tucked away a foot or
more down from the surface of the ground, early
in October. It occurs to me that as the fellow is
situated with nothing special to do, it is a nice
arrangement if he can fold his hands and set the
long winter sleep in motion. The secret of when
to begin, however, belongs to the toad and will, I
judge, for all the coming years. I know of no
creature that counts the full grown toad as a
special viand at its feasts. The young fellow is
used, but the old fellow never! Early in the
spring the toad puts its eggs into the incubator
furnished by the pond, and I have the notion that
all the eggs hatch. The parent’s form does not
appear in the young toad.
BR My Ai hey
BIRD PARADISE _ 179
enjoying what looked like bird coasting. The
hill sloping down to the western gate of Bird
Paradise was a favorite place for their gather-
ings. Sometimes they would spend hours there,
all passing peaceful and pleasant. There are
more things in the world of birds than our
knowledge has yet dreamed of.
During the past week the weather has opened
some of its treasures to those who care to add
such wealth to their possessions. Very gently
the south wind went to sleep as the curtains of
night were put in place. The night journeyed
on until the stroke of twelve. Then a new order
of things was given the entire freedom of our
broad hill country. The northwest took charge
of the wind and almost at the first stroke made a
perfect success of the venture. There were two
or three rushes, followed by as many roars, and
the echoes everywhere were awake and doing.
The commotion was such that I ventured to look
out upon the scene. Snowflakes filled the air.
The wind jollied them and kept them in motion.
There seemed to be an understanding between
the two that the occasion was to be made the
carnival of the season. The morning broke and
180° BIRD PARADISE
the storm sang a new song, under the inspiration
of the cheery sunbeams. All day long the breezes
had sway, and I felt sure that there was no weak
spot in their efforts. Someway I fancied that the
friction of such ardent endeavor would send the
mercury toward the stars. On the contrary it
gave the atmosphere a chill that was measured
exactly by the cipher mark. Not a sign any-
where that really looked like the least expendi-
ture of effort. The winds ran their course, the -
cold kept pace with them, all of it, the beginning
and continuing, that is sure to seek and get its
own. Ah, my brothers, the winds and cold and
storm! The story of the day, rich in the min-
istry of ‘‘Sky Pilots’’ that guide their airy craft
safely, let the danger be what it may. |
My flock of English sparrows seems to increase
in numbers. Very likely the young fellows that
are now on the wing account in good part for the
increase. I could certainly get on nicely with
the flock reduced at least one-half. In fact they
might all be away for a day or two and things
at the rectory go on prosperously. Still the little
fellows have a place, and in that place make up
a part of my household that I should not like to
BIRD PARADISE 181
spare permanently. I rather enjoy their ener-
getic, offhand way of using anenemy. Only last
week a red squirrel looked in upon my lawn,
thinking, perhaps, to enjoy its quiet for a little
time undisturbed. Never did a squirrel reckon
more completely without his host. The sparrows
discovered him and in less time than it takes me
to tell it hustled him off toward the swamp,
every part of his small body sore with the blows
he received. Iam quite sure some of the habits
of the sparrows are changing. I see them using
more insects and worms this season than any
season before. The one lame thing about them
is their song. It seems to be the same shaky
apology for bird song that it was when I first
heard it. They appear to have no realizing sense
that it lacks anything. At least they go on using
it as though it were the song of songs among the
birds. Ah, such broad gleams of human nature
aS appear among the birds! The day of creature
life declares it and I suppose always will.
When the storm was at its height I heard the
calls of the crows mingled with those of the blue
jays—all somewhat chilly like the temperature
of the air. I noticed that the crows put forth no
182 BIRD PARADISE
effort to make headway against thestorm. They
were content to keep well within the shelter of
the woods and hills through the entire day.
When one did venture from the coverts the wind
tossed him to and fro with the greatest ease. I
am sure there is no other sight in the wide house
of nature more comical than the crow when the
great winds are upsetting all his plans. I havea
notion that the humor of the experience helps
warm the entire flock. Does the sharp cold
weather give a new lustre to the glossy suits of
the black fellows? I fancy that it does; at least
so it appears to me. Perhaps on a day of wind
and storm there are great compensations which
the crow knows and enjoys. I have tried anum-
ber of times to look in upon them when they
were shut in to one of their forest fastnesses, but
never with a very large measure of success.
Some of them are always on guard and the ap-
proach of a stranger is sure to be heralded to the
entirecompany. The bluejay has several marked
characteristics that give him close kinship with
the crow. Neither does any migrating that we
know about. Both have voices that are wholly
free from all musical tones. So far as I know
they have no friendships with other birds. Per-
haps their relation to other birds is best expressed
BIRD PARADISE 183
by the Ishmaelite condition, ‘‘ Hand against
every man.” Living such a life is sure to outlive
all that is princely in real being. Curious, these
birds, a long way from the fellowship that is per-
fect, and still my friends. Ah, there isa twang
to that that fits the human bow exactly.
Friday night was given to a snow carnival that
threw a great coverlid at least a foot in thickness
over all the fields. It came without a particle of
wind, a revelation of Mother Nature’s handiwork
not often seen. The trees held the crystals in
great quivering masses, while over the roofs of
the buildings it was curled and festooned like a
living creature. I heard the gentle breathing of
the storm at times through the night, and was
somewhat prepared for the morning’s revelation.
With the coming of the sun the storm died away,
leaving the earth clothed in its great mantle of
white. An hour later the wind looked out from
its western fastness and followed the look with a
bound that fairly filled the snow particles with
new life. The trees shook down their fleecy
mantle and everywhere over the fields the char-
iots of snow were driven with a free hand. Here
and there the drifts were shaped, no two of them
184. .BIRD PARADISE
telling the same story. Just beyond Roost Cot-
tage the wind carried the snow particles and so
dropped them that they lay in a great pile of al-
most perfect shaping. Back of the schoolhouse
and sheds the frolicking snow was given a resting
place that grew into a lone parapet, its crest ten
feet from the ground. Down in the field in full
sight from my study window I notice a long line
of drifts that show the curves and moldings of
most styles of architecture. How does the wind.
in its careless way throw the snow together,
shaping so many beautiful things? All my lifel
have seen and known of the work, but someway
do not fathom the mystery much more than I did
at first. ‘‘ Fulfilling somebody’s will ”—long ago
that was a discovery made by man, and the par-
son hears and heeds.
The advent of the snow has been a revelation to
the foxes. I am not sure that they like the snow
and cold ; still, as far as I can see, that is the
impression they give me. While the ground is
bare I rarely see one of them, and when I do he
seems to be away from home. To be seen as well
as to see seems to be an important element in
Mr. Fox’s character, and the broad snow carpet
BIRD PARADISE 185
brings him into large prominence as he goes
blithely on his way. One of his favorite strolls
is along the slope of Simmons’ Hill. If nothing
is hurrying him he will take abundance of time
and the trail he leaves behind is a very clear in-
dex of a quiet spirit. When the hounds are
sounding their horn—even though it be some dis-
tance away—the movements of the fox betoken a
condition of mind filled with alarm. Irather like
to see the fellow illustrating both conditions.
Someway I get something out of each condition
that gives one a clearer vision of the creature so
wild and alert. Not much occurs anywhere in
their vicinity that they are not conscious of. I
have seen them when the faint squeak of a mouse
arrested their attention and set every faculty of
their being on thealert. What hunters they are!
I know of no other wild animal that can hear and
see so much as the fox. And when once his at-
tention is aroused he is almost sure to secure the
quarry that comes into the range of his knowledge.
Many things in the character of the fox I like,
still I do not want him too friendly.
In the thick fog this morning a company of
crows became wholly lost. I heard the flapping
186 BIRD PARADISE
of their wings and a little later their loud calls.
Looking out I saw the party trying to find their
way out to the daily feeding grounds. Their
method of getting on was lumbering and heavy,
and for a time seemed not much more than mov-
ing heavily in rather of a contracted circle. They
came down quite close to the ground, dodging
here and there among the trees, evidently entirely
lost. Some of their movements were most ludi-
crous, especially the appearance of surprise when.
their best endeavor only brought them around to
the place they started from a few minutes before.
I put in a few shouts accompanied by clapping
of hands. It was an element in the day’s expe-
rience which apparently they had not calculated
upon. It made the parson a sort of storm centre
in the flock of dusky fellows, and such a hustling
as followed the shouts was an exhibition of crow
movement where none stayed upon the order of
his going. In two or three minutes the entire
flock had scattered out in every direction, and I
could hear them talking the matter over, no
doubt laying blame upon the parson for his
rude interference with their well-laid plans. I
found some consolation in the fact that the crows
in the same situation would have emulated my
action to the very letter. No other creature in
BIRD PARADISE 187
the range of my knowledge enjoys a real joke any
more than a crow.
Occasionally I hear of one of the little grebes
being seen in our hill country. The fellows are
active and in some ways interesting, but why
they should with their equipment seek the snow-
covered fields is a mystery. On the wing or in
the water they find their way quickly and are
more or less graceful in all their movements.
But when they attempt to practice walking they
show in every movement the ungainly efforts of
the novice. I suppose that we are sometimes
favored with their visits, through the agency of
a great storm. Iam told that the heavy winds—
finding them on the wing near the coast—drives
them far inland before they can effect a landing.
Under such conditions, they seem to lose all
realizing sense of where they are or of where
they desire to go. A few years since, a large
number of these birds were given a shipwreck
of this character, hundreds of the creatures ap-
pearing in Central New York. Most of them
perished, only a very few being able to get back
again to the old home. Being water birds they
depend upon the brooks and open ponds for their
188 BIRD PARADISE
food, all of which in our severe cold weather are
virtually closed to them. The grebe is furnished
with two local names—dipper and dabchick.
They nest far to the north, and I am told the
nest is most singular among the many curious
nests of birds. One writer says: ‘‘ Imagine a
little floating island of mud anchored securely
to a marshy bank. Place in the centre, nearly
level with the surface of the water, a handful of
grass and leaves and you have the nest of the
dabchick. Frequently the water, as it is moved ~
by the wind, sways the nest back and forth and
ofttimes the eggs rest in the water. All the same,
however, to the grebe. The work of incubation
goes on—the little family in due time graduating
to the broad freedom of their watery home. Of
course they have many enemies and the young
are constantly exposed to their ravages, but
enough escape of the annual brood to keep the
number good.’’
There seems to be an extra number of English
Sparrows spending the winter in our place. I
am not sure that the extra number is massed in
one flock as has been common heretofore. I see
them everywhere in the village and every day
on duty apparently with all their might. Their
BARD, PARADISE ° 489
winter supply of food is somewhat circumscribed,
but like many other species of birds they can get
on for several days very well with a limited
amount of food. From the parson’s standpoint
it would be a nice thing for them to migrate and
spend the winter in the South. We could spare
them here at the North and the outing I think
would do them good. I should miss their games,
if they are games, and there is a certain kind of
cheerfulness about them even when they engage
in their battles that is nice to contemplate. If
the fellows are ever conscious of the many changes
of weather in our inclement season they rarely
ever show it. Heat and cold seem to affect them
about alike and both are greeted cheerily so far
as I can see. Really there is some good in the
English sparrow.
With the advent of the snow-bunting we may
count our winter as fully launched. I have heard
the calls of these birds several times, but as yet
have not seen any of them. True to their usual
practice they first people the air several hundred
feet above the fields below. I have a notion that
the fellows spend three or four days on the wing
when they first arrive in our section. I hear
them passing sometimes in the night, giving out
190 BIRD PARADISE
the same call they do in the daytime. I hear
them, too, several days before I see them—pretty
good evidence that they have very little inter-
course with sublunary things when they first
reach their winter haunts. Of all our birds it
seems to me that bunting has the best right to
bear the name of snowbird of any that I know.
His color, song and habits all tend snowward,
and I know of no other creature that gets quite
so near to the heart of the cold driving storm.
When bunting gets his wings into close touch
with the wings of the storm both storm and bird
seem to delight in the fellowship. One of my
free gramophones has place in my ‘‘ house beau-
tiful”’ when bunting and storm join as one ina
carnival of song. Someway the songs are all old
and just as clearly all new. No repetitions ever,
naught in the entertainment they give but the
blessed unison of voices that never pall upon the
eager taste of ‘‘ the ear that hears.’’
I have seen this week a small flock of yellow-
birds. They came into the field near the rectory
and really seemed to act as though they were just
home from a foreign land. I have the notion
that. birds, like human beings, have times of
BPR wy PAR AD FISE 1g!
genuine homesickness. While they live after a
manner that makes every place home, there are
places that stand first on the heights of their re-
gard. I interviewed the flock I saw but elicited
nothing touching their whereabouts since the nest-
ing season closed. From what I have seen I con-
clude that they took a trip well up into Canada.
They had nothing really to do, that is from my
standpoint, and a journey would pass the time
for them and perhaps help fit them for the varied
experiences of the winter season. Of all our
small birds the yellowbird is the last one that I
should expect would remain at the North during
the cold weather. His size and his clean bird
character would seem to fit him perfectly for a
sojourn in the sunny South. I have seen a bird
there that resembled our yellowbird closely, but
I could not ascertain to just what species he be-
longed. Of course if he found his way south-
ward in the winter we should lose his cheery
presence—a change in our cold season that we
would be loth to have occur. The little fellow
uses a very pleasant call note in the winter and
in all his actions is everywhere as bright and
lively as he appears in the summer. A little
later they will gather in large flocks, ranging over
the fields among the merriest of our winter birds..
192, BIRD PARADISE
It is a curious fact that nearly all of our winter
birds rank below the average as singers. They
have little to put aside when they drop all the
songs they use. I have recently seen an article
where the writer speaks very highly of the blue
jay as a singer. He kept one in a cage fora
number of years and of course had an excellent
opportunity to learn all the musical facts the
bird could furnish him. I have heard their |
sharp calls and some of the softer notes, of which
the writer speaks, but nothing that I could term
a real bird song. The little chickadee uses his
song throughout the year and it is most attract-
ive, though brief. None of the woodpeckers,
so far as I know, use anything that could pos-
sibly be rightfully entitled a song. Burroughs
speaks of the rattling noise they make high up
on some dead dry limb as a sort of apology for
a song and possibly his surmise may be correct.
Snow-bunting trills a few notes as he passes high
up in the air, but his real song he reserves for the
nesting season later in the spring. Yellowbird
follows the same rule, using in the winter only a
brief call note. If the matter were left to me to
decide, I should certainly have some of the regu-
lar song dispensed in the midst of the frost and
BIRD PARADISE 193
cold. Still, if my knowledge were to decide the
question, I can readily understand that the whole
scheme might read ‘‘ failure, from first to last.’’
Occasionally during the winter I hear the call
of the owls from out of the darkness—weird
speech of the night. If there be any bird of our
many species whose language appears to be en-
tirely appropriate to the occasion then it seems
to me the owl is that bird. He has no concep-
tion, I am sure, of anything that could be called
a song. The most attractive sound he makes is
a little more than a gruff outburst of muffled syl-
lables that are most honored by being forgotten
as soon as possible. If the owl knows about his
place among the creatures, knows how he has
lived and is living, then one would suppose that
his vision would be heavily freighted with dis-
couragement. I cannot see in all the years I
have known him that he has made a single par-
ticle of improvement in any direction. . His walk
and talk, his living by night and by day, his en-
tire endeavor in being an owl all seem to be ex-
actly the same they were sixty years ago. It
would seem that threescore years ought to show
some improvement if any had been made. Be
194 BIRD PARADISE
that as it may, there he is, wrestling with the
owl problems of life, and it may be, solving
more of them than we think. I have thought
sometimes that if there was some way by which
I could record the fellow’s adventures as he goes
about in the dark it would be a book well worth
perusing.. I judge from the little I know of his
life during the winter that there are days when
he has no knowledge of anything that he
could term his daily bread. Possibly when the
snow is deep and the cupboard bare he may
journey southward, but if he does we have no
knowledge of it. Some day we may know him
better. is
One of our most interesting small birds bears
the name of nuthatch. There are two species—
the white and the red-breasted. Six inches will
fully measure the length of the bird, but his ac-
tivity is so great that I sometimes think him
much longer. The white-breasted species is the
most common and can be easily distinguished by
the color of its plumage and by its peculiar call.
The back is a lightish blue, and the breast white.
The song is an incessant repeating of the sound
‘‘guank.’’ The range of the little fellow is over
most of North America. He knows nothing of
BIRD PARADISE 195
migration, being a common resident the year
through. Holes in the trees or posts furnish
them with nesting places, which they line with
feathers and fine grass. A pair have nested in
this vicinity this season and I have seen them
almost every day. There is a sort of domestic
flavor to their song that renders it attractive and
the movements of the little fellows in the trees
are always interesting. I know of no other bird
that can assume so many different attitudes in
the same length of time. I sometimes think
their favorite position is the reverse order of the
head downward. One writer states that he has
seen them when asleep in this posture. In my
boyhood this species of birds was a citizen of the
woods almost wholly. Now, however, they are
common in the lawn trees and orchards. I know
of nothing that is harmful that can be attributed
to them. They are favorites with all bird lovers.
A neighbor of mine, out of the wealth of akind
heart, sets a winter table for the birds. It is
spread on the back porch of her house and is
patronized by quite a large number of happy
guests. I notice in the company woodpeckers,
chickadees, sparrows, blue jays and occasionally
196 BIRD PARADISE
at night, I suppose an owl drops in, being the
only feaster at that hour of the day. The birds
that visit the place seem on peaceable terms with
one another, which is not always the case, when
they meet in the summer. They use their eall
notes freely, which is about all the song most of
them have. The woodpeckers are not very talka-
tive in the winter, though they appear lively and
happy hearted. The chickadees are sprightly
and use their entire song more freely, if possible, _
than in the summer. What cheery little fellows
they are. The very tone of their voices is most
attractive. Of course the English sparrow is on
active duty wherever he finds anything to eat.
His capacity for food is not excelled by that of
any other bird. No other bird more talkative,
and I half conjecture that no other bird really
says less. For noise that reaches far and is high
keyed, the blue jay furnishes a supply that is
simply unrivaled among the feathered songsters.
I think he enjoys using his voice and startling all
birddom with the sharp, piercing sound.
I hear that my crow friends are gathering in
their winter haunts. Someway their wireless
telegraphy has given them the news that has
BIRD PARADISE 197
brought them, almost to a crow, into the old
places. I cannot conceive of any advantages
which the weather just now extends tothem. I
don’t know that the weather really enters into
the problem they have to solve very much. So
far as I can see they go to and fro pretty much
oblivious to everything else but something to eat.
I see them going to their night’s rest among the
hemlocks in the old Addington woods—mercury
dropping far below zero during thenight. From
every point of view that man commands the bed-
chamber of the crow on such a night is about as
cheerless as one can imagine. I have heard them
from the old farm giving expression to some of
their feelings and while the utterance was not
particularly cheering, it had very little in it that
one would regard as a protest against any of the
surroundings. Once, I remember, the entire flock
came rushing out of their bedchamber in the mid-
dle of the night and after circling around for a
time went off to a new place of rest on Frankfort
Hill. We saw nothing of the cause of the dis-
turbance, but conjectured that some prowling
owl dropped in upon them, levying tribute for an
early breakfast. The crow, I fancy, is not the
custodian of a great deal of courage, at least he
rarely uses the article even if he possesses it.
198 BIRD PARADISE
A friend writes me that he sets a table for his
bird visitors supplied with bones and suet. He
states that he has seen the downy woodpecker eat
his fill then take a piece and carry it to an oak
tree forty yards away and secure it in the shaggy
bark. It is an instance of provision for the rainy
day not common to any great extent with the
birds and not common, in that particular way,
with many of our animals. I have seen it with ~
different species, but varied in the manner of
doing so that no two acts appear to have much in
common. A friend of mine, who resides near the
large wood just west of the village of Clayville,
described the action of downy woodpecker that
really showed what had all the appearance of a
process of reasoning. He came out of the wood,
took his place on a maple tree that stood near my
friend’s house and after tapping it with his sharp
bill in a dozen places flew away. The maplesap
trickled down the rough trunk and the flies soon
congregated in large numbers. Downy returned
and feasted on the flies, his previous work ap-
parently preparing the way for the feast. The
shrike will sometimes store a small amount of
food, but I know of no bird that will provide to
any great extent for the future. Most of the
BIRD PARADISE 199
birds that stay with us during the winter have
their food provided for them to such an extent
that enforced fasting with them israre. When
their supply of food is shortened through stress of
weather they can easily find their way to an
abundant store all ready for use.
One of my winter pleasures is a stroll along the
Swamp side. When the weather is right and the
walking in keeping with it there is a very
gracious return of pleasure, nicely distributed
over every foot of the way. The other morning
I bent my steps in that direction, and although
the weather was not perfect nor the walking very
satisfactory, still I managed to gather some real
treasure during the hour. The evergreens wore
the coats which give them their names, and I
fancied their winter salutation had more life in it
than the best that the summer gives. I rapped
at the doors of the muskrat houses, but gathered
no response. A flock of blue jays came out of
the thickets near the hillside, and I am quite sure
I never met them when they had more to say.
Blue jay talk has the merit of abundant sound,
but farther than that I am not prepared to pro-
nounce upon its excellence. My cheery friends,
200 BIRD PARADISE
the chickadees, seemed to keep step with me dur-
ing the entire walk in the vicinity of the swamp.
I am sure I understand them, and am quite sure
that they understand me. Half a dozen crows
gave voice from the hilltop of the old farm and
as I caught their hoarse accents, I easily reached
the conclusion, ‘‘a good second to the rattling
volleys of talk fired by the blue jays.’’ Return-
ing homeward, I saw where Mr. Fox had stepped
lightly over the snow, his footsteps telling out —
the character of the merry-hearted fellow that
made them.
The woodpeckers are getting on their winter
dress and manners. They have some trials in
common, but each species is quite original after
its kind. ‘They are all peaceful fellows, in the
main, though none of them will submit quietly to
any extended abuse. Yellowhammer is only
half measured in the woodpecker family ; still he
honors handsomely the distinguishing traits of
his race. Among the smaller birds he has size
and strength, so that he has little to fear from his
smaller companions. His activity insures safety
from the birds of prey, so that on the whole he
can behave in a natural manner. There is no
BIRD, PARADISE 201
merrier bird, no bird that outdoes him in romp-
ing, rollicking fun. When hespeaks his language
is full of a sort of ‘‘ hurrah boys”’ that wakes the
echoes on every side. His playfulness is prover-
bial ; in fact, all his work seems to be done in a
playful manner. His eminent domain includes
all the domain there is, and no citizen of his broad
realm is ever other than a freeman, in thought,
word and deed. His way of building his house or
of training his children seems to secure the young
birds from the trials and perils that most of the
other species meet. I never have seen the young
flickers tumbling around on the ground half
fledged. Probably they have some experience
of that kind but it has not come under my ob-
servation. In short, yellowhammer goes and
comes, works and plays, and no other bird illus-
trates more completely than he the riches of
hearty, whole-souled, merry bird life.
Occasionally I see a woodpecker this winter,
but so seldom that it hardly seems like one of our
old time cold seasons. From what I see in the
woods I judge that they are not present anywhere
about here in their usualnumbers. Possibly they
are adopting the customs of other birds and are
202 BIRD PARADISE
taking a trip to the sunny South. IfIwerea
woodpecker, as I am an observer, I think I should
hie away to the soft air and open fields of the
summer clime. But woodpecker no doubt knows
his own business and adopts the best scheme pos-
sible for his welfare. There is something in a
true character, practically oblivious to the chang-
ing moods of the weather, that is more or less in-
Spiring. Our winter birds appear to present this
kind of character, and what is more noticeable,
to rejoice in it. In the great ravine on the north
side of Bird Paradise I find the woodpeckers
usually when they are scarce everywhere else.
The place has all the conditions of a winter resort
for the fellows and they improve their oppor-
tunity. I have not been there this winter, and
it may be that the dearth of birds is in vogue
there as elsewhere. Two of the gray woodpeck-
ers and three or four sapsuckers make up the
count in my lawn trees so far this season.
It is seldom that a flock of wild geese is seen in
our hill country. Last week a merry company
of a hundred or more passed over on their way to
their winter home. To the young people of the
party every step of the way was a revelation. I
BIRD PARADISE 2.03
am told that the advanced guard of the migrating
host consists entirely of young birds. Just how
the wise ones know I am not informed, and I
have my doubts about the statement holding all
the truth. In my experience in Oklahoma I
found that the old and young birds journeyed to-
gether. I am quite sure that the old birds are the
leaders of each flock. What plodders they are.
All the night through they go steadily on their
way seemingly little wearied by the effort. Dur-
ing the day they spend considerable of the time
on the ponds and along the streams. In my boy-
hood it was a common thing to find them in the
marshes near the old swamps, and our sportsmen
secured them easily. Occasionally I have seen
the large cranes here in company with the geese,
though I doubt if they care to associate very much
with each other. One of the most sombre objects
in the wide house of nature is a crane stalking
around in the shallows of one of our hill ponds.
Handsome with them must be what handsome
does, for the vision of their persons never re-
veals it.
A long walk across the fields this morning had
many wintry aspects, and yet it was nicely punc-
204 BIRD PARADISE
tuated with delightful spring touches. Robins
and bluebirds were everywhere and every one
seemed to haveasongtosing. It was not entirely -
a concert conducted by the males, for many of
the other sex were present and joined cheerily in
the common refrain. Just how the fellows find
food to satisfy them I cannot learn. There are
bare spaces of ground, though most of the fields are
still carpeted with snow. There is food tucked
away in the grass, grubs and insects, and very
likely they make use of this great cupboard
freely. I notice that the bird life early in the
spring is more spirited than at any other season
of the year. Of course at that time they have a
large amount of business on their hands, and it is
business that they enjoy working at with all their
might. Very nearly as soon as they arrive from
the South they search through the trees for the
right place to construct their summer cottage
and if the weather is favorable they get right to
work getting everything into shape. The early
comers are none of them real adepts at nest build-
ing. Robin eschews all beauty in his work and
bluebird makes little or no effort beyond the
shaping of a house that serves all practical pur-
poses. Each works out his own plan, and that
meets all requirements in every case.
BIRD PARADISE _ 205
Curious how the mild weather interferes with
some of the plans of our winter birds. Several
species go into hiding somewhere when the south
wind mellows the temperature of the air. I
never see or hear the buntings only when the
winds and snow are holding one of their stirring
carnivals. The yellowbirds rarely interview
me in mild weather. So, too, the wood birds
are not apt to call on the parson except when
they come on the wings of the snow and the cold.
I like the kind of character which rises to meet
the occasion, especially when the occasion in
wind and storm has become more or less for-
bidding. Bunting’s method of using a storm is
an admirable one. He responds to its shouts
and clamor in kind for kind. He sails with the
wind any whither that the wind may please to
take him. At such a time he trills his best song,
as he also shows his greatest activity. What
preachers the birds are. In fact, the fellows are
living texts and the sermons, like the texts, are
rich, I sometimes think, with the ‘‘alive and
dead and alive again forevermore.’’
Where do the crows sojourn for several weeks
in the fall? They disappear for a time, scarcely
206 BIRD PARADISE
one showing its dusky form during the time.
The movement they make is not a necessity from
lack of food, or stress of weather. It may have
place through the desire for a greater variety of
daily bread or it may be an outcome of the fel-
low’s love of adventure. Why not a North Pole
in the crow world and why not many a Cook and
Peary vieing in the strife to discover all there is
to discover? As I know the crow character, it
has many curious traits and perhaps the love of
adventure is not lacking in the list. I feel quite
sure that there are times in the fellow’s experi-
ence when he indulges in a kind of drollery that
might well be termed North Pole humor. At
any rate it seems to have very little warmth in
it. I sometimes cherish the notion that the crow
host is marshaled—especially in the winter sea-
son—by a leader that uses his authority accord-
ing to a code of laws peculiar to the dusky army.
Even among the smaller flocks there are indica-
tions that lead one to conelude that many of their
movements are shaped by one in command.
They never leave their movements unguarded.
I have verified this repeatedly. Wherever a
flock of crows has assembled some prominent
outlook is occupied by their scouts. The ap-
proach of an enemy is announced by loud calls,
BIRD PAR ADISE 207
the tone of the call sounding the alarm. Asa
scavenger the crow ranks among the first. Al-
most everything is fish that comes to his net.
One of the Utica dailies describes the experi-
ence of a dog in a short interview with a com-
pany of English sparrows. When the ordeal
was over the dog no doubt was a number of
degrees wiser than he had ever been before. I
have seen the same scheme put into operation by
the sparrows on my lawn, only the animal dis-
ciplined was a squirrel. Last fall my attention
was attracted by an unusual noise in the maples
front of the church. A little investigation re-
vealed the fact that a squirrel had fallen into the
hands of a company of English sparrows and
they were squaring accounts with him for
some of his depredations on their nests earlier in
the season. Every bird was shouting at the top
of his bird voice, and wings and legs and feet
were mixed in a mass completely hiding the
squirrel. After the mélée had lasted a few min-
utes the excited crowd rolled out of the tree like
a ball. Down they went to the ground, the
Squirrel making frantic efforts to escape. He
clambered up a tree and out to the old church
208 BIRD: PARADISE
tower, every sparrow striking him hard and at
the same time freeing his mind in the vehemence
of sparrow speech. Through a crevice there the
red fellow darted, escaping his persecutors by a
most narrow chance. I am quite sure that a
few minutes more of the sparrows’ work would
have ended Mr. Squirrel’s career. I had little
sympathy for him, knowing that he ‘‘ was reap-
ing as he had sown.”
Occasionally the conditions on Paris Hill seem
to be entirely favorable for a first-class storm.
In some way last Sunday offered inducements
that were freely accepted by the storm bureau,
and in an incredibly short space of time were put
to use that I have never seen excelled in our hill
country. All day Saturday the skilled workmen
were busy getting everything into shape for the
carnival on Sunday. During the evening I
could hear the legions gathering and I half
fancied that the extra efforts of the wind were
the stirring commands of the one in charge. A
little after midnight the winds took full posses-
sion of the occasion. When the morning came
the scene had put on a demeanor that invested
it with a grandeur not often seen in our winter
BIRD PARADISE _ 209
storms. Without any question everything in
the realm of storms was wide awake, and doing
its large best to make the undertaking a perfect
success. Two or three times during the day I
found my way out into the path of the winds.
On each occasion naught but sure anchorage kept
the parson from drifting away on the swelling
tide. I almost envied the buntings that were
riding the wild steeds of the sky, not in the
least endangered by their apparently reckless
venture. I could see no reason why the rush of
the great winds should have any stay short of
destruction on every hand, but the reason was
there. On the tablet of the trusting heart it
reads ‘‘ thus far and no farther.” Absolute safety
assured. Ah, the supremacy of that blessed
truth clothes the storm in its robes of gracious
beauty—every stroke of its hand a benediction
of joy and love.
Birds have very little affection for red squirrels,
and bunny bears the feathered brothers no abid-
ing good will. I notice that the English sparrow
takes particular delight in making the fellow’s
life a burden to him. Last week a flock of a
hundred sparrows and more discovered a red
‘si6° BIRD PARADICE
squirrel in my lawn trees. They gathered about
him until he seemed the centre of a great ball
of feathers. The contact was so close that the
squirrel seemed perfectly bewildered. The ball
of life went up and down the tree. Occasionally
he would emerge from it and start off on his
journey, but all in vain. The sphere of sparrows
would roll over once or twice and the old order
of things was reéstablished. The babel of sounds
which the sparrows emitted gave my lawn promi-
nence throughout the village. The conflict went
on for several minutes, the squirrel slowly work-
ing his way toward the church as though he
considered that a place of refuge. Finally he
dropped into a half-concealed cavity in the trunk
of the tree and his persecutors left him. I had
no particular sympathy for him as I knew of his
system of preying upon the eggs and young of
the birds.
Each successive year I find more and more
reason to believe that the broad shelf of wood
and ravine, stretching along the eastern slope
from our village, was properly named when it
received the title of Bird Paradise. I never
stroll there without finding something that seems
a real part of a paradise of birds. Each season |
HEIGHT
THE WESTERN
BIRD PARADISE 211
tells its own story, and tells it well. I listen
to the story, and someway the last one told seems
the best. Just now, the summing up of the
year, in common parlance, reads, ‘‘ A tale that
is told.”’ But a tale that is rightly told, when
one reaches the last word, opens simply to some-
thing higher and more precious. The leaves
that are all down from the trees tumble and
rustle about, but have their higher mission of
giving all their best to the new foliage that will
come with the spring time. The trees, themselves
bare and leafless, sway and bow in the winds,
and every movement breathes through the wood
the benediction of the ripeness and richness of
the year.
I heard this morning the plaintive call of the
wood pewee. I have heard it oftener this season
than any previous winter that [remember. What
a sort of weird, weary note it is. It sounds as
one might imagine the bird to feel—all alone in
the snow and cold. This fellow belongs to the
fly-catcher family and in the summer feasts upon
the flies, which it catches on the wing. What it
uses in the winter for food I do not know, but
fancy he makes a virtue of necessity and lives
largely without eating. Curious that many mem-
212° BIRD PARADISE
bers of this species migrate, while a portion of
them stay at the North. One would rather like
to know how they divide the responsibility, giv-
ing each his duty to perform. In the domain of
instinct, however, I can as readily understand
how only a portion of those moved by it should
obey its monitions as how all should. I appre-
hend the birds know little or nothing concerning
it at heart. I get nothing from them but the
simple facts.
A short visit from a little screech-owl one
morning this week gave a sort of introduction
to the day that rarely occurs in the parson’s ex-
perience. The fellow’s call came from the trees
on the front lawn. It was hardly light enough
to detect his form but the weird hooting was
easily a thing of the night. Of all the owls this
smallest of all is gifted with a voice and use of
it that distinguishes him among all his tribe. I
failed to detect him in the trees but caught his
hooting over and over. What an uncanny sound
it is and how it awakens the echoes of the dim
morning light. A little later I heard him from
the orchards east of the village and I conclude
with the rising of the sun he went his way to the
BIRD PARADISE 213
coverts of the swamp. This smallest of the owl
family is about the only representative of the race
that we now have in our hill country. In my
boyhood there were five or six different species.
The cutting away of the forests, especially the
large hollow trees, has effectually removed their
lurking places so that most of them have jour-
neyed to a more genial clime. I like the smaller
fellow for his many traits that shine with the
best of owl goodness. Of course he is not perfect,
though he stands high in the ranks of birds of
the night. Perhaps he does the best he can situ-
ated just as he is.
The bare branches swayed in the wind, cele-
brating the change by strains of new music.
Boy-like, I put my feet down into the thick
carpet of leaves and went a long distance, enjoy-
ing the rustle that resounded through the wood.
Every little while I wakened some denizen of
the place, that seemed to wonder what particular
business the parson had disturbing the quiet of
paradise. Just at the eastern outlook, a little
bevy of chickadees gave greeting, and nothing
else in the entire stroll was quite so cheery. The
great hemlocks on the farther hillside bowed a
gi4 BIRD PARADISE
sombre welcome, and put the deeper tone into
the music of the forest refrain. Seated on the
edge of the ravine, I found special delight in
tracing the brook as it wound along to the open
field below. There were places where the sun-
light filtered through the branches, turning the
ripple of the stream into a pile of glittering
jewels. But the carpet laid down so gently—
woven so deftly—wide and long as all the wood
—what a marvelous texture, and how easily it
was fitted in all its parts. I could see great folds
taken up and laid down again—no workman
visible in all the change.
My little screech-owl has now become a regular
visitor. Just at dusk one day he appeared earlier
than common and seemed to be in an unusually
merry mood. He came close to the house, under
my study window, and appeared not in the least
shy. Like the crows, he was getting most of his
food from the grass. If he has intelligence he
makes no showing of it in his appearance, and I
conclude that his social development is not more
pronounced than his triumphs of intellect. Oc-
casionally he gets a return from that small horn
of his that really has something musical in its
BIRD PARADISE 2
make-up. I half conjecture from his manner
that he is as much surprised at the outcome as
any one else. When the snow hides the ground
and most of the small birds are gone I am quite
sure my small friend suffers with hunger. At
such times in my boyhood we used to find the
fellow seeking refuge in the old farm barns.
Like other birds, however, he can suffer hunger
for a time without much apparent discomfort. I
suppose he knows all about the hours of dark-
ness, but no one else is the wiser for it. I do not
know that his deeds are evil, but he is a real
lover of the darkness. In my small domain half
the time belongs to Mr. Owl pretty much alone
and in his way he seems to enjoy it.
I had hardly thought that there were any fur-
bearing animals left in our hill country to trap,
but I am told that it is a business successfully
prosecuted by a number of persons in our town.
Living in Clayville is William White, who re-
ceives quite an annual income from the furs he
secures by trapping. Mink and skunk are the
principal animals that he traps, though there are
some others that he obtains more or less fre-
quently. Think of having a line of traps along
216 BIRD PARADISE
the streams and among the ponds that requires an
entire night to visit. See the equipment in the
time of deep snow for such a journey. Snow-
shoes, lantern, bag to place the spoils in and
plenty of real manly resolution to face storms and
the various vicissitudes of such an excursion. I
can understand how it offers some inducements
to one who cares to be induced in a stirring man-
ner. Alone in Mother Nature’s great house—the
storm raging, winds and snow playing hide-and-
seek among the hills—the darkness dense and
black on every side, why not a place to realize
fully that the winds are the winds of God, and all
the forces of nature playthings in His gracious
hands? There are nuggets of pure gold in the
realm of Nature that can only be picked up in
such a manner. The trapper going out into the
night may well consider himself the eye open to
it all under the one, all-seeing eye. He holds in
his keeping the key to the ten thousand mysteries
all around him. To use the key is to unravel the
mysteries, and the mysteries unraveled are open
doors, every one of them in heaven.
I do not know that the chickadees intend any
special amount of good to any one by their daily
BIRD PARADISE 217
visits to our village, but I do know that the
visits confer good. Like their Master and ours,
they go about doing good, and that is about the
only method I know of getting good. The real
test of our doing that which is good lies in the
consciousness that the river of life is flowing un-
vexed through the rightful channels in our small
domain. My chickadee friends may not know
any such test, may not be conscious of conferring
good upon anybody, but all the same they minis-
ter most graciously to the human brother and, so
far as I know, never leave undone what they
ought to do. The song they use is instinct with
the ‘‘soul of wit,’’ three or four notes measuring
the entire refrain. On the other hand, the notes
are of such a character that one never tires of
their repetition. If I were to choose from all the
bird songs the one charged with the most home-
like notes, I should give the preference to the
chickadee effort. I regard it as the finest antidote
I know for homesickness. The little fellow goes
to and fro, a perfect bird petition of ‘‘ Give us
this day our daily bread,’’ and not only illus-
trates the prayer handsomely, but shows in his
living the answer wondrously complete. When
I want a first-class sermon from a first-class
preacher I take my place in the great temple not
218 BIRD PARADISE
made with hands, chickadee himself the text, and
the message—the entire discourse a living breath
from the courts above.
On that one bright, clear morning of last week
I noticed the birds were unusually lively. I saw
them in my orchard and lawn tree and heard them
from the trees in the park. Blue jay was promi-
nent in sending out his call, not only in the fre-
quent repetition but in its far-reaching power.
Chickadee’s mild-mannered speech was entirely
in keeping with the bland character of the morn-
ing. Two or three crows flying over said their
say, and while it did not fit in very perfectly with
the cheery offering of the day it was no doubt the
best they could do. A little company of nut-
hatches were busy in the maples near the church
door, their soft voices blending nicely with the
mild temperature of the morning. A downy
woodpecker balanced in a friendly way on the
limb a few feet from my study window as
though he was an ambassador of peace from the
great realm of the weather. Down in the pasture
the goldfinches were breakfasting on the seeds of
the weeds just at the fence side. I could hear
their cheery call and occasionally see them flit-
BIRD) PARADISE,” .219
ting from place to place. I said a real bird
good-morning and followed it with my best greet-
ing, cherishing the idea that somehow the birds
knew what I meant.
I am quite sure that two orthree families of fox
parishioners reside in my large parish. I see the
tracks they leave in the snow and occasionally I
see one out for the daily walk. In the White
Creek ravine west of the village is one of their
favorite haunts. Another is located in the gorge
at Bird Paradise, and still another in the Smith
woods on the Utica road. I think they rather
enjoy locating their dwelling place in or near a
stone quarry. Someway they seem to know that
such a place is a retreat for them where they are
practically safe from harm. Just now with the
thick blanket of snow I have a notion that with
all the fellow’s resources he carries about with him
a feeling of hunger most of the time. When he
does get out on one of his strolls he frequently
passes along the slope of Simmons’ Hill. His
movements are free and easy, showing a native
grace that is the very poetry of motion. His
steady warfare upon many kinds of vermin makes
him a valuable scavenger, but his forays on the
220 BIRD PARADISE
poultry yard pretty effectually hide all his virtues.
I yield him the favor of seeing his good qualities
first, which is one of the methods of fellowship
that really conserves the good, both in the seen
and the one who sees.
With what ease and dispatch our insects and
some of the smaller animals get into winter quar-
ters. With many of them there seems to be no
preparation any further than simply to fold their
hands where the winter stroke finds them. Just
here on the window sill are two or three flies that
I am quite sure have put on their winter suit and
put it off several times already. The newly kin-
dled fire warms up their nest, life is astir, and to
all intents they are flies again, ready for any es-
capade of fly life. The fire dies down, the cold
asserts itself, and my small friends are as inert
and lifeless to all appearance as the piece of wood
upon which they lie. So with the bats and the
woodchucks in the main, though the larger ani-
mals always show some signs of life. It seems
like a very handy way of doing things, and no
doubt there are many beings in other walks of life
that would be glad to adopt some such handy
scheme. Rip Van Winkle had some experience
BIRD PARADISE 2%
in the business, and while it served to tide over
several hard places he did not in the end exactly
like it. I apprehend that most of us, under such
circumstances, would feel that we had lost some-
thing of value.
One of the old signs of the countryside reads,
‘(When the field-mice improve the fall weather
to put their homes in the hollow trees, then the
winter to follow will be a severe one.’’ I have
known the sign to fail as often as otherwise, but
then nearly all signs do that. Part of the lasting
value of the ordinary sign is its failure to ratify
the original outreach. What a curious life it is
that the little field-mice present to us. Whether
we can use them as prophets or not, the fact re-
mains that they go to and fro in the wide fields
always on duty, as they see and know the grace.
Sometimes when I am crossing the fields I visit
the large stone heaps, knowing well that my small
friends harbor there and have something to say
to me. Not long ago I turned over a half de-
cayed rail, and in so doing uncovered the nest of
a pair of these little fellows. It was the species
that we term the jumping mouse. There were
four or five young ones in the nest, and the way
222 BIRD PARADISE
they sought safety was most amusing. Each
young fellow fastened his teeth firmly in the
mother’s side—holding on stoutly while she
jumped rapidly away. At the sides of the stone
piles I frequently find evidence that shows the
ranks of these little creatures decimated by the
tragedy of a night-time. A _ strolling fox or
skunk, lying in wait, has taken his prize at the
door of the fellow’s humble dwelling, feasting
upon it in sight and sound of the frightened
household. Ah, how widely this condition of
creature life reaches! Hardly a life in the wide
domain of being that continues its existence but
uses this means. To be requires something not
to be, and who shall say that it is not the saving
of all?
The chickadee always behaves well, but some-
way I think he is at his best in the winter. The
little fellows take possession of my lawn trees—
apparently just as happy in the snow and cold as
when the flowers bloom. While they are socially
inclined, I rarely ever see more than five or six
in a flock. As architects, they rank with their
near relatives, the woodpeckers. In the cold
weather their snug homes in the trunk of the ©
BIRD PARADISE 223
tree defy the discomforts of the season. They are
particularly well situated for light housekeeping.
Their table is as extensive as all the trees in their
reach. Bark table-spreads and the viands, just
under the bark—always ready for use. faultless
table manners mark their demeanor, while they
are taking their meals, and food-taking employs
most of their waking time. When I visit the
wood I am met at the door by the chickadees,
and usually they accompany me during my entire
stay. Easily I get the idea that they are extend-
ing a cordial welcome to the parson. The idea
does me good and seems to do the birds good
also. The ups and downs of life are nicely illus-
trated by the chickadee’s movements. He ap-
pears the happiest when he is running down the
tree. His athletics combine all the turns and
twists that can be made by a living creature.
Then that song of his! What can be cheerier—
the very tone of it, domestic in every sense of
the word! A piece of meat hung in the porch
centres their attention during the winter, while
furnishing them with a feast that they appreciate.
The Audubon calendar for 1908 bears on its
first page a picture of a bevy of nuthatches that
224 BIRD PARADISE
seem to impart a summer air to what otherwise
would be regarded as a winter scene. The two
species—red and white breasted—are given in
the sketch and if one of them should sound the
peculiar call of the bird the picture would be
complete. These birds bear a close resemblance
to chickadees and sapsuckers and are easily mis-
taken for those birds. Their movements, while
very Similar to the ones above named, have some
turns peculiar to the species. They seem to be
the real acrobats of the bird host. No other bird
gets up and down the trunk of the tree with the
perfect ease of these fellows. Head downward is
their favorite attitude and I am told they fre-
quently sleep in this position. They are adepts
at shaping their nests. In some half decayed
branch they excavate a hole eight or ten inches
deep. This they line with some soft material
and after rearing their young make it their home
for the remainder of the year. I scarcely ever
see them in my lawn trees only in the winter.
No other bird excels them in good-natured friend-
liness. I never see them quarreling with other
birds and among themselves they pass the time
in the fellowship of a household that is a unit
in its common aims and work. On the old farm
in my boyhood they were daily visitors during
BIRD PARADISE 225
the winter. These that I see now seem to be the
same birds that I saw sixty years ago, and so far
as their actions are concerned they are the same
fellows.
A pair of nuthatches patrolled my lawn trees
one day this week. The weather was not per-
fect, but it was not allowed to interfere in the
slightest degree with the birds. They went
about their business, which really looked like
play, in the cheery fashion peculiar to their race.
Up and down and all around they went, and I
fancied there was not a square inch on the trees
they did not look over. They would roll around
at times, as though hung on a pivot, the little
body balancing perfectly. They gave voice to
their feelings, and no more domestic sound can
be heard anywhere. With nuthatch, I am per-
fectly willing that he should keep the ripple of
song he possesses, for it certainly ripples in a
most delightful manner. What a great store-
house of food in common with the woodpecker
these fellows have nicely provided for themselves.
- One who knows how perfectly, in the fall of the
year, cans a hundred and more different varie-
ties of meats, and all that nuthatch has to do
226. BIRD PARADISE
when hungry is to open a few of these cans and
appropriate the contents. So far as I know, none
of them ever spoil, or if they do, there is always
enough left to supply every possible want. Com-
mend me to nuthatch as a can opener. With
that little bill of his he loosens the cover, and
with a dexterous toss of the head throws it off,
taking the contents apparently in the very act of
opening. The know how of birds often seems to
be the outcome of a sort of instinct that works
with care and dispatch, even when entirely
untrained.
The hill country brook has a character all its
own. Then it has a phase of being which be-
longs wholly to the season through which it is
passing. I never cross one of the old-timers
without tarrying, if I have the time, to pro-
pound a few questions. It may sound a little
curious to say that I talk to the brook and the
brook talks to me. I am getting to the place
where I feel, if I do not know, that there is noth-
ing dumb in the wide domain of life but he that
won’t speak. The speech of the brook ripples
with good things. It mingles all with laughter.
It sings as it runs, and no other thing in nature
BIRDE PARADISE 227
is more alive or more sure of a hearing. The
winter stream, with its crystal ornaments, ap-
peals to all the best in all other hearts. Those
smooth stones in the channel, thrown together as
they are, never seem irregular or out of place.
Every sound of the stream murmurs with a winter
tone and the deeper pools flash out to the waiting
parson visions of victories where the water re-
joices. Ah, how much there is that is good in
the brook, that goes on forever !
A little nuthatch from the swamp interviewed
me this week. He came in to my lawn trees
without any particular ceremony, and I noticed
seemed to regard the locality as a part at least
of his home. One of the distinguishing charac-
teristics of our birds is the manner in which they
enjoy their privileges in Mother Nature’s great
house. All their movements indicate the owner-
ship in fee simple of the entire domain around
them. How easily they accomplish it all. They
all own it together and all enjoy it together.
‘‘Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness’’ in
their own house and in their own way—their
declaration of independence reads that way, and
they behave that way. My visitor went about
228 BIR'D PARADISE
his special business and attended to it with assid-
uous care, never once even intimating that he
was anywhere else but at home. His soft note
was full of a domestic flavor that was most pleas-
ing. He stayed nearly all the forenoon, but the
call did not seem very long, as he amused him-
self most of the time. I took care to inform him
as best I could that he was always welcome.
Going quite early to the barn on a recent
morning, I was saluted by the call of the little
screech-owl. ‘The fellow had dropped into one
of the evergreens on the front lawn and was evi-
dently desirous of surprising the parson with his
curious medley of sounds. I went out to the
tree and watched some little time, but failed to
get sight of the fellow. He kept up his call
until the sun looked over the eastern hill, and
the night was gone. Then I conclude he made
his way to the covers of the swamp just east of
the village. This owl is the smallest of the sev-
eral species known in our hill country, in fact,
I think at the present he is our only regular owl
resident. I sometimes hear his call in the night
and I hardly know of any other sound made by
birds that seems quite so uncanny. ‘These little
BIRD) PARADISE 229
fellows are great scavengers. Grubs, large in-
sects, mice, frogs and toads are among the viands
of their daily bread. I suppose they make use
of some of the smaller birds when they come in
their way. I saw on the plains of the southwest
a little owl that seemed like an exact counterpart
of our diminutive friend. Its home was with
the prairie-dogs and it was known as the burrow-
ing owl. I learned that it occupied the holes
that the dogs had abandoned, living on good
terms with its active neighbors. I heard its call
and in some respects it resembled that of its
Northern kinsman. Another difference was quite
marked. Our Northern bird does all its active
work in the night; the Southern bird is on duty
through the day, hiding away in the darker
rooms of its home during the night. Irather like
the call of this bird of the night. It savors of
life, even though its weirdness seems a little for-
bidding.
The chickadees have begun their annual visits
to my lawn trees. They time their first coming
to the ripeness of the season. Last week they
appeared and I have heard or seen them every
day since. I know of no other bird more domes-
‘230: BIRD FARADISE
tic in his tastes and the note he utters through
the day savors quite fully of quiet home life.
The young fellows begin the use of the note
pretty soon after they get command of the art
of flight. So far as I can tell the bird seems to
trill his note of song mostly for the comfort
which it secures to him. He goes on his way
searching the trees for bugs and worms, telling
out the gladness of his little heart almost at
every turn he makes, and he seems to be turning
all the time. Like his first cousins, the wood-
peckers, he appears to care very little what posi-
tion he is in, as he busies himself with his bird
duties. It is a standing marvel to me the amount
of food he manages to dispose of daily. Their
regular hour for eating is all the time through
the day. They begin with the day and fre-
quently I discover them, eating and eating, as
the sun goes down. It is simply wonderful how
the birds eat as they do and avoid nearly, or
quite, all sickness. Of course they can’t eat be-
tween meals for they only have one meal a day.
But continuous feasting, life apparently made up
almost wholly of that, it would seem might
throw good health to the winds, but nothing of
the kind appears. On and on they go, healthy
and happy. No use for doctors or medicine, no
BiB jPARADISE (1231
aches or pains, no sighs or groans, nothing but
free-hearted, joyous bird life. Verily the fellows
seemed to have discovered the secret of living,
and living well.
I feel quite sure that all of our birds at differ-
ent seasons of the year take long journeys that
might be considered of the nature of migration
if not the thing itself. Those that remain North
in the winter will at times disappear from their
usual haunts, sometimes remaining away several
weeks. Frequently those that journey early to
the South, like the meadow-lark, will appear in
the old places, sometimes tarrying through the
winter. I never have seen any members of the
species that reach South America in their annual
migration returning North until the summer is
well established. Frequently we see larks and
robins here in mid-winter, and some entertain
the idea that there are birds that remain North
the entire season. It may be that they are cor-
rect in their conclusion. There are single birds
that seem to lose the sense of migration, and in
such a case they are obliged to tarry at the
North, getting along very well if they can secure
plenty of food. I am disposed to think that in
232: BIRD PAR ADIS®
most cases where the birds are seen at the North
in the winter, such as larks and robins, they
have journeyed from the South—in some way
reaching their summer resort entirely out of
season. In all cases, however, there is no diffi-
culty in the birds getting along very nicely if
the food supply meets their wants. I notice that
all birds endure the cold very well if there is
plenty of food at their command.
One of my favorite winter birds is the pine
grosbeak. His visits are irregular, sometimes
two or three years passing without a single speci-
men of the species being seen in our hill country.
The last I saw I think was three years ago this
winter. The male bird wears a very handsome
suit, part of it quite brilliant in its bright red
color. They have no love for the sunny South,
at least they never visit that favored region, but
seem to be entirely satisfied with the cold and
snowy Northwest. Their regard for the ever-
green woods gives them a part of their name—
the thickness of the bill yielding the latter por-
tion. Their song, if the word can be rightly ap-
plied to it, is a sort of soft rambling warble
broken by a few whistling notes. They are
BIRD PARADISE 233
socially inclined, for I never see them only in
small flocks. Occasionally they appear in com-
pany with the crossbills—a bird that seems to
possess some of their traits besides being a winter
visitor to our hill country with the grosbeaks.
In the nesting season they hie away to the dense
forests of the far North, rarely ever breeding
south of the Canada line. I judge that the time
of their annual visits to our section is timed to
meet with and enjoy the inspiration of the driv-
ing cold and snow. Certainly their action as I
see them is of that cheery sort that makes the
best of existing conditions. Let them be what
they may, I am sure there are times when they
pass days without much food except the scant
supply which they manage to secure from the
wide snow-fields. The buds of the forest trees
are their principal reliance in the time of deep
snow.
A few birds were on duty, but the summer
songs were all among the things of the past. Far
down the ravine a small company of crows talked
together—occasionally sounding their trumpet
hoarsely through the wood. Under the wide
carpet of leaves I fancied I could hear the sub-
234. BIND PARADISE
dued tones of the innumerable insects and worms
safely housed for the winter.. Down the glen the
brook went its way, telling the same old story
that it was telling in my boyhood sixty years
ago. The great hemlocks, dark and solemn, did
not seem a day older than when I first knew
them. Several of them told me of the days long
since passed and of the crows’ nests to which we
clambered with the keen delight of the hunter.
The outlook on the eastern side, which I had
seen hundreds of times, seemed new, as it does
each successive time I see it. I cherish the
notion that the birds and squirrels enjoy the
beautiful view just at their door. It is their
privilege to enjoy it and it does the parson good
to think they do—anyway it does no harm to en-
tertain the notion. Part of the way of under-
standing the birds and animals is by the way of
misunderstanding. Browning says, ‘‘ Through
the path of mistakes we reach the highway of
life,’’ and if the principle be a good one [ like to
apply it broadly. I came out of the wood temple
by its southern gate where, sitting on the old
crooked fence, I mused of the facility with which
Mother Nature cleans and readorns her great
house. She commands the rains and frost, the
winds and sunshine, puts them all to work and
BIRD PARADISE 235
lo! the transfiguration. Just a grand forward
march from use to use, from beauty to beauty.
This morning, just at the break of day, I
noticed the crows seemed to bein quite a quandary.
There was a thick fog and they rocked about in it
like ships on an unknown sea. Some of them
dropped down into my orchard and tumbled over
and over each other in trying to get their bear-
ings again. A crow lost is as helpless a creature
as one can well imagine. It seems to affect his
powers of flight. The wings work but some-
way all in vain. I suppose the feeling that he is
lost makes everything about him seem strange.
These fellows that landed in my orchard didn’t
appear to have the least idea who the parson was.
Their bowing and cawing was fully up to crow
politeness, but not in the least intended to apply
in that direction. When they finally got out of
the dilemma and fairly on the wing I watched
them out of sight, and soon after heard an uproar
in my neighbor’s orchard, a repetition probably
of the twists and turns I had just witnessed. I
am always interested in the idiosyncrasies of crow
eharacter. The don’t-care, bubbling-over ele-
ment in it is always at the front. Then the
236 BIRD PARADISE
ludicrous side of things seems to be on his vision
always. The more he is frightened the more odd
and whimsical he seems to be. His attitude after
he has recovered from one of his great frights is
the fellow at his best as a humorist. He struts
about with a sort of self-assertive air, utterly
scorning the idea that his equanimity has been in
the least disturbed. Crow assurance has no
modesty to recommend it.
From where I sit in my study, the broad slope
of Simmony’ hillside is in full view. The carpet
of snow covered it completely a few mornings ago,
and the morning sunbeams were dancing over the
crystals as though the dancers and crystals were
one life. I fancy they are one, far beyond our
knowledge. Just at the southern portal of the
hill a hawk was floating upon his broad wings,
apparently enjoying his house, all clean and
white. Down near the old maple at the hill foot
a pair of crows were lazily exploring the field, no
doubt looking for a savory morsel to break their
fast. What lumbering fellows they are, and yet
they fill their crow places very nicely. Ihave yet
to learn of a creature thatis without place and use
in the great economy of being. Crossing the hill
@ year or two ago I heard a harsh, loud scream.
BIRD PARADISE 237
Looking up I saw an eagle high in the air, mov-
ing toward the north. With what grace and
strength he moved, denizen of the earth, and yet
free to command and use his little ship of state.
I watched him until he hung a mere speck far
over toward Oneida Lake. Now and then one of
these great birds strays into our hill country, but
their visits are few and far between. The
meadows of this hill are favorite resorts for the
meadow-larks. I never pass there in the nesting
months without hearing their song, and when the
young fellows are leaving the nest I often get a
view of the family training school, which is really
a house of more than seven gables. I havea
notion that the old Psalmist had something more
thau the mere physical structure of the hill in
mind when he wrote: ‘‘I will lift up mine eyes
unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.’’
Why not, all the life of the hill,—one common
heart in it all.
Occasionally I see a flock of the goldfinches,
all nicely transformed into real birds of the snow.
What a genuine bird’s life they lead the entire
year through. At the height of the summer they
build their nests and rear their families. Then
they sing and give praise with the best member
238 BIRD PARADISE
they have. At that time they dress in brilliant
colors and go about happy.as the day is long.
When the nesting season is over they all put on
new suits. Curious that the females renew theirs
in precisely the same sober color that distin-
guishes them in the opening of the season.
Curious, too, that the males should wear the
brighter colors. But stranger yet, the new suit
of the male is precisely like that of the female.
All the winter through they sport together,
dressed in suits of olive green—the males shifting
back to the summer suits when the spring opens.
They are among the brightest of our winter birds.
I see them frequently in a field, where the waving
stalks of grass and weeds offer them an inviting
feast. Their manner of taking it savors of the ut-
most freedom. The table is a wide one, and the
guests go from seat to seat, uttering their winter
call and feasting to their hearts’ content. Iam
told that like the snow-buntings they frequently
make their bed in the snow—the soft robe of
crystals folding about their little forms giving
abundant warmth and protection.
The winter story of the partridges is a book of
the swamp fastnesses well worth perusing. If the
BIRD PARADISE 239
fellows are left to themselves they manage to fill
up the pages of their daily life with some of the
best of bird experience. There isno other bird of
my acquaintance that carries about with him
cleaner thought and action. I say thought.
Surely what is it if it be not thought? I have
watched them often when they were unaware of
my presence and the movements they made be-
tokened thought, or at least what we call thought
in man. The process by which the old birds
warn their young of approaching danger and the
methods they take to lead the enemy in a counter
direction all show a kind of reasoning that is near
enough genuine to be the article itself. I think
partridge loves the snow. His suit of winter
clothing is every way admirable for the season.
It is so woven that it keeps dry even in the days
and nights of driving rain. Impervious to the
cold and easily kept clean, though worn months
without washing, he seems to be in perfect order
for all kinds of weather. The buds on the trees
supply him with food, while the pure white snow
furnishes a warm cozy bed that is always ready
for use. What a book such a house could issue
if it had the means of publishing well in hand—
rather, what a book it does issue, and how
cheerily it reads to him who understands.
240 BIRD PARADISE
The weather certainly greeted us this year with
the true Christmas greeting. Coldand crisp, with
good sleighing, filled the record completely. The
parson tested it somewhat with a short walk and
found it perfect for the day. Hnough snowflakes
sifted down to mark the hours properly, and the
breezes tossed them hither and thither in real
Christmas style. We noticed that the fleecy
clouds were having a real carnival. All day
long, and far into the night they danced to lively
tunes which the northwest winds played for them,
and such feasting as winds and clouds enjoyed
comes to them only now and then. I like to fancy
that the keen, frosty air is a great Christmas cake
prepared especially for the clouds and winds.
Then the notion gets place with me that all the
good things which contribute to areal winter’s
day find in each other the other self. It looks
that way, and then it is only a step to the fancy
that each workman in the great house is a sort of
living creature. Why, sometimes I am quite sure
I hear them saying with the Master, ‘‘ Wist ye
not that I must be about my Father’s business? ”’
And how grandly they say it. Just a great mag-
nificent song set to music that is surely heavenly.
As I pen these words the winds are coming out of —
BERD VPARADISE | 241
the west ruddy with the cold, but so elated with
it all that I find myself saying, ‘‘ All the winds
of the sky-fields clap their hands.’’ Note this:
There is no scrap of time in the wide realm of
nature wasted. Every moment is saved, and
every day is Christmas Day.
In the storm of snow the other morning I
was quite sure that I caught the notes of snow-
bunting’s winter call. The wind was blowing a
gale, cold, keen and biting, and the snowflakes
filling the air—bunting’s favorite weather. The
sounds indicated that a small flock of the birds
was riding on the wings of the wind, enjoying
themselves as only snowbirds can. I was in
hopes that they would drop down to the pastures
below, but they had other plans more to their
liking. I have no doubt but that the flock I
heard had been on the wing all night long.
While our hill residents were courting ‘‘ balmy
sleep’’ the buntings were courting the winds—
greeting them as hale fellows well met. What
an experience they passed through. From far
away to the north they had taken their wonderful
trolley the evening before and the long journey
of hundreds of miles had been the merest pastime
242 BIRD PARADISE
to them. Someway they jolly not only them-
selves as they travel, but they give one the im-
pression that they extend the same greeting to
everything else that they meet. The great storm
of wind and snow seems to give them the keenest
delight. Their storm song has a crystal sound
as though the snowflakes themselves were ren-
dering the music of living creatures. In their
long flights the buntings take but little food. I
sometimes wonder if they have not outstripped
us a little in mastering the calls of the fleshly
temple. The temple is there and the calls, but
the heart of the bunting turns to the winds and
cold, finding its greatest delight in their stirring
fellowship.
What a fine cold storage plant our birds and
smaller animals have at their command during
the winter season. I have been noting its excel-
lencies and find that in number and quality they
are not easily surpassed. The grass over the sur-
face of all our fields is so woven together that in
many places it forms a fine thick carpet. In the
meshes of this covering grubs and insects innu-
merable find their winter home. The blasts of
the north wind announce to the vast hosts that
BIRD PARADISE 243
the hour of their long slumber has arrived.
Curious how the viands stored in this refrigerator
all keep fresh by keeping alive, and the keeper
of it all is cold and frost. But see the conveni-
ence of the whole matter. The feasters, crows
and other birds, foxes and smaller animals, when
hungry have simply to tarry right where they
are—dining-table everywhere—and feast upon
the greatest variety of food put before any body
of feasters. The loaves and fishes of this vast
world have not as yet been numbered by any one
and the fragments are ever being gathered but
never measured.
One of our smallest winter visitors is the red-
poll linnet. Locally it bears the name of the
little snowbird and in many respects is among
the most interesting of our winter birds. When
the time of housekeeping arrives he hies away
to the shores of the Arctic Seas, so far away that
I think very few have seen its nest or heard its
nesting song. The musical effort it makes in its
winter haunts is a sort of rambling lisp that one
is quite willing should quickly reach its con-
cluding note. Like the snow-bunting this bird
seems the happiest when the cold and storm of
244 BIRD PARADISE
wind and snow are at their height. Their visits
to this section are not made every year ; in fact
it is now several years since I have seen the
little fellows. It is marvelous how such a small
package of bird life goes to and fro in the snow
and cold apparently perfectly oblivious to the
biting sting of the weather. For months they
romp and rollick through the snow country, per-
fectly satisfied with all their surroundings. Their
food is easily obtained, as it consists largely of
the weed seeds found in the hedgerows and old
fields. In times of great depth of snow they use
the buds of the trees—a repast that is always
ready for them. Redpoll, like most of our winter
birds, is socially inclined, though I think he pre-
fers the gatherings made up of his own species.
He wears a coat of a rich crimson color and is evi-
dently quite satisfied with his brilliant personal
appearance. We always extend to them a hearty
welcome, for their coming is redolent with the
best of bird cheer.
I heard the loud cries of the blue jays this
morning. They had come up from the swamp
and were having a little blue jay fun in my neigh-
bor’s orchard. They have visited the village
BIRDAPARADISE 245
only two or three times this winter—something
unusual in our hill country experience. When
the weather is open they doubtless find plenty of
food in the woods and swamps. The deep snow
interferes somewhat with their food supply and
sends them searching for it in the orchards and
lawns of the village. Of course they bring their
bugle with them, and are sure to use it if they
have a shadow of a chance to do so. [like the
note they use if I do not have too much of it. It
certainly has more to recommend it in the winter
than in the summer. Someway the snow-fields
seem to soften the tone in a measure. Then the
belligerent echo of the summer is absent also,
which is certainly a great improvement. The
jay throws down the gauntlet to all other birds.
He is utterly careless regarding their rights. I
sometimes fancy that he has the notion that the
world was made especially for him. Some day,
perhaps, in the forward march of evolution he
may appear in a new character, and how his fel-
low birds will enjoy the coming of that day!
My first visit from the blue jays this winter oc-
curred this week. Quite a number of them came
up from the swamp and for a time the village
246. BIRD PARADISE
rang with their sharp voices. When I first saw
them they were passing to and fro in the park,
evidently enjoying their visit as a sort of Christ-
mas carnival. There was some food hunting, in
fact that is a large portion of the work of all our
winter birds. I say work, but really their food
is so arranged that about all they have to do isto
go from tree to tree and simply pick itup. I
rather enjoy watching them when feasting. Their
table manners are perfect after their kind, and
while they are not over-generous in sharing the
viands with one another there is a certain kind
of fellowship in what they do that savors of real
brotherhood. I noticed that one of the birds
made a careful inspection of the old nests that
hung on the leafless trees. With his stout bill he
tore them apart and scattered the pieces over the
snow. From some of the movements that he
made I inferred that he found some food there,
which suited his taste. I studied their callsa
little, hoping to decipher some of their meaning.
For my pains I did not receive much more than
I already possessed. They knew what they meant
and used the knowledge no doubt to advantage.
The faultless fit of their bright blue suits was
most noticeable and their spotless appearance
added not a little to the attractiveness of their
BIRD PARADISE 247
company. Blue jay in the winter is really a very
attractive companion.
Quite a number of the inhabitants of our hill
country have gone into winter quarters. From
what I see I judge that the process is an easy one
—simply going to sleep, having first found the
right place. The insects perhaps—the greater
portion of them—are always in the right place.
The stroke of cold comes and the rubicon is crossed
without any thought or even slightest sign of
preparation. If the weather be favorable the lit-
tle fellows may wake and sleep a dozen times
during the winter without any particular harm
ensuing. The earthworms have a sort of pre-
sentiment of what is coming and take refuge in
the lower rooms of their large mansion. Theants
and grubs, toads and frogs close the outside doors
of their various houses and drop off to sleep with
no thought troubling them as to when or how
awakening may come. The woodchuck retires
to the deepest part of his underground cottage
and even before the cold and snow arrive has for-
gotten life and all its cares. Two or three times
I remember seeing the bat in full position for the
winter’s campaign. One might readily think
228 BIRD PARADISE
that they would find a nook well out of sight of
all earthly things, but nothing of the kind ap-
peared in the instances that came to my knowledge.
In the darker part of the old barn loft, the little
hooks along the edges of the wings were fastened
to the board or rafter, and thus suspended the lit-
tle creature braved with perfect success the cold
and frosts of winter. When to do it and how to
do it they seem to understand perfectly.
The weather makes itself felt among the wild
creatures, aS it does among human beings. This
I note, however, with the birds, that is not as
common with the lords of creation as.it ought to
be. They seem to meet it all with a cheerful
spirit, and if food be plentiful go on from day to
day in ajoyful manner. Even as I write a com-
pany of chickadees are passing to and fro in my
lawn trees, and though the weather is cold and
snowy there is not a bird. other than bright and
happy. Of course they are warmly clothed and
have nothing else to do but eat, drink, and be
merry, yet that does not always insure happiness.
Sometimes the conditions appear perfect, and the
creature’s action exceedingly imperfect. But I
see so little of this among the birds that I rarely
BIRD PARADISE 249
have occasion to note it down. My black cap
friends have no knowledge, I believe, of any other
manners but those that are recorded in the book
of life. If behavior carries the birds safely within
the house beautiful then chickadee has nothing to
fear. Among the saints of the bird host these
little fellows rank high ; in fact Isee no way they
can be outranked. Their winter cottages are
nicely located in the hollow of a sheltering tree,
and in the cold season of the year they have few
enemies to trouble them. Sometimes several of
the little fellows occupy a single cottage—a stroke
of wisdom that enhances the comfort of the com-
mon house wonderfully. In the thicker part of
the old swamp these chickadee homes appear, and
sometimes when I drop in upon them the entire
village comes out to greet me.
I have watched a little lately expecting some
winter visitors from the Arctic regions. One of
the most lively and cordial of them all is the lit-
tle pine siskin or pine-finch as it is sometimes
called. They are not regular visitors to our lo-
cality, but I see them nearly every winter. As
the name indicates they are lovers of the ever-
greens and spend most of their time in the pines
250 BIRD PARADISE
and larches. They use in their winter haunts a
feeble call note, but of course like other birds save
their song for the nesting season. They are about
the size of the common goldfinch, and appear very
much the same, as I see them. I have seen it
stated that they sometimes build nests and rear
their young in the winter. As most of their food
is furnished by the pine and spruce cones they
would have no difficulty in finding a supply for
the young birds. Some writers state that they
occasionally breed in the Adirondacks and North-
ern New England, but I have never seen their
nest. I frequently see the siskins and goldfinches
feeding together in the hedgerows, and as their
winter dress is nearly the same in color they are
easily confounded. They have the dipping flight
of the goldfinch, and the few notes they use re-
semble those of that bird.
Our great flock of crows is now slowly forming.
I notice that the regular annual movement of the
host is asserting its power. Somewhere east of
us the roosting place has evidently been selected
‘and early every morning the black fellows wing
their way to the wide pasture which I fancy ex-
tends a hundred miles and more westward. I ~
BIRDAEAR ADISE: 260
wonder if other great flocks have place in our
Northern country. Of course there is room for
them and doubtless they fill that room. The
crow is a sort of nondescript among the birds.
I have noticed that he is quite apt to do what we
do not expect him to do. In fact that seems to
be the upshot of most of his action with his fel-
lows. To all appearance he enjoys a real sally
of wit with the keenest zest. When he is off
guard all his movements savor of a drollery that
is most amusing. Nothing that he enjoys more
than poking that long bill of his into the busi-
ness of all his fellows and he is sure to do it if he
has half a chance. Ihave watched them getting
settled in their roosting place for the night. No
minstrel show was ever more amusing. They
are all end men, and I often feel that most of the
noise they make is genuine laughter. No crea-
ture that I know is more given to the convivial
than the crow. If matters are favorable he eats
most of the time. The coverts of the grass are
stored with his principal food and he enjoys it
all with true crow gusto. How the fellow keeps
the fires of life burning on some of our zero
nights is a mystery to the parson. Think of that
bedchamber on the bare limb of a great tree,
the winds tossing the limb and ruffling Mr.
252 BIRD PARADISE
Crow’s feathers all the night through! Mani-
festly the fellowis totally undisturbed by it all.
He is the same old crow whether he sleeps or
wakes, whether it be cold or warm. He acts as
though he had fully learned how to make the
best of things, let them be what theymay. Why
is not that alone quite a liberal education ?
I saw this week a small flock of snow-buntings
having one of their bird games in the very midst
of the snow-storm. There was hardly sufficient
stress of wind to meet the requirements of one of
their games and yet they made full use of what
was proffered them. They jollied the flakes of
snow, whirling about among them as though they
were all living creatures. Some of them went
far up the stairway of the sky, even passing out
of sight among the whirling flakes. Others went
down to the old pasture back of the cemetery,
where they partook of a real feast spread bounte-
ously for them in one of the hedgerows there. I
notice they vary their winter song to suit the
occasion. When riding full speed on the wings
of the wind they use a song that almost seems to
be a part of the storm itself. When taking their
food they shape the song into a very quiet re-
BIRD PARADISE 253
frain that can be heard only a short distance
away, and oun a pleasant day they trill a song in
keeping with the day but not as loud and stir-
ring aS when the storm israging. Happy fellows
they all seem to be and most gladly we give them
the right hand of fellowship.
I see the peculiar tracks of the skunk here and
there in the soft snow. The singular character
of this creature is very plainly pictured in the
trail he leaves behind him. His movement is of
the sluggish sort and the footprints are multi-
plied in number far beyond those of any other of
our smaller animals. Last night one of these
fellows walked around my barn two or three
times. He took good care to examine every
erevice he could find, and I noticed that where
the fowls were snugly sleeping he made extra
efforts to push his way into the enclosure.
Of course, the fowls protested, the noise they
made frightening the intruder away. I could
see where he moved across the field, leav-
ing a well-plowed furrow in the snow. This
animal can hibernate at will. When he chooses
he can snuggle down in some out-of-the-way
place and pass days pretty much oblivious to
254 BIRD PARADISE
ali things about him. Then when he chooses
he can wake from sleep and take up the duties
of his narrow life again. At times I more than
half conjecture he is far from pleased with the
path he is treading in the journey of time. The
trappers make his way a thorny one, and every
winter hundreds pay the penalty of wearing a
coat that is of large value in the marts of human
trade. In Oklahoma we had a species of the
skunk family not much larger than the common
brown rat. They had all the characteristics of
the larger species except size, and frequently
dwelt under the same roof with the human
brother.
How the brooks rejoice in a real January thaw.
Of course they are attractive even when chilled
with the frost and cold. Their light is rarely
ever so shadowed by the bushel that its beauties
are completely hidden. But when zephyrs from
the South play with the snow, setting the white
crystals to dancing with an almost forgotten
warmth, then the rippling laughter of innumer-
able rills is heard everywhere. Down through
the fields they flow, wandering with a sort of jolly
freedom that is most exhilarating. Istood by the
BIRD) PARADISE 255
channel of White Creek the other day when
the offering of the broad hillside was being
received by the larger stream. From every
side the little rivulets were bringing their
treasure and pouring it without stint into the
keeping of the main current. The scene was in-
spiring. Each rill sang its own song, the brook
itself blending and harmonizing the many Strains,
making the occasion a concert long to be remem-
bered. I turned away from it all with the feel-
‘ing that Mother Nature had given me a large
glimpse of some of the beautiful things in her
great house.
For some reason there have been an unusual
number of woodpeckers in our hill country this
winter. I see them every day in my lawn trees,
busy I suppose with the many duties that fall to.
their lot. As I see them they seem to have but
one object really in life. To all appearances eat-
ing is the one great duty and privilege that they
seek to honor with all their might. In a very
marked manner somebody is saying to them every
moment, ‘‘Dinner is served.” Anditis. The
table set for them is by far the largest extension
table I know. Wherever trees are standing there-
250 BIRD: PARADISE
the table is, and such a variety of viands as ap-
pear is scarcely known anywhere else. Man uses
a very few of the different species of creatures
for food, but my woodpecker parishioners appro-
priate countless numbers during the year, es-
pecially during the winter season. Many of them
are smaller, I am sure, than the human eye can
discern, and one might conclude that feasting on
such minute particles of food would hardly ever
enable the eater to really feel or say, ‘‘ Enough.”
Curious that a part of this large family migrates,
though most of the species remain here the entire
year. Why they do and why they do not are of
the secrets not yet uncovered to mortals. “
With the coming of the snow I am sure to re-
ceive calls from the birds who linger with us
through the winter. Many of the calls have for
their incentive a business motive. But they come
frequently when the social element is largely to
the front. Their method of shaking hands is full
of real bird spirit, and while what they say is
somewhat obscure it has a cheery tone which I
greatly enjoy. Among the smaller winter birds
the chickadee certainly ranks very high. They
seldom look in upon me in the summer—just why I
BIRD PARADISE 257
do not kuow—but in the winter they are almost
daily visitors. What a clean domestic flavor
marks their brief song. It comes down from the
tree as though the heart of the tree was in it. In
the wood they seem to regard themselves as
custodians of the best hospitality the sylvan aisles
afford. Very often when I visit Bird Paradise a
little bevy of chickadees will meet me at the en-
trance and accompany my steps throughout the
entire stroll. Their attitude is that of hospitality,
and someway its greeting is warm-hearted,
through and through.
The woodpeckers are now occupied with their
daily winter rounds. I see them in my lawn trees
busy with work which no doubt is of great mo-
ment to them. So far as I can tell from what I
see these birds are fortunate in having no other
occupation but that of picking up their daily
bread. Every moment of their waking time is
given to it, and the marvel is how those small
bodies can compass so much. I sometimes get
the notion that their daily menu is all comprised
in two or three different dishes, and I wonder how
the fellows can keep so sleek and cheerful on so
spare a diet. Butis it true that a few articles con-
258 BIRD PARADISE
stitute the sum total of their regular food? For
aught we know there are hundreds of delectable
things, all nicely prepared and put upon the table
of the great tree restaurant. The bird can stroll
about and select what he pleases—having new and
fresh viands every meal. There are a dozen
problems that trouble seriously the many mortals
of the human family that never give a particle of
unrest to our bird brethren. No defect in their
cookery. Servant problem not a part of their
history. Fashion, style, cook books, no use for
them. Come and go, eat and sleep, romp and
play, woodpecker life, and yet I suspect they are
not quite satisfied with it. If I mistake not the
aspiration to be what they are not is ever their
quest, and who shall say how largely the quest is
honorable ?
The flocking together of the birds shows the
working of the social instinct and I often fancy,
especially in the winter, that the large gatherings
further some scheme that seems of common in-
terest to the entire species. Take the blue jay,
for instance. Yesterday morning I heard their
loud calls from Addington’s orchard, fifteen or
twenty of the blue-coated fellows vieing together
in @ concourse of blue jay calls that I do not re-
BIRD PARADISE 259
member to have seen excelled in all my knowl-
edge of birds. I watched them for a while, but
could not make out just what they were trying
to do. The presiding officer, if there was one,
had several assistants, and every member of the
conclave had something to say, and I thought
said it over several times. The orchard where I
saw the party is a sort of favorite place with
them, and I notice they are fond of gathering
there very early in the morning. They can easily
reach it from the swamp and, I apprehend, the
acoustics of the place favor its selection with the
jays. Contrary to their usual custom, they went
directly back to the swamp, where I heard them
a little later, telling over doubtless the story of
the early morning. Their word vocabulary is
small, a single expletive serving for winter use,
but I fancy they vary the meaning of each call
by some subtle shade of expression known only
to the jays.
Wednesday morning of last week gave the most
princely showing of nature life that has ever
fallen to my lot to see. The night before the
winter artist had been at work while men slept,
putting a robe studded with splendid jewels over
all the trees and fields in the great house. When
200.06C BT RD FARADISE
I first looked out upon the scene there was just
enough light to show the sheen of white thrown
broadeast everywhere. The crown was put in
place just at sunrise. There were a few loose
clouds in the eastern sky, enough to lift the sun-
beams, as it were, giving each what seemed to be
a new power. The white was given a glimmer
like molten silver and with it colors appeared,
violet, pink and yellow mingling and dancing
among the erystals until the beauty of it all be-
came so weird and grand that it fairly fascinated
the eye that saw and felt its power. Ah, the
magic influence of it all, just ‘‘speaking and it
is done.”’ Then what a gallery it is, vast, and
free as it is vast. I wait where its shadows fall,
and the faintest gleam of the faintest shadow is
of the very tracery of life, jewels of the fadeless
crown.
An extensive walk last week took me along the
borders of the swamp and far afield in the open
reaches beyond. It was a cool, foggy day and I
did not expect to meet many of the inhabitants
or fall in with any new adventures. I knocked
at the doors of the ant-hills, but received no re-
sponse. I noticed that all the gates of their
mansions were closed tightly, and knew the resi-
BIRD PARADISE 261
dents were well entered upon the unbroken quiet
of their long winter campaign. A brief conver-
sation with the crows revealed the fact that they
were rejoicing over the somewhat unusual supply
of food they had in the desiccated grasshoppers
stored nicely in the wide cupboard of the thick
grass. I assured the fellows that I knew of no
better use to which the grasshopper could be put.
Just at the brook side; where the water ripples
away to the valley below, I saw where the musk-
rats had preémpted a claim and were busy put-
ting up their winter cottages. Just beyond their
cabins I saw in the light snow the trail Mr. Fox
leaves behind him as he goes tripping along.
Returning, I came upon a flock of yellowbirds
feeding on the seeds that waved in the tall grass
at the roadside. Their salutation to the parson
was bright and cheery, a very proper conclusion
with which to close a long stroll.
A pair of nuthatches have been over from the
swamp this afternoon and given an hour or more
to patrolling my lawn trees. They belong to the
woodpecker family and although the smallest of
this large household are in some respects the
most attractive. I rarely see them in companies
of more than two, but the two are social after a
262. BIRD PARADISE
very pleasant pattern. I know of no other bird
that excels nuthatch in all the evidences of good
breeding. I never have known him to utter a
harsh note. His ways are ways of peace. Even
his note of song, like the bluebird’s, is so gauged
that it always seems the offering of a good heart.
But the most pronounced of his many virtues
is the domestic air which accompanies all his
actions. Someway he appears like a true lover
of home, with all its family cares and pleasures.
His salutation to his mate honors bird fellowship
with some of its best greetings. The pair hunt
and work and play together, never showing the
least sign of disagreement. When I want astroke
of true bird manliness I turn to nuthatch, and so
far he never has failed to fill the bill perfectly.
Quite frequently, when I am strolling through
the swamp, I knock at the fellow’s door in one
of the old trees of the place. How his little
head pops out of the open door and how quickly
he follows it with the active body! I know of
no cozier home among the birds, especially in
the winter months. The door of the home, like
the hearts of its inmates, always stands wide
open, and one of the parson’s keen enjoyments
is the greeting that follows a hearty pull of nut-
hatch’s latch-string.
BIRD PARADISE 263
I saw yesterday a party of hunters wending
their way to the swamp south of the village. A
little later I heard the sharp report of their guns.
No protest came from the partridges so far as I
know, but the blue jays lifted up their voices and
I fancied commanded quiet. If they did do any-
thing of the kind they certainly failed in their
effort, for I heard the shooting for an hour or
more. What a stirring, forceful fellow the blue
jay is! When I hear him from the thickets of
the swamp he seems to be almost all scream. His
call is a scream, and there is no vestige of any-
thing but harshness in it. Living as a pirate
back through the ages, so he has a voice match-
ing his character, hard, sharp, and most forbid-
ding. There is scarcely anything the jay says or
does that I really enjoy. He wears his blue coat
gracefully, but that is merely the husk of a kind
of ‘‘full corn in the ear’’ which bird lovers care
very little about harvesting.
A fine specimen of the hairy woodpecker made
me a visit this week. I first saw him in the
orchard, and one might readily infer from his ac-
tions that he had been engaged to clear the entire
264. BIRD PARADISE
place of insect pests. A little later he appeared
in the lawn trees, still engaged in his favorite
work. He seemed to know right where the grubs
and flies harbored, and surely his method of se-
curing them could not be excelled. I noticed
that his winter suit was not only a perfect fit, but
it was made of a material that sparkled in the
sunlight in a most attractive way. This species
is the largest of all that stop with us during the
winter. I have a notion that he does some mi-
gratory work as the year passes. I miss them for
a time during the cold season, and also for a time
in the fall of the year. As they have nothing
really to keep them in any one place, why should
they not take ajourney? In fact, everything fa-
vorsit. Their larder is as extensive as the entire
country, aud it is always open to their feasting.
Their roads are highways never blocked, and
their trolley system furnishes a rapid, cheap and
comparatively safe method of transportation.
Equipped as they are, one can easily entertain
the notion that journeying is their forte. At any
rate, the jolly workers are ‘hale fellows well
met’’ with the parson.
A downy woodpecker someway has become
possessed with the idea that he should visit the
BIRD PARADISE 26s
parson at least once daily. He comes into my
lawn house unannounced, but all the same largely
welcome. I rarely see him in company with any
other bird, no, not even with one of his own
species. What a faultlessly neat suit of clothes
he wears, and how surprisingly spotless he keeps
them, wearing them as he does night and day for
more than half the year. Both the tailor and the
laundress of this bird are adepts in their respective
vocations. Occasionally he speaks a single word
—an utterance that seems to fall from his tongue
entirely unstudied. If he means anything by the
effort I have not been able to divine what it is.
His different positions at the table where he feasts
so extensively box the compass completely every
three minutes. If he captures the game he pur-
sues, the particular angle of the bodily presence
is a thing oblivious to his consciousness. All
winter long this bird, or others like him, will look
in upon my small domain nearly every day, bring-
ing with them their own special life and cheer.
They must know that their welcome is as large as
I can make it.
The school children discovered a little screech-
owl in the church sheds. In the olden days the
266 BIRD PARADISE
discovery would have been the occasion of a com-
bined hunt, resulting, very likely, in the death
of the owl. As it was there was some hunting
done, and the little fellow took refuge in the rec-
tory barn. The bird found a niche which his
pursuers could not find and made good his escape.
The boys assured me that they wanted to catch
him, show him to me, then give him his freedom
again. I approved of the motive and told the
boys I would get my eye on the fellow during the
winter. What bright little fellows these owls
are! Isee them quite often and hear them fre-
quently in the night-time. They are not adepts
in their musical efforts, and still I rather enjoy
the weird notes that they manage to utter. It is
curious that the counterpart of our screech-owl
should be found only in the Southwest. There
they live with the prairie-dogs, and at a little
distance appear the same as our Northern bird. I
do not think the dogs are fond of the owls’ com-
pany, though they tolerate it with a very good
grace. In the olden time the screech-ow] and his
first cousin, the barn-owl, were regular guests in
the farm buildings. Some of them nested there
every season, rendering a full equivalent for their
comfortable quarters in catching rats and mice.
They do some harm among the chickens when
BIRDs PARADISE. 267
they are small, but on the whole render a service
in the destruction of vermin far greater than the
injury they do.
The snow sifted down until it lay on the fields
and lawns two or three inches deep. The morn-
ing song of the birds was omitted and the birds
themselves seemed to be a little dazed by the un-
usual weather. I saw the robins later in the day
looking around as though a condition of things
had been introduced of which their counsels had
taken no note. Most of the birds found their
way to the shelter of the woods and swamps and
some I suppose took the bird trolley for a
warmer clime. How they keep in touch with
things so nicely I have no means of knowing,
but someway they do, and are able to make good
use of their knowledge. It is rarely that I can
persuade the robins to take any food that I pre-
pare for them at such atime. If I do get it to
them it has to be done in such a way as to
awaken no suspicion that it is other than a per-
fectly natural table spread before Mr. Robin. I
have a notion that most of our birds can get
along nicely with any kind of weather if they
have access to a plentiful supply of good food.
268 BIRD PARADISE
On the old farm the robins, bluebirds and spar-
rows would domicile in the big barns and in that
manner tide over the cold storm handsomely. It
may be that they can abstain from food for sev-
eral days without any serious results following.
I have known some species, notably the little
grebe, to refuse all food for ten days without ap-
parently suffering in the least. This may be
one of the ways that ‘‘God tempers the wind to
the shorn lamb.’’ The recent storm gave us the
damp snow. It clung to the trees, clothing them
in a mantle of fleecy white. The birds seemed
to regard it as a special festival in their honor.
They would fly into the trees scattering crys-
tals and calling to one another like a company of
boys at play. The sun came out a little later
and every bush and tree flamed with fire that
seemed to inspire the birds with new zeal.
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Index
BLUEBIRDS, 17, 19, 73 ;
Blue Jays, 181, 244, 245, 258,
26
Bobolink, 25, 67, 72, 74, 85,
97, 120, 131
Brown Creeper, 50
CATBIRD, 70
Chickadee, 216, 222, 229, 248,
256
Cow-Bunting, 100
Crow Blackbirds, 76
Crows, 181, 185, 196, 205, 235,
250
Cuckoo, 71, 125
DUCK, III
FLICKER, 36, 40, 44, 47, 53,59,
66, 81, 84, 98, 119
Fly-Catcher, 116, 127
GEESE, 111
Geese (Wild), 202
Goldfinch, 237
Grackle, 76
Grebes, 187
Grosbeak (Pine), 232
Grosbeak (Rose Breasted), 139
HAWK, 134, 169
Hawk (Hen), 115, 123
Hawk (Marsh), 124, 130
Hawk (Night), 168
Hawk (Sparrow), 35, 108, 121
Humming-Bird, 150, 155
KILDEER, 26, 29, 38, 110
Kingfisher, 52
Kinglets (Golden Crowned and
Ruby Crowned), 30, 33, 163
LARK, 231
Lark (Meadow), 42, 55
Lark (Shore or Horned), 16
Linnet (Red Poll), 243
NUTHATCHES, 194, 223, 225,
227, 261
ORIOLES, 89, I17
Owls, 165, 193
Owls (Screech), 212, 214, 228,
265
PARTRIDGE, 18, 238
Passenger Pigeon, 41, 46
Pewee, 24
Pewee (Wood), 211
Pine Siskin or Pine-Finch, 249
Plover (Golden), 175
ROBIN, 23, 27, 63, 65, 75, 91,
102, 114, 203, 267
SCARLET TANAGER, 153
272 IN DEX
Snow-Bunting, 189, 205, 241,
252
Sparrows (English), 180, 188, ©
207, 209
Sparrows (Junco), 28, 31
Sparrows (Tree), 170
Sparrows (Vesper), 172
Swallows, 80, 109
Swallows (Eave), 83
THRUSH, 69, 96, 133
VIREOS, 152
WARBLER, 57, 132, 157
Warbler (Yellow), 154
Water Birds, 113
Wocdcock, 64
Woodfinch, 86
Woodpecker, 162, 200, 201,
255» 257
Woodpecker (Downy), 1098,
264
Woodpecker (Gray), 48
Wookpecker (Hairy), 263
YELLOWBIRDS, 190
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