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WINTER BIRDS

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Winter Landbivds of
Northeastern United States

Plate I (Scale

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Permanent Resident Species or those which
are with us throughout the year

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. Bob-white, male

. Bob-white, female

. Ruffed Grouse

. Red-shouldered Hawk, adult

. Red-tailed Hawk, young

. Red-tailed Hawk, adult

. Sparrow Hawk, male

. Sparrow Hawk, female

. Cooper’s Hawk, young female

. Cooper’s Hawk, adult male

. Sharp-shinned Hawk, adult male
. Sharp-shinned Hawk, young female
. Screech Owl, gray phase

. Screech Owl, rufous phase

. Barred Owl

. Great Horned Owl

. Long-eared Owl

. Short-eared Owl

. Crow

CORNELL LAB of ORNITHOLOGY
LIBRARY

AT SAPSUCKER WOODS

Illustration of Snowy Owl by Louis Agassiz Fuertes

CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

ee

DATE DUE

ig

18

By Frank M. Chapman

Curator of Omithology in the American Museum of
Natural History

Handbook of Birds of Eastern North America
Revised Edition. With Keys to the Species,
Descriptions of their Plumages, Nests, etc., and
their Distribution and Migrations. With over
200 Illustrations. Also in
Pocker Epirion, with flexible covers.

Bird-Life. 4 Guide to the Study of our Common Birds
Popu.ar Epirion in colors.

Bird Studies With a Camera. With Introductory
Chapters on the Outfit and Methods of the Bird
Photographer.

Illustrated with over 100 photographs from
Nature by the Author.

The Warblers of North America
With Contributions from other Ornithologists and
24 full-page Colored Plates illustrating every
Species, from Drawings by L. A. Fuertes and B.
Horsfall, and Half-tones of Nests and Eggs.

Camps and Cruises of an Ornithologist
With 250 Photographs from Nature by the
Author.

Color Key to North American Birds
Revised Edition. With over 800 pictures.

The Travels of Birds

Our Winter Birds

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Publishers New York

i1D

Cornell University

Library

The original of this book is in
the Cornell University Library.

There are no known copyright restrictions in
the United States on the use of the text.

http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924090284187

\ on
NY

A WINDOW LUNCH COUNTER

OUR WINTER BIRDS

HOW TO KNOW

AND

HOW TO ATTRACT THEM

BY

FRANK M. CHAPMAN

CURATOR OF BIRDS IN THE AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY
EDITOR OF ‘‘BIRD LORE”’

ILLUSTRATIONS
BY

ERNEST THOMPSON SETON
AND
EDMUND J. SAWYER

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK LONDON

1919

\ rad ly
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Re)

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CopyrricnT, 1918, BY

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

Printed in the United States of America

EXPLANATION OF PLATES.

Plates I and II contain all the commoner (and
some of the rarer) winter land birds of the north-
eastern United States. They are arranged on shelves
as if they were displayed in a museum case. In
fact, the idea for illustrations grew from a seasonal
collection of birds which many years ago the author
placed on exhibition in the American Museum of
Natural History. The figures are small, but so
accurately has Mr. Sawyer drawn them that minute
details of form and color are shown as effectively
as though the birds were much larger. The great
advantage of these figures over most bird illus-
trations is that all those in the same case are drawn
to the same scale. (The scale in Plate II being
slightly larger than in Plate I.) One can therefore
gain a better idea of actual size from these drawings
than is possible when the Crow and Kinglet, for
example, are made of equal size. Furthermare, this
plan permits of the direct comparison of one species
with another, while a glance at the two plates
gives one a comprehensive conception of our winter

bird-life.

INTRODUCTION

Home Birps .
Fietp Brrps .

Forest Birps

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

A Window Lunch Counter . . . . Frontispiece
PAGE
A Rustic Feeding-stand and Shelter . . . . .) 619
A Woodpecker’s Spear. . . . . . « « «= 38
Downy’s Chisel and Climber . . . . . . . AI
Cardinal ey os Oe SE Te hi 2a. SRO
The Goldfinch heage the ae wo 70
The Brown Creeper’s Probe-like Bill and Pointed
Stiffened Tail-feathers . . . . ‘ 74,
Two of White-throat’s Songs . . . . . . . = O77
Lapland Longspur . . Ai sicko Oh! CEIO
The Hawk-like Bill of the shke Sal Spey ge TE
Meadowlark (upper figure) and Bob-white . . . 118
Sparrow Hawk . . . 127
The Powerful Groping Feet of (a) An Owl, BA A
Hawk .. ' 135
Red-shouldered Hamil Be ae ee - 6 «138
Sharp-shinned Hawk Pursuing a Ralpeil ben <r Sy. “4D

The Slender Foot of a Ruffed Grouse in Summer
(Left) and (Right) The Fringed Foot of a Ruffed
Grouse in Winter, When the Bird Dons Snowshoes 155

Evening Grosbeak . . . . . . . . . . 163
Carolina Wren . . . 2. . 3. ee ee COG
Mockingbird . . ..... . +... «1977

INTRODUCTION

OUR WINTER BIRDS

I
INTRODUCTION

THE BIRDS AND YOU

) HEN we draw down the shades ona
winter night we seem to divide the
world into two parts. On one side
lie cold and darkness; on the other,
warmth and light. Outside, it may
be snowing; the wind howls, the
windows rattle before its fierce blasts. Inside, a fire
crackles cheerfully on the hearth; there is protection
from the storm, food, and comfort.

How fares it then with those on the other side of
the window? What are our friends, the birds, doing
out there in the blackness? ‘They have no fireside,
no cosy chairs to nestle in, no one to prepare a
warm supper for them. An evergreen bough, a hol-
low limb, or even a snow-drift is all the shelter they

can hope for; and if they have not had good luck
3

4 OUR WINTER BIRDS

foraging in the afternoon they must go to bed hun-
gry.

When we draw the shades in summer there is
warmth outside as well as in. The leaves seem to
rustle contentedly in the night breeze. A Robin is
singing his slumber song. Soon a Whip-poor-will
will begin his chant.

All’s well now with the birds.) We envy them
their sleep beneath the stars, the awakening in the
dawn; their freedom.to wander at will and choose
from Nature’s bountiful stores. Who would not be
a bird in summer?

But a winter night in the open seems chill and
dreary. We pity the homeless and wish we could
give them firesides like our own. So in the winter
the birds seem to need our care and to be in some
way dependent upon us. For this reason they oc-
cupy a much warmer place in our affections than do
the birds of summer. Our relations with them seem
more intimate.

The twittering Juncos at our doorstep, the Nut-
hatches and Woodpeckers at our suet-baskets, the
Chickadees that take food from our hands, are not
only our welcome guests but our personal friends.

It is not only what we give them, but what they
give us, that should make us thankful for birds in
winter. I look from my window over the white ex-

INTRODUCTION 5

panse of snow. The sky is gray; the shutters creak
fretfully in the wind. The glory of a summer gar-
den is marked only by a stalk or two above the snow.
The world seems dead, when a feathered mite flits
through the air, perches on a nearby limb and calls
a merry “Chick-a-dee-dee-dee.”

What a difference in the scene his coming makes!
What good cheer and contentment he brings with
him |

When we go to the fields and woods in winter,
birds are the only living creatures we are sure of
seeing. Tree Sparrows chatter happily over their
breakfast of seeds; a Nuthatch stops his search for
insects’ eggs long enough to look down and greet us
with his queer ‘‘yank-yank.”” A Downy Woodpecker,
intent on the capture of a grub, hammers indus-
triously, tap-tap-tap. He is too busy to stop, but
calls his clear ‘‘peek” to us as we pause to watch him.
What a sense of companionship we have with these
feathered friends of ours! They make us feel at
home with Nature. How lonely we should be with-
out them!

THE BIRDS OUR ALLIES

We are indebted to these winter birds for more
than their friendship; for more than giving life to
the otherwise silent fields and woods. They are our

6 OUR WINTER BIRDS

active allies in the warfare to save our crops and
forests from the army of insects that ceaselessly at-
tack them.

The Tree Sparrows breakfasting on seeds, the
Nuthatch hunting insects’ eggs, the Woodpeckers
digging out grubs, were all working for us. The
Chickadees that accept our invitation to luncheon
repay us a countless number of times for the suet
and nuts we offer them.

Every one knows that insects are harmful to vege-
tation and that birds are their chief enemies; but
who knows that the seed-eating birds are also of
great value to us?

If you have ever had a garden to care for it is
not necessary to tell you how constantly you have
to fight the weeds to prevent them from over-grow-
ing the flowers or vegetables that you have planted.

There are ragweed and purslane, crab-grass and
pigweed, and many others. Hoe and rake as you
will, you never can get rid of them. Just as soon
as you retire from the field, they seem to take pos-
session of it. In the garden, in the potato-field, in
the stubble, the crop of weed-seeds never fails. Who
harvests it? Why, our friends the Sparrows. The
seeds of the plants that cause so much trouble are
their chief food in winter. Birds are known to eat
the seeds of over one hundred different kinds of

INTRODUCTION 7

weeds, and the quantity they devour is almost un-
believable.

What the Tree Sparrow Does

The Tree Sparrows that were chattering so so-
cially over their breakfast were at the same time do-
ing their share toward the destruction of seeds that,
without their help, we should have had to fight the
following summer. Perhaps we may think their
share a small and unimportant one; but as we con-
tinue our walk we find a company of Tree Sparrows
in nearly every field and all are gathering and crush-
ing seed with their sharply pointed, stout little bills.

If we watched them throughout the day we should
find that they passed most of their time in the same
useful occupation; and we might estimate the num-
ber of seeds each bird devours in one day. Then,
with the help of others, we might continue our
studies of Tree Sparrows over a much larger area
until we knew about how many there were in each
square mile.

This was the method pursued by Professor Beal,
one of the greatest authorities on the food of birds.
His studies were made in the state of Iowa, where
he estimated that from October to April, or for
some two hundred days, the Tree Sparrow popu-
lation averaged about ten to each square mile. Each

8 OUR WINTER BIRDS

Sparrow was believed to eat about one-fourth of an
ounce of weed-seeds daily. At this rate, the total
consumption for the season would be 1,750,000
pounds, or 875 tons! Is this not indeed an almost un-
believable amount? Still, Professor Beal tells us that
these figures “unquestionably fall short of reality.”

Now I have no doubt that in the state of Iowa,
as well as in all the other states inhabited by the
Tree Sparrow in winter, few farmers realize what
an invaluable helper they have in this little, brown,
streaked Sparrow. But if some one were to adver-
tise in the papers of Iowa that he intended to sow
875 tons of weed-seed in the state, do you believe
that he would be permitted to do it? Would he not
be branded as an enemy of every citizen of the com-
monwealth, who, if he persisted in his evil intent,
should be placed under arrest?

Just one kind of Sparrow actually prevents Nature
from sowing these tons of seeds, and what reward
does it receive? Do we give it a vote of thanks?
No! Often the State has not given it the legal pro-
tection it so well deserves. The Government at
Washington has therefore taken the Tree Sparrow,
and all other migratory birds, under its care as
wards of the nation, and hereafter they may travel
throughout our land as Citizens of the United States
under the guardianship of Federal law.

INTRODUCTION 9

How the Chickadee Helps

Chickadee seems so free of care as he flits from
limb to limb, that only those who have studied his
bill-of-fare know what he is doing for us. Perhaps
if he realized the importance of his services the re-
sponsibilities of life would weigh more heavily upon
him, and he might be as serious as a Brown Creeper.

Some years ago Mr. Forbush, ornithologist of
the state of Massachusetts, invited the Chickadees
and their friends to be his guests in an old orchard
during the winter. Various kinds of food were of-
fered them, but this did not prevent the birds from
doing some foraging on their own account. The
eggs of the cankerworm and tent caterpillar, and of
other enemies of trees formed their principal fare.
The birds were studied closely, and it was learned
that one Chickadee would eat over 250 cankerworm
eggs at a meal. In the course of a day, therefore,
it might destroy more than twice this number.

It was also discovered that from March 20 to
April 15, each Chickadee would devour an average
of thirty female cankerworm moths per day. As
each moth contained about 180 eggs we see that, be-
tween the dates named, a single Chickadee might
destroy as many as 5,000 cankerworm eggs in one
day!

10 OUR WINTER BIRDS

This surprising record gives us some idea of what
Chickadee is doing for us. Mr. Forbush’s Chicka-
dees, and the birds he attracted the following sum-
mer, actually saved his orchard for him. He tells
us that “the trees bore luxuriant foliage during the
entire summer and produced a good crop of fruit.”
His next neighbor’s orchard was also protected by
the birds but “elsewhere in the town,” he writes,
“most of the apple trees were defoliated and very
few produced any fruit that year. While the re-
sult secured in such an exceptional year seemed re-
markable, the experience of succeeding years has
demonstrated that it was not so. Year after year
we have kept our trees free from serious insect in-
jury, without spraying or otherwise protecting the
foliage, merely by a little effort and expenditure to
attract the birds and furnish them safe homes.”

WHY WE SHOULD KNOW THE BIRDS

Here, then, are three excellent reasons why we
should all make friends with the birds in winter.
First, because winter is the only season when birds
may actually need our bounty. It is not the cold
from which they suffer. In their warm, feathered
suits they are probably just as comfortable out of
doors as we are at our firesides. It is when pro-
longed storms prevent them from venturing forth to

INTRODUCTION 1X

feed, or heavy snows cover the weed stalks, or ice
encases the limbs, that we may come to their relief
and save them from starvation. Second, because in
the silence and solitude of winter the companionship
of birds is more welcome than at any other time
of the year. Third, because the winter birds are
powerful allies of the gardener and farmer.

To these three reasons we may add a fourth: that
winter is the best season in which to begin the study
of birds. We will not then be discouraged by the
overwhelming abundance of bird-life of migration
time or of summer.

During the winter only the birds which remain
throughout the year, and which are termed Per-
manent Residents, and those that come from the
north and are known as Winter Visitants, are with
us.

If you see fifteen different kinds of birds in a
_morning’s walk you will have done well. There may
‘ many individuals of each kind, and this fact will

give you an excellent opportunity to observe the
colors and markings of each species. If you have
no bird book with you, you should write careful
descriptions of the strange birds you see, while you
see them, and, on returning, you should have little
difficulty in selecting from the colored plates the
birds you have found and described.

12 OUR WINTER BIRDS

When the birds come back to us from the south,
as many as one hundred and thirty different kinds
have been seen by one person in a single day. The
time will come when you will look forward impa-
tiently for the return of these feathered travelers.
The days when they seem to throng every tree are,
to the bird-lover, the most enjoyable and exciting in
the whole year. But to begin to make friends with
the birds in May, is as confusing as it is to enter a
room filled with people none of whom we know.

So let us get acquainted with the winter birds
before the birds of spring arrive from their homes
in the south. I shall introduce you first to the birds
of our threshold, lawn, and orchard; the everyday
birds, that seem as much interested in us as we
are in them. Probably you know many of them al-
ready.

Then we shall go to the fields and woods in search
of the birds that rarely if ever come about our
homes. We shall have to go much more than half-
way to meet them, and perhaps just for that reason
we shall value their friendship even more highly
than we do that of the commoner, more trustful
birds.

Birds’ eyes are so much sharper than ours and
we are so much larger than the birds, that prob-
~ ably birds can see all they want to of us long before

INTRODUCTION 13

we are near enough to see all we want of them. So
we should have an opera or field-glass in order to
see size, shape, colors and markings of the birds
clearly, and a note-book in which to enter what we
have seen.

INVITING THE BIRDS

UR love of pets and desire to have
them about us often brings beneath
our roof animals which are not on

Uf

the best of terms with one another.
— We may be equally fond of our cat

and our terrier, while they exhibit
only armed neutrality toward one another. Our
setter’s instinct to capture chickens may never be
overcome by training. Remember, therefore, that
pussy, purring so cosily by your fireside, was born.
a bird killer, and few indeed are the cats which can
be trained to observe the game-laws. Nor should
we expect them to do so.

A host who knowingly exposes his guests to the
danger of death is surely less a host than a mur-
derer. Unless, therefore, we can be reasonably sure
that the birds will be as safe near our homes as they
are in their own haunts, it is far better for us to go
to them rather than to ask them to come to us.

But cats are everywhere; in field and forest, as

well as lawn and garden. If, therefore, we can con-
14

INTRODUCTION 15

trol the cat-problem immediately about our homes,
we need not hesitate to offer our hospitality to the
birds, provided we observe certain precautions when
entertaining them. Most important of these is plac-
ing our ‘‘dining tables” and “lunch counters” beyond
the reach of our neighbor’s cat. (There will always
be a neighbor’s cat.) Or if it be so situated that a cat
might climb to it, for example in a tree or bush, let
there be some protection, either of roof or branches,
which will prevent a cat from springing on it.

If it be on the ground, let it be open at both ends
so that when the enemy enters at one, the birds may
escape at the other.

THE LODGING

We cannot expect the birds to be more than pass-
ing callers unless we provide them with lodging as
well as with food.

’ Evergreens make the best birds’ bed-rooms, and
they can be used the year around. Close-limbed ar-
bor-vite and cedar give more protection than the
more open-branched spruce and pine. These trees
offer food as well as shelter and are therefore first
on the bird host’s list.

Densely planted bushes and tangles of vines on
southern exposures make safe and snug sleeping
‘quarters even when the leaves are off. Brush heaps

16 OUR WINTER BIRDS

make serviceable roosts and may be placed where
needed in winter, to be removed when the foliage
of summer turns every tree into a dormitory. Left
in some. inconspicuous position and over-run with
vines, they offer capital nesting-places for Catbirds
and Thrashers. I have made an attractive lodging
house for birds by stacking lima bean poles, with the
vines still attached, in the form of a tepee.

Having assured our feathered guests safe and
comfortable quarters, we must prepare a bill-of-fare
which will appeal to their varied tastes.

There should be cone-bearing trees for the Cross-
bills, Pine Grosbeaks and Siskins, box elder and
mountain ash for a possible Evening Grosbeak,
birches for the Redpolls, Virginia creeper for the
Flickers and Waxwings, sunflowers for the Gold-
finches, while dogwood, thorn crab-apple (Crate-
gus), privet, bayberry, staghorn sumach, viburnum,
barberry and black alder all bear fruit which, ripen-
ing in the fall, will not fail to attract winter birds.

But nature’s larder cannot be stocked in a day;
nor can it always be kept filled. We must therefore
substitute for it or add to it food which we have
learned birds like; this we may offer to them in a
variety of ways, always remembering that we are
setting the table for birds and not for cats.

Our pleasure in attracting the birds to our homes

INTRODUCTION 17

in winter is measured not only by our success in giv-
ing them shelter and food during the bleak and bar-
ren season, but also by the extent to which we gain
their confidence and win their companionship. We
want not only to bring the birds to our gardens but
to our threshold, and for this reason the most satis-
factory feeding device is a window lunch counter.

An ideal window has a southern exposure with
nearby trees and bushes without, and a dining room
within where, as we sit down at our meals, we may
see the birds at theirs.

The table itself should be worthy of the guests
we hope will honor it; not a soap-box or bare wooden
slab, but a rustic tray with a railing by way of a
perch, and at one end a small evergreen to which
the birds may retire between courses.

_ We cannot hope to receive immediate acceptances
when we invite the birds to dine with us. Window-
sills are not places in which they have been accus-
tomed to look for food, and the habit of visiting
them is not to be acquired at once. To hasten mat-
ters one bird host? hung his table on a wire trolley
some distance from the house, where the birds could
easily see it. Soon after they found it, he drew it
gradually toward his window and the birds followed

it to its new position.

7See Gilbert H. Trafton, “Bird Friends” (Houghton, Mifflin
Company).

18 OUR WINTER BIRDS

A Dutcher window box? will bring the birds even
nearer to us. This is a three-sided glass box which
is made to fit the window-opening closely and on
which the sash closes as tightly as it did on the sill.
It projects about a foot into the room, while the
wooden floor, or food tray, extends also outward the
same distance beyond the sill. Food is inserted
through a lid in the top.

Meals may be served in the garden on feeding
stands, or in the trees, but again let us not forget that
the cat will come without any invitation. A rustic
feeding stand will prove more serviceable and more
sightly than many of the devices now in use. An
evergreen bough, thatched or rustic roof may be
added for purposes of protection and concealment.

The accompanying diagram shows such a stand
as I have in mind. In place of the broad tray, which
offers birds no foothold, and does not clearly indi-
cate each guest’s place at the table, as it were, I pre-
fer a hollowed limb or a bark-covered trough in
which the food may be placed. This provides a
natural perch on which the birds look, and doubt-
less feel, far more at home than on a flat floor. Two
of these limbs placed on the same upright more than
double the feeding capacity of this “branch estab-
lishment” since it permits uncongenial guests to take

*See E. H. Baynes, “Wild Bird Guests” (E. P. Dutton & Co.).

INTRODUCTION 19

seats at different tables. A third smaller limb may
be placed well up under the roof for use as a roost-
ing-perch, while barbed wire wound about the base
of the upright as far as the lower food trough will

A Rustic FEEDING-STAND AND SHELTER

act as a cat-guard. This stand should be situated in
a sheltered spot, and, if possible, where it will be a
half-way house to the window tray.

THE BILL-OF-FARE

In preparing a bill-of-fare for our prospective bird
guests, we must remember that among them are

20 OUR WINTER BIRDS

both insect- and seed-eaters. For the former we
should have a never-failing supply of suet. This
may be tied to the upright post of the garden stand
between the troughs, and attached to the frame at
the side of the window tray. The Chickadee, Nut-
hatches, Downy and Hairy Woodpeckers and Brown
Creeper are especially fond of this food and it will
also be taken by the Jays and Starlings.

For the seed-eating Sparrows and Grosbeaks we
should offer hemp, canary and sun-flower seed, Jap-
anese millet, cracked corn and mixed chick-feed;
crumbs and broken dog-biscuit. Unroasted peanuts
and other nuts are eagerly eaten by birds of both
classes.

Wherever we spread a table for the birds, the
English Sparrows will probably be the first to come
and the last to go. Even the pugnacious, noisy little
Sparrows are better than no birds at all, but we
surely do not want them when they crowd our native
birds from the places we wish them to fill.

Since Sparrows are mainly ground feeders, it has
been suggested that if we sprinkle a supply of grain
on the ground near the feeding stand, they will visit
it and leave the Chickadees, Nuthatches, and Downy
to enjoy their meals unmolested.

HOME BIRDS

Il
HOME BIRDS

HE kind of birds which you may ex-
pect to visit you will, of course,
depend upon the location and sur-
roundings of your home. Do you
dwell in town or country; in the
midst of fields or at the border of

woods? Are there trees and bushes near the house;

do you provide food and shelter for birds in winter?
Some fortunate people are so favorably situated

that they may expect to entertain our rarest winter
visitors, while others may hope to receive calls only
from English Sparrows and Starlings.

All the birds placed in this section I know to have
visited a home in one of the large suburban towns
near New York City. It is not a large place and
there are other houses near by, but much planting
and little trimming has given birds the cover that
their natures insist they shall have.

Cats are here unknown and a bountiful lunch-
counter offers a never-failing supply of the things

that birds love.
23

CHICKADEES
A BIRD WITHOUT FEAR
(Fig. 32)

F we should keep a guest-book and
write in it the names of all our
bird visitors, “Chickadee,” I am
sure, would be entered on nearly
every page. Of all our birds he is
the most friendly. Fearlessly he

comes so near us that we can see his bright little

black eyes shine, and then introduces himself by
calling his name so clearly that no one can fail to
understand him. It is just as though he said: “How
do you do? I am Chickadee-dee-dee.” No one can
refuse to extend the hand of friendship to so de-
lightful a caller. Often he will honor us by accept-
ing it as a perch, which, I suppose, is as near as a
bird can come to shaking hands.

Certainly no handshake ever arouses within us
more cordial, kindly feelings than does the grip of
Chickadee’s little claws on our finger. We are so

big and he is such a little fellow that when he ac-
24

HOME BIRDS a5

tually places his life in our hand he shows a faith
in our good-will that wins our heart. No one could
betray Chickadee’s trust.

When you have a food-shelf to which the same
Chickadees return day after day, it does not take
long to make friends with them. Soon they will
take a bit of nut from your hand and perch upon
your head or shoulders to ask for more. Several
times I have had this happen with strange Chicka-
dees in the woods far from home. The experience
was thrilling. I felt as though some sprite had
touched me with a magic wand and admitted me into
the ranks of woodland dwellers.

If some day Chickadee touches you with his wand,
I believe that you, too, will find he has opened a
new world to you. A world of feathered folk whose
ways are more wonderful than fairy tales. You will
see them build their homes, quaint dwellings of grass
and straw, sticks and mud, neatly furnished with
hair, down or feathers. You will see the eggs, of
many colors and curious markings, they lay in them.
You will marvel, as all the world has marveled, that
from these dainty, polished shells the young ones
come. You may watch the parent birds care for
their families, and see the birdlings grow and don
their feathered suits. Perhaps you may actually be
near by when they make their first journey in the

26 OUR WINTER BIRDS

world, and the untried wings bear them to a neigh-
boring limb. Then you will learn how, with these
wings, the migratory species may travel thousands
of miles to their winter homes in the tropics and
return to us the following spring.

Best of all, your ears will be opened to the voices
of birds. Woods and fields that before seemed silent
will now ring with calls and songs. Many have a
meaning to the birds that utter them and some day
you too may understand them.

The notes with which Chickadee first makes him-
self known seem to us like a greeting. To them
he adds some gurgles and chuckles, which we can-
not interpret, though they sound very much like the
things we should expect Chickadee to say. But we
must not form our opinion of Chickadee’s char-
acter from his everyday conversation. In. addition
to the calls which have given him his name, he utters
also a clear, high whistle of two or three notes.
It is so musical, so sad and plaintive, so filled with
tender sentiment that it is difficult to believe such a
matter-of-fact fellow as Chickedee seems to be can
be its author.

As a boy, I knew the call long before I was aware
that it was Chickadee’s. When, on a winter’s morn-
ing, I heard it floating through the woods, I used
to fancy that perhaps it was Jack Frost with an

HOME BIRDS 27

icicle for a flute. Finally I answered, and you may
imagine my surprise when Chickadee came {flitting
along from tree to tree and, perching almost within
reach, whistled the call which had so aroused my
curiosity.

It was just as though you should discover that
some boy friend whom you had known for years,
could not only talk and shout like all the rest of
the boys, but that he was also a remarkable singer.

These sweet notes are not Chickadee’s song, for
they are uttered by the female as well as the male,
and we know that with nearly all birds only the
male sings. Nevertheless, one hears them more fre-
quently in March and April when Chickadee, with
other birds, is looking for a mate. If his search is
successful, it is followed, about the first week in
May, by a hunt for a nesting place. This is always
in a hole, usually in a stump or limb, and not more
than fifteen feet above the ground. Sometimes a
deserted Woodpecker’s nest is chosen; at others,
when the wood is more or less decayed and soft,
Chickadee makes the hole himself. With only his
stout little bill for a tool and stout little heart to
urge on his work, he hammers persistently away
until a big enough hole has been made. This is lined
with soft plant-down, often from a fern, and with
moss, fur, and feathers.

28 OUR WINTER BIRDS

For so small a bird Chickadee has a surprisingly
large family. I once found a Chickadee’s nest with
nine eggs; but six or seven is the usual number. They
are white, spotted and speckled with brownish,
chiefly at the larger end.

There are busy times in the Chickadee family
when the eggs hatch. Meals are served at all hours
from daylight to dusk. In the opening chapter I
have told you something of the debt we owe Chicka-
dee when he hunts insects only for himself. Think,
then, of the number he must destroy when he pro-
vides food for a family of nine!

Fortunately for their parents, the young Chicka-
dees grow rapidly. Within a week after leaving
the egg they have a feathered suit like that worn
by their elders and in a few more days they leave
their crowded quarters and, under their parents’
care, begin to learn the ways of their kind.

Chickadee is with us throughout the year and,
therefore, belongs in the class of Permanent Resi-
dents. We see him more frequently from October
to May, when he visits our homes, than during the
summer, when he returns to the woods ta raise his
family.

In eastern North America there are three kinds
of Chickadees. Our friend the Black-cap is the
best known. He is found from central New Jersey

HOME BIRDS 29

to Canada, and, in the winter, as far south as the
District of Columbia.

From central New Jersey southward to the Gulf
States we have the Carolina Chickadee. This is a
slightly smaller bird with less whitish margins on
the wing-feathers. Its “Chickadee” note is described
as higher and more hurried, and its whistle call is
usually composed of four notes instead of two, and
is not so strong and clear as that of the more north-
ern bird.

In northern New England and Canada there is a
third Chickadee generally known as the Hudsonian
Chickadee. It has a brownish cap and its nasal
drawling ‘“‘tchick, chee-day-day” is so unlike the
notes of our Black-cap that you should know the
Hudsonian by his voice as well as his brownish
crown. He rarely goes far from his summer home,
but in winter has been seen in small numbers as far
south as northern New Jersey.

NUTHATCHES
THE TOPSY-TURVY BIRDS
W. hite-Breasted Nuthatch

(Figs. 38, 39)

UDGED by the frequency with which
_they are seen together, one of
Chickadee’s best friends is the
White-breasted Nuthatch. Dur-
ing the summer, when both are oc-

cupied with family cares, they have
little time for each other’s society, but in the winter
they are inseparable companions.

When, therefore, we hear Chickadee’s greeting
and soon find him swinging from limb to limb, we
often hear also a strange voice saying “‘yank, yank”
and chattering some words in a lower tone as though
its owner was talking to himself. We look about to
see who this can be and quickly find a short-tailed,
long-billed, gray, black-capped bird who, we observe,
runs down the trunk of a tree as easily as he can
climb up.

At the same moment he sees us, stops his search
30

HOME BIRDS a

for insects and their eggs, looks us over for a sec-
ond or two, grunts another ‘“‘yank-yank” and then
continues his hunting.

Evidently we are not as pleasing to White-breast
as we are to Chickadee. His curiosity about us
is soon satisfied. With patience and nuts we may
sometimes induce him to perch on our hand, but it is
the nut and not good-fellowship that attracts him.
But we always welcome Nuthatch, and if he does not
seem to care especially for us, he never hesitates to
accept an invitation to our lunch counter.

Nuthatch ought to be one of the great successes
in the world of birds, for he is one of the few birds
that seem to give thought to the morrow. We
have all seen dogs bury bones, and some of us have
seen a gray squirrel hide a nut, or have found the
chipmunk’s winter supply of provisions. This habit
of storing food is not uncommon with animals that
spend their lives in one place. But birds are more
independent. If food fails ... one part of the coun-
try, their wings can soon take them to a land of
abundance. It is not necessary for them to think
about to-morrow’s dinner. They have no closets or
cellars for hoarding food.

To this rule White-breast, or as he has also been
called, White-vest, is an exception. Watch him
when he comes to your food-shelf. See how freely

32 OUR WINTER BIRDS

he helps himself to suet! See, also, that he does
not swallow it but flies off with it in his bill to a
nearby tree. Here he creeps actively about looking
for the right kind of a crack or crevice in the bark;
when it is found the suet is placed in it and made
secure by a few taps of the bill. Then White-breast
hurries back to the Junch counter for more and that
he hides in another bark cupboard. Perhaps he may
repeat this performance many times, and if he can
find each little storehouse, he has a memory of which
any one might be proud.

Sometimes White-breast takes a nut or acorn,
wedges it tightly in a crack and then hammers away
until the shell is broken, when he eats the kernel
within. It is this habit which has given him the
name of Nuthatch, though one might think that
“Nutcracker” would be better.

We must not judge White-breast’s diet by the food
he selects from the table we set for him and his
friends. Even when this table is ready for him, he
spends much time running up and down the trunks
and limbs of the neighboring trees looking for the
eggs and larve of insects and spiders which form
more than one-half his food. Many of the insects
are the enemies of the trees on which they live and,
in destroying them, White-breast repays us a thou-
sand-fold for our contributions to his larder.

HOME BIRDS 33

Even White-breast’s best friend would not call
him a musician. His song suggests a kind of mirth-
less laughter: “hah-hah-hah-hah-hah,” he sings all
on one note. Heard in May when the air resounds
with the melodies of Thrushes and Grosbeaks, and
Thrasher’s far-flung measures, the humble effort of
White-breast would pass unnoticed. But heard in
early spring when every sign of the coming of sum-
mer is eagerly welcomed, White-breast’s monotone
echoes pleasantly through the leafless woods.

White-breast is among the earliest of small birds
to nest. In the first half of April he and his mate
find or make a hole in a tree or stump, and line it
with feathers, leaves, and fur. Five to eight eggs
are laid; they are creamy white, thickly and rather
evenly spotted and speckled with reddish brown and
purplish. In color the eggs of both White-breast
and his friend Chickadee are an exception to the rule
that birds which nest in holes and similar places lay
white, unmarked eggs.

The young White-breasts, like young Chicka-
dees, wear a suit resembling that of their parents
when they leave the nest. They do not at once ven-
ture forth into the world alone, but remain under
the guidance of their elders until they have learned
to care for themselves. During this time, and
perhaps longer, they may return every night to

34 OUR WINTER BIRDS

sleep in the snug quarters in which they were born.

Late one afternoon in August, I stopped beneath
a pine tree in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado
to look at a Pygmy Nuthatch (a small cousin of
White-breast). Soon I saw another and then a
third, fourth and fifth; the tree seemed to be swarm-
ing with Nuthatches! They were chattering to one
another and, as the light failed, they all began to
come downward toward a large, horizontal limb not
far above my head. In this limb there were two
openings which looked as though they were con-
nected. As I watched, one of the Nuthatches slipped
into the opening nearest the trunk. He was quickly
followed by a second and this one in turn by a third.
In less than a minute there was a procession of Nut-
hatches passing in at the same entrance, and when
the last one disappeared I had counted twenty-eight !
Long before this number was reached I expected to
see Nuthatches crowded out of the second opening,
but the capacity of the limb to hold Nuthatches
seemed unlimited. How many Nuthatch families,
I wonder, shared this dormitory?

HOME BIRDS 35

Red-Breasted Nuthatch
(Figs. 60, 61)

White-breast is with us throughout the year and
belongs in the group of Permanent Residents. But
he has a cousin in the north who comes to us in the
fall and remains only until spring, and is therefore
classed among the Winter Visitants.

About September first, if you think you hear some
one blowing a penny trumpet from a nearby pine or
spruce tree, you will probably find that it is a Red-
breast announcing his arrival from the north. He
does not come every year, and when he does appear
we cannot tell whether he will pass the winter with
us or continue his journey further south. Red-
breast is rather particular in his choice of food. He
is fond of the seeds of pine or spruce cones and
he is not likely to stay with us if he cannot find this
kind of fare.

Probably when it is to be had in his summer
home in Canada and northern New England, he
does not travel far southward. Doubtless this is
the reason why Red-breast visits us in numbers some
years and is not seen at all, or but rarely, in others.

Red-breast’s call is not so loud as that of White-
breast, nor is it given in such a business-like way.

36 OUR WINTER BIRDS

He seems to drawl, through his nose, a high “yna-
yna,” quite different from the vigorous “yank-yank”
of White-breast.

He may be known by size and color as well as
by voice. He has the black cap and gray back of
White-breast, but is smaller and wears a black stripe
from his eye to his ear, and his underparts are more
or less strongly tinged with reddish brown. In the
female, the crown and eye-stripe are grayish.

Red-breast’s nesting ways are much like those of
White-breast, but living farther north he does not
go to housekeeping before the first week in May.

THE DOWNY AND HAIRY WOODPECKERS
TWO CARPENTER COUSINS
Downy Woodpecker
(Figs. 26, 27)

EITHER my curiosity nor interest
is aroused when I hear a man
hammer; but when the sound of
Downy’s tap-tap-tap comes to my
ears I want to see him at work.

He may greet me with a single
word, ‘‘peek’’-—as clear and business-like as the tap-
ping itself. To me it is a kind of code signal for

“‘good-morning, I’m really glad to see you, but if you

don’t mind Ill go right on with what I’m doing

“here”

What he is doing is of importance to him and
mankind as well. He is getting his breakfast and
at the same time ridding the tree of a grub which
might have bored a channel through its heart.

It is interesting to watch Downy hunting. He
seems to be merely hitching his way up the tree.

He taps here and there, picking out an insect’s egg
37

38 OUR WINTER BIRDS

by the way, but probably all the time he is listening
for the borer within. When he hears it he goes to
work in earnest. Without a pause he picks away
busily. The chips fly before the strokes from his
stout little chisel. In a surprisingly short time he
has made an opening two or three inches deep. At
the bottom of it lies the grub. Now Downy uses
his spear. This is nothing less than his tongue,
which Downy can thrust out an inch or more be-
yond the end of his bill. Its tip is horny, sharply

A Wooppecker’s SPEAR
(Tip of Pileated Woodpecker’s tongue, much enlarged)

pointed, and barbed; just the kind of a weapon with
which to impale grubs and draw them from their
retreats. The grub captured, Downy sounds his
sharp call, as if in triumph, and perhaps follows it
with a short rolling rattle. Then he continues his
hunting.

Downy uses his bill as a combined pick and chisel
not only to secure food, but also to provide a home
for himself and his family. Early in May he selects
a dead limb and makes a hole usually about fifteen
to twenty feet from the ground, just large enough to
enter. Then he hollows out a larger cavity within.

HOME BIRDS 39

While constructing thic he hammers away quite out
of sight, and it is often puzzling to locate the source
of the muffled blows. A freshly made doorway, and
chips scattered on the leaves below, give a clue to
the hidden carpenter’s whereabouts.

His home is not furnished with the straws, hair,
or feathers with which so many birds line their nests,
and the four to six eggs are laid on the bare floor.
Like those of all Woodpeckers, and of nearly all
birds that nest in holes, they are pure white. In an
exposed place the snowy shells could easily be seen
by an egg-hunting Crow or Jay. So we will find
that the eggs of birds which lay in open nests are
usually colored. A blue, speckled or spotted egg
is much more difficult to discover than a gleaming
white one, and it is therefore believed that the
shades, tints and markings which make birds’ eggs
so beautiful, serve the useful purpose of concealing
the eggs from nest-robbers.

Downy is one of the few birds that makes its
nest a home as well as a nursery for the rearing of
his family. The Robin, Jay, Song Sparrow and
most true nest-builders, abandon their nests after
their young can fly; but Downy may return to sleep
in his night after night. Sometimes he makes a hole
for use only as sleeping quarters during the winter.

Downy’s bill is employed for three quite different

40 OUR WINTER BIRDS

purposes. We have seen how it is used to secure
food and make a home, but in addition to being a
pick and chisel, it is also a musical instrument! That
is to say, it is a part of a musical instrument—the
drumstick with which Downy beats a resounding
roll on some resonant limb.

This “‘br-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-up” is Downy’s song. A
man with a pair of drumsticks could not produce a
better tattoo; that Downy can do so well with only
one indicates how rapidly he beats his drum. The
little drummer seems to enjoy listening to the echo
of his music. He tests first this limb and then that,
as though he were looking for one that would pro-
duce the loudest noise. The result cannot in truth
be called musical, but like White-breast’s mirthless
laughter, it is one of the pleasing and welcome
voices of spring.

No small part of Downy’s skill as a carpenter
and drummer is due to the support he receives from
his feet and tail. Imagine a Robin clinging to the
trunk of a tree and trying to use its bill as Downy
does! Even if it had the same kind of bill it could
not perch firmly enough to deliver effective blows.

I once placed a museum specimen of a Wood-
pecker in Helen Keller’s hands and through her com-
panion asked her to tell me what she could discover
about its toes. Quickly her sensitive fingers found

_ eta bie.

HOME BIRDS 4I

an answer to the question and she replied, “It has
two front toes and two hind ones.”” Robin, we know,
with all other Perching Birds, has three front toes
and one hind one, an arrangement which permits
him to grasp small twigs. But Downy does not
perch, he clings, and his strong, widespreading toes
give him a firm grip on the bark.

The last thing we should expect a bird to do is to
sit on its tail; but this is exactly what Downy does.

Downy’s CHISEL AND CLIMELR

The tips of Robin’s tail-feathers are rounded and
soft, while Downy’s are pointed and as stiff as
bristles. They stick into the bark and make as good
a brace as the belt a telegraph linesman uses when
climbing poles.

We have all seen one of those men with sharp
spurs strapped to his feet go up a smooth pole.
When he reaches the place at which he wishes to
work, he leans back on the strap, which goes around
the pole and his body, just as Downy leans back on
his tail-feathers.

42 OUR WINTER BIRDS

Soon after the first railroad crossed the continent,
a famous Indian chief was brought to a station in
the West to see a locomotive. When the strange
and terrible monster appeared, it seemed neither to
interest nor excite him; but when a linesman with
his spurs on happened to ascend a nearby telegraph
pole, he exclaimed with wonder that a man could
climb like a Woodpecker !

Aside from the Woodpeckers we have only four
other climbing birds. Two of these, the White-
breasted and Red-breasted Nuthatches, we have al-
ready met. The third is the Brown Creeper and the
fourth the Black and White Warbler.

The Nuthatches have a plain gray back and wings,
quite unlike Downy’s black and white ones, and they
climb head downward quite as often as head up-
ward, while Downy always goes head upward, and
when he wants to go downward, backs down.

The Brown Creeper is so much smaller and so
differently colored that you never could mistake him
for Downy, while the Black and White Warbler
does not come to us from the south until the latter
part of April. By that time we should know Downy
so well that we can tell him at a glance from the
Warbler, which is smaller and which goes creeping
around trunks and limbs instead of hitching some-
what jerkily upward or forward.

HOME BIRDS 43

The male Downy wears a red band across the
back of his head. In the female this band is white.
Downy is with us throughout the year and therefore
belongs in the class of Permanent Residents.

Hairy Woodpecker
(Figs. 28, 29)

The old proverb tells us that “birds of a feather
flock together,” but we shall learn that birds may
be almost of a feather and still not seek each other's
society. The only feathers worn by the Downy and
Hairy Woodpeckers which are not alike are those
on each side of the tail. The Downy has these
feathers white with small black bars, but in the Hairy
they are white without black bars.

These differences are so slight that it would be
difficult to distinguish one bird from the other were
not the Hairy much the larger of the two.

In spite of their close resemblance, Downy is
much more often seen with his distant relative, the
White-breasted Nuthatch, than he is with his cousin,
the Hairy. The latter is not only less common, but
he prefers the woods to our gardens; two good rea-
sons why he is less often seen than the Downy.

His voice is like that of the Downy, but is no-

44 OUR WINTER BIRDS

ticeably louder, and he does not beat his drum so
rapidly.

The two birds build the same kind of nest, but the
Hairy, who, like the Downy, is a Permanent Resi-
dent, goes to housekeeping in the latter part of April.

ENGLISH SPARROW

AN UNWELCOME GUEST

(Figs. 30; 31)

OW unfortunate it is that our most
numerous bird should also be our
least attractive one. Possibly in
the city, where Sparrow is the only

bird, we may welcome him, be-
cause any bird is better than none
at all. But in the country, where Sparrow crowds
Chickadee, White-breast, and Downy from the feed-
ing-station, and drives Bluebird, Wren and Martin
from the houses we have erected for them, even the
most tender-hearted bird-lover must regard him as
a pest.

It is true that he can no more help being a Spar-
row than Blue Jay can help being a Blue Jay. But
Blue Jay has good looks and some traits to com-
mend him, while it is difficult to find anything to
admire in a Sparrow.

His plumage rarely looks bright and clean; his

voice is harsh and discordant, and he seems to be
45

46 OUR WINTER BIRDS

always using it; he is pugnacious, has no regard for
the rights of others, and is untidy about his home.

If he were a native bird we might believe that,
like flies and mosquitoes and other noxious insects,
he played some part in Nature’s plan the importance
of which we do not as yet understand. But Sparrow
is not an American bird. His ancestors were brought
to this country from Europe in 1851 and 1852 by
some well-intentioned but misguided gentleman who
believed he would rid our trees of caterpillars which
then infested them.

Sometimes, it is true, Sparrow does eat insects,
but, like other Sparrows, he lives chiefly on seeds.
If he inhabited the fields and fed on the seeds of
weeds he would be of value to us. But he insists
on living as near us as he can without actually enter-
ing our houses. Our feeding-stands, he seems to
think, are kept supplied for his especial benefit. He
claims as large a share of the Chickadees’ food as
though his services were as valuable as theirs.

He builds his nest on our window-sills, behind
shutters, in gutters, anywhere and everywhere that
he can find a place for the mass of straw, rags, and
feathers which make his home; and when we throw
the rubbish out, he refuses to take the hint and
promptly replaces it.

Persistence is indeed one of Sparrow’s most prom:

HOME BIRDS 47

inent characteristics. To it he owes his success in
life. Treatment that would drive native birds from
our homes for the season seems to be regarded by
him as a cordial invitation to stay. Nothing dis-
courages him. His habits have won few friends
among men and apparently none among birds; but
he is as cheerful as though he were the most loved
of feathered creatures.

Sparrow begins to nest in April, and has been
known to raise as many as six broods in one season.
At this rate of increase it has been estimated that
if all should live, the progeny of one pair of Spar-
rows in ten years would amount to 275,716,983,698 !

From four to seven eggs are laid. In color they
vary from plain white to olive brown, but are usually
white, finely and evenly marked with olive.

After the young Sparrows leave the nest they
gather in flocks which, with other flocks, return
every night to the same roosting-place. Sometimes
this is in a densely foliaged tree, at others in ivy
or other vines. The birds all seem to have much
to say as they retire, and chatter together in a
chorus which is fortunately hushed by the approach
of darkness.

The Sparrow’s worst enemy cannot deny that he
is persistent, brave, and cheerful. These are surely
excellent traits and we might well admire them in

48 OUR WINTER BIRDS

Sparrow were he not so selfish and quarrelsome; so
wanting in those tender, gentler qualities which make
Bluebird so lovable and Chickadee so winning.

Better a humble réle in life than to win success at
the price Sparrow has paid for it.

EUROPEAN STARLING

OUR LATEST BIRD CITIZEN
(Figs. 24, 25)

N the year 1890, the same gentleman
who was responsible for the intro-
duction of English Sparrows into
Central Park, New York City,
caused sixty Starlings to be released
there. The following year forty

more were liberated.

America evidently agrees with these birds. Dur-
ing a period when native birds have barely held their
own and some species have decreased in numbers,
Starling has multiplied and spread amazingly. The
one hundred Starlings now have hundreds of thou-
sands of descendants, and from the boundaries of
Central Park they have reached New Hampshire
and Virginia, and even west of the Alleghanies. At
the present rate of increase it will not be long be-
_ fore Starling is one of the most common birds of
eastern North America.

Without assistance he may not cross the treeless
49

50 OUR WINTER BIRDS

plains of our interior, for Starling is a tree-loving
bird.

Whether Starling will prove a useful citizen we
do not as yet know. He feeds to some extent upon
harmless insects, but he is also fond of fruit, while
his habit of nesting in holes induces him to occupy
the homes in which Flicker and Bluebird had for-
merly reared their families. He is with us through-
out the year and is one of the first of the smaller
birds to begin housekeeping. When Flicker and
Bluebird return to the hole they had used the year
before, we may imagine their surprise to find it in
the possession of a strange black bird who refuses
to move out.

It will be observed that the Starling, like the
English Sparrow, is evidently lacking in those finer
traits of character which prompt an unwelcome guest
quickly to take his departure. Doubtless for this
reason he has thrived where a more timid, retiring
bird would have failed.

Even the most ardent champion of the rights of
our native birds will admit that Starling has many
qualities which commend him to us. His plumage is
bright and glossy, his voice cheerful, and his habits
interesting. In the summer he wears a shining,
greenish black costume lightly dotted with creamish.
In the winter the dots are larger and more numer-

HOME BIRDS 51

ous. In the summer, which means also late spring,
his bill is yellow; in the fall and winter it is brown-
ish.

Like our Purple Grackle or Crow Blackbird, Star-
ling is a walker, and he seeks his food on the ground.
But the Grackle’s tail is noticeably long while Star-
ling’s is conspicuously short, reaching only a little
beyond his sharply pointed wings. When flying he
reminds me of a large spear-head.

When the young Starlings leave the nest they are
dull gray in color, but they soon ‘lose this plumage
and acquire one similar to that worn by their parents
in winter.

Starling’s most characteristic note is a high, clear,
long-drawn whistle. It is so much like the one we
sometimes use when we wish to attract another per-
son’s attention that when we hear Starling’s call we
cannot be sure at first whether we are listening to
a bird or a man.

This whistle also forms part of Starling’s song,
a kind of choking, gasping, guttural soliloquy, which
can be heard only when you are quite near the singer.
Occasionally one hears him utter a plaintive call so
exactly like that of the Wood Pewee that for some
years I believed he was imitating that bird; but I
have since concluded that the notes are his own.

Starling’s four to six pale blue eggs are laid in

52 OUR WINTER BIRDS

April, and by May 15 we may hear the grating call
of the young Starlings as they follow their parents
about on the lawn and beg for food. The birds now
begin to gather in flocks which, by August, may con-
tain several thousand individuals.

At this season one may see the wonderful aérial
evolutions for which Starlings are famous. One
might believe that they had been called together for
fall maneuvers. They swing through the air chang-
ing from one formation to another with a precision
which would excite the envy of the best trained sol-
dier. Now they look like a dark round cloud, then
they lengthen out into the shape of a huge balloon,
then in a second they whirl as one bird and stream
away like a banner of smoke.

In the fall I always welcome the sight of these
birds drilling in the air. But before the Starlings
came, the appearance of a flock of black birds in
late February or early March was an unmistakable
sign of the coming of spring. They might be Red-
wings, or they might be Grackles; but they surely
were the advance guard of the great army which was
marching up from the South. But now, who knows,
they may be only Starlings!

BLUE JAY
A BIRD OF CHARACTER
(Fig. 20)
MAN who possessed Blue Jay’s

character and voice would be far
from popular. But we must not
judge birds by the standards we
apply to men.

If Blue Jay’s call is a loud,
harsh “‘jay-jay,”’ we must remember that he is speak-
ing the language of Jays. If his manner seems over-
bearing and if he sometimes robs smaller birds of
their eggs, we must not forget that the only rules
of conduct he knows are those of other Blue Jays.
While, therefore, we may not altogether approve of
the ways of Jays, we should not blame Blue Jay for
adopting them.

We cannot make friends with Blue Jay as we do
with Chickadee, but as I look back over my long
acquaintance with him and his kind, I discover what
I think is an improvement in his habits. When first

I met him he was a bird of the woods and distant
53

54 OUR WINTER BIRDS

hedgerows; now he lives in our gardens and builds
his home near ours.

Blue Jay is a shrewd, wise bird, and I believe that
he has taken up his abode in towns and villages not
because he is fond of our society, but because he is
safer there from attack by his natural enemies.

However this may be, we may credit him with
having learned to trust us even if he does not care
forus. Perhaps some day he may become as friendly
as his cousin, the Florida Jay.

No one will deny that, so far as appearance goes,
Blue Jay is a striking addition to our list of bird
callers. His size, beautiful costume of blue and
white, jaunty crest, and gay, dashing actions always
command our attention and admiration. He may
rifle a nest or two, he may visit our feeding-stand
more as a robber than a guest, he may awaken us
at an early hour by his loud cries, but he is such
an attractive bit of wild life, that, knowing he
has had only the training of Jays, we overlook his
faults.

As we become more familiar with Blue Jay’s
habits, we shall find that he has much to commend
him beside his fine feathers. His vocabulary is by no
means restricted to the loud calls which have given
him his name. He has also a variety of whistles,
some of which are really pleasing. When he is with

HOME BIRDS 55

other Jays he utters a number of low notes so con-
versational in character that one can easily imagine
the birds are talking together. Perhaps they are.

Added to these vocal gifts, Blue Jay is an excel-
lent mimic. He can imitate the calls of the Red-
shouldered, Red-tailed, and Sparrow Hawks so
closely that I imagine not even those birds them-
selves can detect the difference between his notes and
their own. But when I hear the call of a Hawk
quickly followed by Blue Jay’s familiar notes, I con-
clude that he is the author of both.

Blue Jay’s unusual intelligence is well shown dur-
ing the nesting season. Every one who has been
fortunate enough to live in the country knows how
easy it is to find the nest of a Robin, Catbird, or
Wood Thrush. The nearer we approach it the more
loudly do the birds protest. Only as we retreat do
they become less excited. It is just as though they
called “hot’’ and “cold,” and if we follow the clue
their voices give, we soon discover the secret they
really wish to conceal.

But the Blue Jay gives you no hint to the where-
abouts of his home. During the nesting season his
voice is rarely heard. If you should chance to be
near his nest not a word will he say about it. Prob-
ably you will not see him in the vicinity. Even when
by chance or very careful searching you find his

56 OUR WINTER BIRDS

well-made dwelling, he still will make no outcry.

You may think him cowardly and point to the
bravery of the Robin and other birds in defending
their haunts. But Blue Jay is not a coward; he
merely seems to have some of that discretion which
is the better part of valor. Screaming and making
a great fuss would not help matters and might draw
a crowd, so he keeps perfectly still and watches 70H
from a nearby hiding place.

Perhaps with that confidence in mankind which
has led him to live near us, he may believe that you
will not take his eggs or harm his offspring. But
let a Crow or Owl appear and he will give you a
convincing exhibition of his courage.

I once watched a Blue Jay’s nest containing five
young birds for over an hour before I saw anything
of the parents, though they must have seen me.
Then they came only for a moment and were gone
again. But when I placed a stuffed Screech Owl
near their nest, they came to the defense of their
young as fast as their wings could bring them, and
attacked the poor little Owl with such force that at
the first blow he was knocked completely off his
perch.

About May first Blue Jay builds a large, finely
woven nest of twigs, lined with rootlets, and places

HOME BIRDS 57

it in a tree usually from ten to twenty feet above the
ground.

The four or five eggs are pale olive-green or
brownish ashy, rather thickly spotted with cinnamon-
brown. The nestling plumage of the young Jays is
blue and white like that of their parents.

CARDINAL

A BIT OF FLAME IN FEATHERS

O closely do we associate brightly
colored birds with the tropics that
the Cardinal seems like a visitor
from the Equator. At least we
expect him to pass the winter there,

but all seasons seem alike to him,
and he appears to feel as much at home in a snow-
storm as in some tangled thicket richly clad with
foliage. Brilliant as he is against a white back-
ground, he is even more fiery in summer, the gray-
ish tips to his feathers, which slightly veil his plum-
age in winter, having at that season worn off. But
at all times he has a surprising way of disappearing
when one would think there was not enough cover
near to conceal his gleaming coat. Then, only his
sharp, small chip, tells us in what bush he is hiding.

It is when he is singing that the Cardinal can be
seen to best advantage. Then he often seeks an ex-
posed perch where his message will be borne to the
four points of the compass, and head erect, crest
raised, calls in his rich, sympathetic voice ‘‘De-ar,
58

HOME BIRDS 59

de-ar, de-ar, come he-ar, he-re-he-re; quick-quick,
hurry-hurry-hurry.”

Before long his appeal is answered by an olive-
brown mate. Unlike most birds of her sex she, too,

CARDINAL

is a vocalist, and can respond to the ardent serenade
of her lover with a song of her own, though it is by
no means so loud as his.

If all goes well with this musical wooing, a nest
of twigs, rootlets and bits of grass will soon be built
in the nearby undergrowth, and in due time it will
contain three or four bluish white eggs, spotted and
speckled with brown. Cardinals are rarely seen

60 OUR WINTER BIRDS

north of New York City. They are not migratory
and from that point southward are found through-
out the year. Except for the black on his face and
chin, the male is bright red; the female is olive-
brown above, paler below, with the wings and tail
tinged with red. Her crest is not so large as that
of the male, but when erect is conspicuous.

FLICKER
_ ‘A CANDIDATE FOR NATIONAL HONORS

(Figs. 21, 22)

I were asked to vote for a national
bird I should cast my ballot for the
Flicker. He is a real citizen of
North America. His home extends
from Central America to Canada.
Throughout the greater part of
this wide territory he may be found every month in
the year, though north of the latitude of New York
he is not common during the winter.

The Flicker would have my vote not only because
he inhabits the entire nation, and can therefore repre-
sent every state in it, but in character, habits, and
appearance he is clearly a credit to the country.

He is alert, industrious, progressive and success-
ful. Some members of his family (for example, the
Ivory-billed Woodpecker and Pileated Woodpecker)
have been unable to adapt themselves to the changes
which have been made in their haunts by man. When

the forests go they also disappear.
: 61

62 OUR WINTER BIRDS

This is not the Flicker’s fate. When the woods
are felled, he comes to live in our orchards and
gardens. If the pruner and forester leave him no
dead limbs to nest in, he drills a hole in a fence-
post or accepts the boxes we offer him.

He wins his way peaceably if he can, but will
defend his rights courageously if necessary. That
new bird settler, the Starling, often tries to take
possession of Flicker’s home, and is doubtless sur-
prised to find that although when undisturbed Flicker
minds his own affairs, when aroused he is a foe to
be feared.

Flicker owes his success to his ability to change
his diet as well as his nesting site. If you compare
his bill with that of our other Woodpeckers you will
observe that it is longer, more slender and slightly
curved. His tongue, also, is unlike that of the
Downy or Hairy Woodpecker, the tip being prac-
tically without barbs.

Although more like a probe than a chisel, Flicker
can make the chips fly from an old log or dead limb
when grub-hunting, but his favorite fare is ants.
These he usually captures at their homes and this
explains why we so often see Flicker on the ground.
In the distance we might think he was a Robin tug-
ging at a worm, as he rapidly probes an ant-hill.
The long tongue, covered with a gummy secretion,

HOME BIRDS 63

is thrust out, the ants stick to it and are caught in
such numbers that as many as 3,000 have been found
in the stomach of one Flicker.

To his fare of grubs and ants Flicker adds fruit.
The berries of the Virginia creeper and sour gum
are among his favorites and he is also fond of wild
cherries, pokeberries, berries of the dogwood, moun-
tain ash and many others. Flicker therefore draws
his supply of food from the ground and from the
trunks of trees, as well as from the fruit they bear.

In appearance Flicker, to my mind, is one of the
most attractive of our birds. His costume contains
many beautiful colors combined in a striking but
pleasing variety of patterns. The black crescent on
his breast and scarlet band on his nape, the flash,
or “flicker” of yellow revealed in his wings when he
flies; the large white spot that shows so conspicu-
ously on his lower back when he goes bounding
away from us in his graceful, undulating flight, all
distinguish him from other birds and, together with
his habits and notes, have won him many names.
Among over one hundred others, he has been called
Crescent-Bird, Golden-winged Woodpecker, and
Cotton Rump; High-hole, Yarrup and Yellowham-
mer. These all show that Flicker is known far and
wide, as any national bird should be. In fact,
Flicker seems to possess in a high degree all but one

64 OUR WINTER BIRDS

of the attributes which the chosen bird of the nation
should have. He is a native of every state, he is
adaptive and intelligent; peaceful but brave; use-
ful and beautiful, but he cannot sing; and song is so
preéminently the divine gift of birds, that a bird
which lacks it does not seem to be quite perfect.

Flicker, it is true, has a greater repertoire than
most members of his family. He is an accomplished
drummer and sometimes beats his tattoo on a tin roof
or gutter with more enthusiasm than consideration
for the ears of would-be sleepers in adjoining bed-
rooms.

He announces his presence with a loud, strongly
accented ‘“‘Kée-yer” and his many times repeated
“cuh-cuh-cuh” is as much a part of spring as the
piping of frogs. The “kwée-chu, kwée-chu” with
which he accompanies his odd courtship poses, and
the chuckle he utters when he springs up before us
cannot well be called songs, but at least they are one
of the most characteristic of Nature’s voices, with
which, in time, we establish associations that make
them inexpressibly dear to us.

Flicker and his mate go house-hunting early in
April, but the eggs are not laid for a month later.
They number five to nine, and like those of all Wood-
peckers, are spotless white. The young Flickers are
born naked and do not get their first suit of feathers,

ae

HOME BIRDS 65

which is much like that of their parents, until they
are a week or more old. They are noisy little chaps
and if you tap the tree trunk or limb in which they
are living, they utter in chorus a loud buzzing pro-
test. They climb to the nest-hole to receive their
food, which the parents give them by a process known
as regurgitation. In this act the parent thrusts its
bill far down the throat of the young and brings up
from the crop, or regurgitates, partly digested food.
On this fare the young grow so rapidly that they
leave the nest when they are about four weeks old.
Then for some time they remain under their parents’
care, learning the ways of their kind.

SONG SPARROW

“a LITTLE BROWN BIRD”
(Fig. 34)

ATE in February, when in some
sheltered, sun-warmed nook, I hear
a Song Sparrow sing, I know that
spring is near because “‘a little bird
has told me so.” The ground may
still be white with snow, the bare

branches show no sign of life. Not even the pussy
willows have “‘crept out along each bough,” nor have
the frogs piped a single note. But there is the signal,
“Spring, Spring, Spring, sunny days are here.”

It is said in such a sweet, unpretentious voice and
by such a modest, unassuming little bird, that one
cannot at first believe Nature would send so great a
message in such a simple way.

When the Cranes trumpet it to the four winds and
the Geese call it through the sky, we know it is true;
but long before they have spread the news so that

any one may hear, those whose ears are attuned to
66

HOME BIRDS 67

Nature’s voices, loud or low, have heard it from the
Song Sparrow.

Watch him as he sings the glad tidings. He seems
to realize their importance and, with head thrown
back and body quivering, puts his whole soul into
the delivery of his message.

Only the born bird-lover may want to know all
the birds, but every one should know the Song Spar-
row. The Warblers, Vireos and Flycatchers each
bear a message for him who can interpret it, but
any one can understand the Song Sparrow. He
speaks a common language. In February, when he
sings the welcome news of the birth of a new year,
I half expect to see him clad in cloth of gold, but
the badge of black he wears upon his breast is his
only distinctive mark. For the rest, he is just a
little brown Sparrow streaked below as well as above.

Although his song varies so greatly that one rarely
hears two Song Sparrows sing exactly alike and even
the same bird may sing in half a dozen different
ways, there is a quality about his voice which always
enables one to identify it. The three opening notes
are usually alike and, however great may be the
variations that follow, they have the unmistakable
tone of the Song Sparrow’s voice.

Equally characteristic is Song Sparrow’s call-note,
a questioning ‘“‘chimp” or “trink” which, once you

68 OUR WINTER BIRDS

have learned it, is as good an identification mark as
though the bird were to speak its own name.

Young Song Sparrows sing a rambling kind of
low song, which seems to have neither beginning nor
end, and bears no resemblance to the strongly ac-
cented performance of their parent.

Song Sparrow is not a bird of the fields. He
never lives far from bushes into which, with a “‘pump-
ing” motion of the tail, he generally flies when
alarmed. He prefers the vicinity of water, and an
alder-bordered brook with marsh marigolds, like
patches of sunlight on the fresh green of the neigh-
boring meadows, makes his ideal home.

Though far less abundant in winter than in sum-
mer, Song Sparrow is with us throughout the year.
He opens the season of song in February and closes
it in November. Late in April he and his mate
build on or near the ground a nest of coarse grasses,
rootlets, dead leaves and strips, of bark and line it
with fine grasses. The four or five eggs are whitish
with numerous reddish-brown markings.

GOLDFINCH

THE WILD CANARY
(Figs. 35, 36)
\OLDFINCH he may be during the

summer, but when he replaces his
gay black and yellow costume with
one of olive-brown he should
change his name also if he expects
‘to be recognized by it. His nature
he never eehanwes, and summer or winter he is always
the same sweet-voiced, cheerful fellow, who calls his
gay “‘per-chic-o-ree, per-chic-o-ree”’ as he goes bound-
ing through the air.

We may not receive a call from Goldfinch at our
feeding shelf, but if we will leave a few old seed-
filled sunflowers hanging on their stalks in the gar-
den, he and his merry troop will surely visit them.
In April they frequent the maples to take toll of the
fast swelling buds. Then the very trees seem musi-
cal. One can well imagine that every bud is bursting
with song as the birds chatter happily while feeding.

The males are now changing the olive winter plum-
69

70 OUR WINTER BIRDS

age for their gold and black wedding dress and will
soon be true Goldfinches. It is this costume, to-
gether with their canary-like song, that has won for
them the name of ‘Wild Canary.” They are also
called ‘“Thistle-bird” from their fondness for the
seeds of that plant.

The Goldfinch seems loth to give up his care-free,
wandering life for the duties of housekeeping, and,
like the Waxwing, roves about the country with a

a
Pra

wet Pape. ost

S 2 Por
or Uo —— ie ae
tpt aoe s,
Oe Tetiacene OSes

Tue Goiprincu Loops THE Loop

troop of his companions long after most birds have
families to provide for.

Perhaps he believes in a prolonged courtship for,
although, as we have seen, he dons his nuptiai cos-
tume in April, it is not until late June or even July
that he and his mate build a home. This they place
in bushes or more often trees, and make of fine
grasses, strips of grass and moss, padding it as
warmly with soft plant-down as though it were to
be used in mid-winter rather than mid-summer. The
three to six eggs are pale bluish white.

JUNCO

A WELCOME WINTER VISITOR
(Fig. 43)
EPTEMBER, with its army of birds

marching steadily southward, is an
interesting but sorrowful month
for the bird-lover. Birds which
were rare or not seen at all when
the migrating army passed us in the
spring, may now often be found in numbers. This,
too, is the season when young and inexperienced
birds not infrequently lose their way; and we are,
therefore, on the lookout for these ‘‘accidental vis-
itants,” as the ornithologist calls them. Perhaps
we may see some bird which has never been found in
our part of the country before!

While we therefore have keen enjoyment and ex-
citement in watching the host of Warblers, Vireos,
Flycatchers, Thrushes and others go by, we are sad-
dened by the thought that for the succeeding six or
seven months our woods will not know them.

Soon the leaves will come fluttering gently down-
71

72 OUR WINTER BIRDS

ward for a short time to carpet the wood-path with
bright colors, and the birds, deprived of their shel-
ter and food, will seek a home where frost is un-
known.

How pleasant it is then to know that among all

these travelers there are some which have come to
pass the winter with us. Of these ‘Winter Visitants,”
Junco is the most welcome. I first hear his familiar,
kissing ‘‘tsip”’ about the end of the month, and there,
sure enough, on the ground near a group of ever-
greens, is a company of the little gray-coated, white-
vested birds, which have just arrived from their
summer home in Canada.
‘ As I approach, with a twittering note, they fly
into the lower branches of the neighboring trees,
showing as they go their white outer tail-feathers,
the banner they always spread in flight. They call
a contented “true-true-true” to me as I pass, and I
answer, ‘Yes, surely it is ‘true’ that you have come
back to cheer us during the winter.”’

A little later in the season, Junco comes to our
dooryard and, until he leaves for the north the
following April, he is one of the most frequent
guests at our feeding-stands. Not long before he
goes, we may hear the simple little trill with which
Junco greets the coming of spring.

BROWN CREEPER

THE BARK BIRD
(Fig. 59)

HE Brown Creeper might well be
called the Bark Bird. He spends
his life on the bark, builds his nest
behind a slab of loose bark, and
looks himself like a piece of bark.
He might be a feathered mouse, so

truly does he creep up the tree-trunks, winding his

way around, and pausing only long enough to pick

out an insect’s egg here and there. When he reaches
the lower limbs he is apt to drop lightly down to
the base of a neighboring tree and the moment his
toes grasp the bark he begins his upward journey.
What a preoccupied, near-sighted manner he has!
How intent he seems upon his search! One never
sees him resting. He reminds me of a character
in mythology named Sisyphus. This poor man was
condemned to push a great stone up a hill; he toiled
faithfully, but always, just before he. reached the

top, the stone slipped from his grasp and rolled
73

74 OUR WINTER BIRDS

back to the bottom. Then he had to begin again.

So the Creeper appears constantly to be working
at some task he never can finish. He is persistent
and faithful, but fate seems against him. He spends
his life trying to climb trees, but when he reaches the
first branches he slips and falls and has to start from
the bottom again.

This view of his place in nature would doubtless

Tue Brown CREEPER’S PROBE-LIKE BILL AND POINTED STIFFENED
TAIL-FEATHERS

surprise the Creeper. His measure of success
would probably be found in the numbers of insects,
eggs and larve his patient gleaning discovers; and
when we see how well his stiff tail and curved bill fit
him to pursue his special calling, we cannot doubt
that he is one of the most valuable guardians of the
bark.

The Creeper is as uncommunicative as he is dili-
gent. A faint, thin, high screeping is the only note
we shall hear from him in winter, but in late
spring he has a short song of four notes which

HOME BIRDS 75

has been described as exquisitely pure and tender.

From northern New England northward is the
_ Creeper’s summer home. He leaves it late in Sep-
tember to start south with Junco, Red-breasted Nut-

hatch, and others to winter from New England to
the Gulf.

WHITE-THROATED SPARROW

A FEATHERED FIFER
(Figs. 45, 46)

HEN we can address a foreigner
in his own language, we at once
establish more friendly relations
with him than it would be possible
to create if we had to talk with
the aid of an interpreter.

So I always feel better acquainted with those birds
whose language I can speak than with those whose
tongues I cannot master. It is true that I rarely
know the meaning of what I say, but the birds
seem to understand; at least, they reply, and that
makes a bond of sympathy between us.

Any one who can whistle can acquire White-
throat’s language. His voice is clear, high, and
sweet, and the intervals between his notes so
closely agree with those of our musical scale, that
his songs can be written on our staff. Here

are two which I often hear. There are many
76

HOME BIRDS 97
variations of this ae
theme, but the SSS
rhythm is always oe ee ee ee
the same. The on a
words “Old Sam Two oF WHITE-THROAT’s SONGS
Péa-body, Péa-
body, Péa-body” are sometimes used to express it
and, for this reason, White-throat has also been
called Peabody Bird.

White-throat comes from his summer home in
northern New England and Canada with Junco,
late in September. In sheltered places where food is
available, he and others of his kind will remain
with us all winter.

Those that go as far south as Florida will visit us
again in April and May. White-throat is therefore
most numerous during his fall and spring migrations.
For a few days after his arrival, in late September,
White-throat seems to be resting from his journey
and remains quietly with his traveling companions
in some brushy place in the woods. But when I
whistle a few words to them in the language of
White-throats, they all appear much interested and
hop up to some look-out perch curious to see who

is speaking.
Perhaps some bird will reply in a rather weak,
shaky voice a little off the key. Even mature birds

78 OUR WINTER BIRDS

never sing as well in the fall as they do in the spring.
Most birds, indeed, sing little, if at all, at this sea-
son. Probably many of the songs we hear in the
fall are those of young birds trying their voices.

We all know that a young rooster’s first attempts
at crowing are ridiculously unlike his father’s re-
sounding “cock-a-doodle-doo.” The song of no
young bird is so laughable as a cockerel’s half-
formed crow, but it may be quite different from that
of his parent.

White-throat’s notes, however, are unmistakably
those of his kind. He seems to improve rapidly and
while his song is not so loud, clear, and ringing as
it will be the following spring, it is nevertheless a
welcome addition to nature’s small autumnal chorus.

White-throat’s call-note, “chink,” has been well-
likened to the sound produced by a marble-cutter’s
chisel. When you are near the bushes to which
White-throat and his companions are coming for the
night, you will hear the birds calling to one another,
and can easily imagine that a dozen or more work-
men are busily plying the chisel to finish the day’s
task.

We shall have no difficulty in recognizing the
older White-throats by the throat-patch which gives
them their name, together with a faint yellow spot
at the front end of the whitish line that passes over

HOME BIRDS 79

the eye. In young birds (No. 46) these markings
are not so well-defined; but when we see a Sparrow
that calls a sharp “‘chink” and sings “‘Péa-body-péa-
body-péabody,” we may be sure that it can be no
other than White-throat.

PURPLE FINCH

A WANDERING MINSTREL
(Figs. 32, 33)

HEN a company of Purple Finches
patronize our feeding-stand, our
garden seems bright with color and
cheery. with song. It is as though
all the English Sparrows had been
dipped in red ink or streaked be-

low with dusky and taught to sing.

In some parts of the west and southward into
Mexico, the House Finch or Linnet, a near relative
of our Purple Finch, seems as much at home in the
heart of large cities as though he were an English
Sparrow. It is most surprising to see a brightly col-
ored male perched on a telegraph wire above a
street thronged with vehicles, singing his flowing,
musical warble seemingly with as much pleasure as
though he were in a blooming apple orchard.

Unfortunately our eastern bird is not so fond of
the haunts of men. Usually he is but a voice in the

air. We hear his flight-call, ‘‘Creak, creak,” as he
80

HOME BIRDS 81

passes over. Perhaps he may pause for a moment
on the topmost branch of some tall tree and sing
a bar or two; but soon he is off again—‘‘Creak,
creak.”

Just where he goes one cannot say. Nor can one
tell when he will come. He is like a restless traveler,
ever on the go and not content to stay long at one
place.

About the middle of May he gives up his roving
life for a time and settles down to housekeeping.
If we have evergreens on our lawn, he may honor
us by accepting one as a site for his nest of twigs,
grasses and rootlets with its lining of fine hairs.

The four to six eggs are blue, spotted about the
larger end with blackish.

All the young birds, whether male or female, will
wear the streaked sparrow-like plumage of their
mother; but the whitish line over the eye will always
distinguish them from any of our real sparrows.
The young male wears his streaked costume through
the winter and the following spring dons the rosy
dress of the mature bird.

CEDAR WAXWING

A BIRD OF GENTLE WAYS
(Fig. 40)

F the Waxwing had a voice to match
his dress and disposition, he would
be among the most famous of
birds. His plumage lacks the bril-
liancy of Tanager or Humming-
bird, but its exquisite shading, trim

elegance, tasteful and unusual adornments make it
even more pleasing to the eye than one of gayer
hues. Furthermore, a Waxwing’s clothes, so~to
speak, always fit him and he wears them with an air
of refinement which adds to the dignity of his ap-
pearance. His distinction of manner is increased
by a crest which he uses as expressively as a horse
does its ears.

The Waxwing’s habits are in keeping with his
appearance. He is a quiet, gentle, well-mannered
bird, and is apparently always on excellent terms
with others of his kind. Doubtless for this reason

Waxwings always show a fondness for one another’s
82

HOME BIRDS 83

society. One rarely sees a single Waxwing. Usually
they are found in small flocks, the members of which
associate so closely that they seem to act as onc
bird. When they alight in a tree they perch close-
ly together, often sitting in a row on the same
limb, like Parrakeets. When they leave, they take
wing at the same moment and fly in close forma-
tion.

Perhaps it may be their attachment for one an-
other that delays their pairing and establishment
here and there as separate families. As a rule, they
do not begin to nest before the middle of June, a
date when most of our birds have families on the
wing. Only the Goldfinch nests later.

While a fondness for cedar berries is responsible
for the Waxwing’s first name, he shows no prefer-
ence for cedar trees as a home site. Indeed, the
large, well-formed nest is usually placed in a shade
or fruit tree often on our lawn.

The eggs, which number from three to five, are
quite unlike those of any other of our birds. Their
ground color is pale bluish gray, which is thickly
and distinctly spotted with black and dark brown.

The Waxwing has no real song and his faint,
lisping calls and string of beady notes are probably
uttered by both sexes. Nor does the male differ
from the female in color. Not every individual, it

84 . OUR WINTER BIRDS

is true, has the little red sealing-wax-like tips on the
inner wing-feathers (and rarely tail), which give
the bird its last name. Probably those which lack
this peculiar and distinctive mark are not wholly
adult. It is rarely worn by nestling birds, which
further differ from their parents in being lighter col-
ored and strongly streaked below.

The Waxwing does not restrict his diet to the
berry of the tree after which he is named. He seems
fond of all wild fruits and was not slow to add culti-
vated ones to his bill-of-fare. He is also fond of
various kinds of insects, particularly the canker-
worm so destructive to our elm trees, and no one
who knows of his valiant service as a protector of
our shade trees will deny his well-earned right to a
share of our cherries and strawberries.

Toward midsummer he becomes one of th2 most
expert and graceful of flycatchers and from a well-
chosen perch swings out into the air or darts upward
after passing insects.

Notwithstanding his gentle, quiet ways, the Wax-
wing is an adventurous and erratic traveler. He
follows no regular routes and time-tables such as
guide the journeys of the Warblers and most mi-
grants, but apparently wanders wherever the mood
prompts him to go. Wholly absent some winters,

HOME BIRDS 85

he may be present others. Here to-day, he has
gone to-morrow. But doubtless he has his own rea-
sons for coming and going, and it is pretty safe for
us to believe that among them the question of food
takes first place.

¢

GOLDEN-CROWNED KINGLET
OUR SMALLEST WINTER GUSST
(Figs. 62, 63)

E think it wonderful that the Hum-
mingbird, our smallest bird, should
go as far south as Central
America to spend the winter. But
is it not equally wonderful that
the Golden-crowned Kinglet, next
smallest in size, should brave the winters of New
England?

He has a body no larger than the end of your
thumb, but it is covered with so thick a coat of
feathers that Golden-crown is doubtless warm and
comfortable sleeeping in the depths of an evergreen
even when the thermometer registers below zero. °

Golden-crown belongs to a small but hardy group
of birds, all of which live in the more northern
parts of the world. Golden-crown himself is not
found in summer south of northern New England,
except on the higher, colder parts of the Alleghe-
nies, on which he is found as far south as North
Carolina.

86

HOME BIRDS 87

It is not only Golden-crown’s endurance which
makes him remarkable, but also the size of his
family. Although the smallest of our Song or
Perching Birds, he lays, as a rule, a larger number
of eggs than any other; as many as ten are com-
monly found in the great purse of green moss which
this active little bird builds for a nest in an ever-
green tree sometimes as high as sixty feet above the
ground.

Golden-crown comes to us from the north late in
September. A few birds remain during the winter,
traveling in small companies which are often asso-
ciated with Chickadees. They are restless, active
little explorers of twig and bud, about which they
flutter in their never-ending search for insects’ eggs
and larve.

Their high, thin “‘ti-ti-ti” may be heard only by
attentive ears. Hoffman writes: ‘In March and
April the males continue the lisping note, put more
and more power into it, and then by a descending
trill fall, as it were, from the height to which they
have scaled—this is the song of the Golden-crowned
Kinglet.”

Both sexes wear a crown. That of the male is
flaming orange bordered by yellow and black. That
of the female—shall we call her Queenlet?—is only
yellow with a black border.

SCREECH OWL

THE FEATHERED CAT
(Figs. 13, 14)

OOKING from a second-story win-
dow, in the dusk of a winter eve-
ning, I saw on the nearby ridge of
the piazza roof what, at first
glance, seemed to be a queer, little
hunched up feathered cat! Its

erect ears pointed slightly outward, its big yellow

eyes glared at me and, with a sharp turn of the head,
followed every move I made. Slowly I raised the
window for a nearer view when, behold! my
feathered “cat” spread its wings and flew noise-
lessly into the neighboring spruces. One never for-,
gets one’s first real meeting, face to face, with an

Owl.

Probably there are but few homes in town or
country which have not a pair of Screech Owls living
near them. Only a short time ago while walking at
night-fall to my home in a large city, I saw one fly

a short distance down the street and alight in a
88

HOME BIRDS 89

leafless maple. I wondered whether any one else
knew that we had this “original inhabitant” still
abiding with us.

A pair of Screech Owls once lived directly over
my study in a gable which they entered through a
round hole placed just below the peak. This formed
their doorway, and night after night it was occupied
by one of the birds, who, with half-closed eyes,
looked out sleepily over the gradually darkening
world.

I could always tell when he sailed silently out in
search of his breakfast, by the commotion he aroused
among other birds. Robins, in a frenzy of fear,
shrieked their sharp alarm note, while hesitating
actually to attack the unoffending cause of their ex-
citement; Wood Thrushes uttered their clear “pit-
pit” uneasily; Catbirds protested, and the Red-eyed
Vireos complained nasally.

Often I have gone out to see what all the noise
was about, usually to find the Owl maintaining a
dignified silence, or snapping his bill defiantly in the
depths of a tree, and wanting only to be left in peace.
Or, braving the open, he would leave the shelter of
the foliage to drop down on the lawn for a grub or
even to pick from a tree trunk a cicada just emerg-
ing from its shell-like case.

As the light failed the mob dispersed, and relieved

go OUR WINTER BIRDS

of their unwelcome attention the little Owl raised
his quavering voice in song; a long-drawn, high,
tremulous whistle, on a descending scale, sometimes
followed by a mellow refrain. It is far from a
“screech,” this plaintive note; and while it can
scarcely be called cheerful, it harmonizes well with
the quiet of the evening and the spirit of the hour.

Heard by persons to whom the little Owl is a
stranger and who have no sympathy with him and
his ways, this somewhat mournful call is considered
a note of ill-omen; but when we learn that in addi-
tion to destroying a large number of harmful grubs
and insects, Screech Owls are also expert mousers,
we realize that we may consider ourselves fortunate
rather than unlucky to have them make their home
near ours.

About the middle of April the Screech Owl lays
from four to six white eggs in a hollow tree, or pos-
sibly in a nesting box or log we have erected for the
use of Flickers. The birds go about their family
duties so quietly that we may not know of their
presence near us until they “bring out” their family.
Then, suddenly, the place seems to be overflowing
with Screech Owls. They sail from tree to tree and
from the branches overhead look down upon us
after the curiously solemn manner of Owls. The
young Owls still wear their nestling costume of soft

HOME BIRDS 91

downy feathers lightly barred with blackish and

quite unlike the streaked costume of their parents.
\ Some of the latter are gray while others are red-
dish brown, but this variation in color (see Figs. 13
and 14) has no relation to either age, sex, or season,
and its cause has never been learned.

Whether gray or reddish we may always know
the Screech Owl by its small size in connection with
the conspicuous feather-tufts which are commonly
called “ears.”

FIELD BIRDS

iil
FIELD BIRDS

LTHOUGH their power of flight
enables birds to move quickly and
easily from place to place and, if
need be, to travel thousands of
miles, many species in their wander-
ings are restricted to a certain kind

of territory. Thus, while Horned Larks and Snow
Buntings might enter the woods, we should no more
expect to find them there than we should daisies or
clover. On the other hand, the Ruffed Grouse and
Winter Wren are as closely confined to the forests
as the partridge berry or moccasin flower. Such
birds and flowers are termed specialized; that is, they
have become so closely adapted to life under certain
special conditions that they can live only where these
conditions are present.

Birds which are not so closely governed in the
choice of haunts and food, are spoken of as general-
ized in habit. The Crow, for example, is a general-
ized bird. He is found in both fields and woods,

on the seashore and in the mountains. He usually
95

96 OUR WINTER BIRDS

feeds on the ground, but he may rob nests or take
frozen apples from the trees, and his bill-of-fare
varies as widely as the difference between eggs and
apples indicates.

Generalized species are called adaptive, because
they can adapt themselves to life almost anywhere.
As a rule they are the successful species and are far
more abundant than those which require a particular
kind of haunt, nesting-site and food. Just as a man
who can “get on well” anywhere is much more apt to
succeed than one who is unhappy and uncomfortable
unless he can have things exactly as he wants them.

The secret of the English Sparrow’s success is
his generalized habits. He seems equally at home
in the city or country, on cobble streets, or in the
barnyard; he eats almost anything and appears to
relish it, and any place that will hold his nesting
material suits him for a home.

In attempting to classify birds by their haunts we
have no difficulty with the specialized species, but it
is not so easy to place the generalized species where
they belong. Of the birds which we include in this
section, the Crow, Goldfinch, Siskin, Redpoll and
Bob-white may be found at times in the woods as
well as in the fields, but since we will doubtless see
them more frequently in the open, we may class them

as Field Birds.

THE CROW

A BIRD WITH FEW FRIENDS
(Fig. 19)

Y his enemies the Crow’s character
is painted as black as his plumage,
but before we condemn him I
should like to hear the verdict of a
jury of Crows. We, for example,
would not like to have the buf-

falo or Wild Pigeon or Carolina Paroquet, or any

other animal that man has exterminated, paint our
character. Even the house fly and mosquito could
prove that we were heartless murderers!

So we see that Crows must be judged by the stand-
ards of Crows, just as men are measured by the

standards of men.

From this point of view I find much to admire
in the Crow. It is true that he takes our corn and
robs birds’ nests of their eggs and young. But if a
wild Crow should show as much confidence in me
as Chickadee does, I should welcome his friendship

and consider myself honored among my kind.
97

98 OUR WINTER BIRDS

Unfortunately for the Crow this is not the atti-

tude of the world toward him. By both man and
bird he is treated as an outlaw. The former denies
him the protection his laws are designed to give
other birds, the latter seems to consider him a great
black ogre with whom no self-respecting bird would
associate.
‘Whether the Indian treated the Crow as an enemy
I do not know, but ever since the white man came
to this country his hand has been raised against this
bird of sable pinion. The Indian has long since dis-
appeared from most of the country in which he for-
merly thrived, but the Crow is doubtless as abundant
to-day as he ever was. Unable to kill Crows as
readily as he did. savages, civilized man marks his
indignant if harmless protest against them by placing
scarecrows in the fields from which the birds still
take their toll. This consists not alone of corn but
also of injurious grubs. In the pastures and grass-
lots the Crow also captures countless grasshoppers,
so that he is not without some value to man. In-
deed, those who have most closely studied his fare,
tell us that he does quite as much good as harm.

The Crow owes his remarkable success in life to
his intelligence. He may be over-suspicious at times,
but you can’t fool him often. When it comes to a
matching of wits in the woods he will usually out-

FIELD BIRDS 99

guess you. If the would-be crow-killer should be
about to get within range of some inexperienced or
unsuspecting bird, he is almost always warned of
danger by his companions.

It is to this good fellowship, and to their loyalty
to one another, that Crows owe their comparative
safety from attack by man.

Whether, as has been stated, they post sentinels
when raiding a corn-field, I do not know, but that
they have a note of alarm which is understood by
all other Crows is beyond question. The note of a
telegraphic instrument is all on one key, but there
is no limit to its power of expression. So, while we
think of the Crow’s language as containing the one
word “caw” he, nevertheless, can convey a surprising
number of meanings with this syllable. There are
long caws and short caws, rolling caws and rasping
caws; phrases of two caws and phrases of four caws,
and all apparently stand for different things. When
the Crow hears an Owl, for example, he utters three
short caws, which is apparently a rally call, and soon
a dozen Crows are flying about overhead where but
one was before. The discovery of danger is an-
nounced by a series of hurried caws and, without
stopping to ask questions, every Crow within hear-
ing takes to his wings.

It man could not talk he would be but little higher

100 OUR WINTER BIRDS

in the scale of life than some animals. It is his abil-
ity to communicate with his fellows that has helped
to develop his mind. So perhaps we may believe that
the Crow’s intelligence is related to his powers of
speech.

If Crows are avoided by other birds, they at least
show a great liking for the society of one another.
It is only when nesting that Crows are not found in
companies. Then they scatter to build their large
nests of sticks lined with cedar or grape-vine bark,
grass, moss, etc., usually about thirty feet above the
ground. They are very silent near their nests. One
never hears a Crow voicing its protest against a
trespasser as the Robin and Catbird do.

The four to six eggs, which are laid about the
middle of April, are bluish green, thickly marked
with shades of brown.

Perhaps the Crow does not nest in colonies be-
cause he is too wise to place his eggs, as it were, all
in one basket, where they could be found and de-
stroyed more easily than if he were to hide them
at widely separated places. However this may be,
as soon as the young can fly the birds gather in loose
companies. From the northern boundary of the
United States southward Crows are found through-
out the year; but most of those in the more northern
states go to the Middle States for the winter. In

FIELD BIRDS IOI

October we may see them migrating by day, string-
ing across the sky, for Crows never fly in such close-
massed flocks as do Redwings or Grackles.

During the winter Crows return every night to
roost in the same woods. Such a great Crow lodg-
ing-house may contain as many as 200,000 Crows,
and is one of the most remarkable sights in Ameri-
can bird-life.

In the morning the birds fly out to every point of
the compass to forage for food along the beaches,
on the uplands, or in old cornfields where scarecrow,
more disreputable looking than ever, still spreads
his ill-clad arms in silent, unheeded warning.

THE SNOW BUNTING AND TREE
SPARROW

TWO FRIENDS OF THE FARMER

Snow Bunting
(Fig. 57)

F a snow flake should take the form
of a bird, I am sure it would be-
come a Snow Bunting. The white
in the Bunting’s plumage is so con-
spicuous that when we see a flock

blown before the wind they suggest
a flurry of snow. The very spirit of the north
seems embodied in them. They not only look like
snow but they seem to love it. They come to us
with the snow in the fall and leave with it in the
spring to return to their summer home in the Arctic
regions.

Always we see them in flocks, on plains, wide-
spreading fields, or along the shores of lake or sea.
They walk or run, and their long hind toe-nail
leaves a track in the snow which can be mistaken only
for that of the Horned Lark or Longspur. In all

102

FIELD BIRDS 103

three of these birds the hind-toe is evidently not in-
tended for grasping, as it is with the Robin, and
doubtless for this reason they rarely perch in trees
or similar places.

As we might surmise from its terrestrial habits,
and short, strong bill, the Snow Bunting is a seed-
eater. Dr. Judd, of the U.S. Department of Agri-
culture, found as many as 1,500 weed seeds in the
stomach of a single Snow Bunting. Like the Tree
Sparrows, therefore, this visitor from the far north
is not only a welcome, but a very useful guest. Un-
fortunately he is rarely found south of Pennsyl-
vania. What a harvest of seeds he would find in
the more southern states where the snowfall is too
light to hide the weed stalks!

Hoffman describes the notes of the Snow Bunting
as a “high, sweet, though slightly mournful ‘tee or
tee-oo,’ a sweet rolling whistle and a harsh ‘bzz.’”

Tree Sparrow
(Fig. 44)

Early in October, some weeks before our familiar
Chipping Sparrow leaves for the south, a cousin of
his comes from the north to remain with us until
April. The two birds resemble each other in general
appearance, but the Tree Sparrow is somewhat
larger and heavier and in the center of his breast

104 OUR WINTER BIRDS

he wears a small, dusky badge, while the Chipping
Sparrow is unmarked below.

In voice and character, the cousins are quite unlike.
Chippy’s call is an insignificant little “chip” which
would attract the attention of no one but a bird stu-
dent; but the Tree Sparrow’s winter notes are a
crisp, merry tinkle: The birds are usually in com-
panies and when hunting for seeds in old weed-stalks
which stick up above the snow, their happy, conver-
sational chatter makes one think of a lot of children
gathering nuts. A short time before they leave us
to return to their summer home in Canada, we may
hear their canary-like song.

We have already seen (p. 5) how much these
care-free little seed-eaters do for a farmer.

REDPOLL AND SISKIN

A PAIR OF WINTER WANDERERS

Redpoll

(Figs. 47, 48)

=|HEN the world of birds was a fasci-
nating mystery to me, filled with
strange forms and stranger voices,
about which no one seemed to
know anything, I saw, one winter
day, a flock of small birds feeding
on the catkins of a white birch. They seemed to
be about the size and general color of Chipping
Sparrows (one of the few birds I knew by name,
and which I called “‘Chippy’’), but when I got near
enough to see them clearly I discovered, to my sur-
prise, that they wore red caps! Some, indeed, had
red vests! What could they be? Where had they
come from? With neither books nor “bird” friends
to consult, both questions remained long unanswered;
so I named the birds ‘‘Red-capped Chippies,” and by

that name I think of them to this day.
105

106 OUR WINTER BIRDS

Even now, their coming is a mystery. We can
name almost the exact day when the Flycatcher,
Warbler, or Vireo will come back to us from the
distant tropics, but no one can tell when the Red-
polls will appear. Years may go by and not one be
seen; then, without warning, some October or No-
vember flocks of them will arrive.

They visit the fields for weed-seed and the birches
to get seeds from the catkins, calling and acting not
unlike Goldfinches and Siskins. Usually they re-
main until early spring and then return to the boreal
regions whence they came.

There, in early June, in a low tree or tuft of grass,
they build a nest of dried grasses and moss, and line
it with hair, feathers and plant-down. ‘The eggs
number from four to six and are white, tinged with
green or blue, spotted with reddish brown.

Siskin
(Fig. 55)

The Siskin seems midway between the Redpoll
and the Goldfinch. He has the streaked dress of the
former, while the tinge of yellow in his plumage
and the wing-bands of this color, which he displays
in flight, mark his relationship to the latter.

The coming of the Siskin, like that of the Redpoll,
cannot be foretold, but since his summer home in

FIELD BIRDS 107

the evergreen forests of northern New England
and Canada is nearer than that of the Redpoll, he
visits us more frequently than that far northern
bird. He also goes farther south, sometimes reach-
ing Florida; while the Redpoll rarely goes beyond
Virginia.

To his call-note, “‘e-e-e-p,” the Siskin adds another
much like that of his Goldfinch cousin. He sings
both on the wing and when at rest, but has not so
good a voice as the Goldfinch. Seeds of weeds, cat-
kins and cones form his fare, and at mealtime he is
often to be found with the Redpoll and Goldfinch.

The nest of twigs and rootlets, padded with plant-
down, is built in evergreens. The four pale bluish
white, thinly-spotted eggs, are laid from April to
June.

HORNED LARK AND LONGSPUR
TWO RUNNERS ON SKIS

Horned Lark
(Fig. 42)

E all know that the Horned Lark
cannot write, but if we look in the
right places we may sometimes see
his ‘“‘mark”’ imprinted on the snow,
when we know as surely as though
it were written, that either a

Horned Lark, or Snow Bunting, or the rare Lapland
Longspur has been before us. All three live on the
ground, and all three have the long hind toe-nail
which belongs to walking, terrestrial birds, and is
quite unlike the curved, hooked hind toe-nail which -
gives most perching birds a strong, firm grasp of the
limb on which they are resting.

During the winter Horned Larks, or, as they are
also called, Shore Larks, live in flocks which frequent
broad, open fields, beaches and tidal flats. When
disturbed, they bound lightly into the air, uttering

a high, thin, “‘tsee-tsee,” and swing off to some new
108

FIELD BIRDS 109

feeding ground, or, hesitating a moment, as if their
interrupted meal were too good to leave, they drop
back to the place from which they started.

Most of the Horned Larks that spend the winter
with us leave early in April to return to their summer
home in the Arctic regions. Those that remain
with us during the summer are smaller and paler,
with a white instead of yellow forehead and with
little or no yellow on the throat. This, the Prairie
Horned Lark, is the first of our song birds to go to
housekeeping, the three or four greenish white,
speckled eggs being laid as early as the first week
in March. Although the Horned Lark is a cousin
of the Skylark, its song is a weak, unmusical twitter
which bears but small resemblance to that of its
famous relative. Perhaps because it lacks the in-
spiration which carries the Skylark far up into the
sky, there to pour forth its song, the Horned Lark
sings from a humble clod of earth as well as while
soaring.

Lapland Longspur

If we find in a flock of Horned Larks one, or per-
haps two or three darker birds, we will probably
have seen that rare winter visitor from the far
North, the Lapland Longspur.

Possibly because he loves company and cannot find

‘

IIo OUR WINTER BIRDS

enough individuals of his own kind to afford him
companionship, the Longspur also associates with
Snow Buntings. He resembles both Lark and Bunt-
ing in general habits, but his reddish brown wings,
the absence of “thorns” and of yellow markings, and

LaPLAND LoNGSPUR

the presence of a blackish patch on the breast, dis-
tinguish him.

The Longspur’s winter notes are described as “‘a
harsh and rattling chirr, less musical than the roll of
the Snow Bunting,” and a sweet “‘tyee,’’ which cor-
responds to the ‘“‘tee” of the Bunting.

FIELD BIRDS III

On our western plains Longspurs occur during the
winter in such countless numbers that after a severe
storm in southwestern Minnesota, on March 13,
1904, several million Longspurs were found lying
on the snow-covered earth dead or dying.

NORTHERN SHRIKE

THE BUTCHER BIRD
(Fig. 56)

HE author of the “Just So” stories
| might change my heading of
“Northern Shrike” to “The Spar-
row that Tried to Become a
Hawk.” Here is a bird which was
born in the group of Passeres
(Passer—A Sparrow) or Perching Birds; who is a
relative of the gentle Red-eyed Vireo (sometimes
called Preacher), but who shows such astonishingly
bloodthirsty habits that he is commonly known as
the Butcher-bird No larger than a Grosbeak, with
a feather-suit cut on much the same pattern, and with
feet fitted for perching (not tearing), only his strong,
hooked bill shows any approach to the structure of
a Hawk.

But if he could not make his form hawk-like, he
has done his best to make his habits so. Unsociable
in disposition, he seems to avoid the company even

of his own kind, and the only interest he shows in
112

FIELD BIRDS 113

other birds is when, perched solitary and alone, he
awaits an opportunity to kill them. More persist-
ent than a Hawk who, failing in its swoop on its
intended prey, will let it escape, the Shrike hangs
on the trail of its victim, making every dodge and
turn, following closely through bushes and out again,
until at last the capture is made and his sharply
hooked bill does its fatal work.

THE HAWK-LIKE BILL OF THE SHRIKE

Then he discovers that after all he is a Sparrow!
In place of the strong, large feet with their long,
curved talons, he has only the perching feet of his
relatives. Much too small, they are, to grasp his
prize in true Hawk-like fashion while he tears it
with his bill. What is to be done? The Shrike, in
changing his disposition and with it his expression,
may also have changed his face and with it his beak,
but unable to alter his feet he has had to find a substi-
tute for those sharp, serviceable claws of his model,
the Hawk. So, gathering the captured Redpoll,
Siskin or Junco in his feet (which at least are power-
ful enough for that) he seeks some favorable bush

114 OUR WINTER BIRDS

or tree where, with much tugging and fitting, the
bird is stuck upon a thorn or hung from a close-
forked branch. Then the well-named Butcher-bird
can help himself at his leisure.

Not only birds but also mice are found on the
Shrike’s shambles, and often he wantonly leaves
them there, vain sacrifices to the instinct which
prompts him to destroy even when he is not hungry.

There is one Sparrow-like trait which the Shrike
has not succeeded in discarding. A member of the
Order of Songbirds, he must still sing; and strange
it is in early spring to hear this cut-throat and hang-
man among birds warbling a song which is not unlike
that of a Catbird. One would as soon expect music
from a Hawk itself.

The Shrike passes the summer in northern Canada
and comes to us in October to remain until early
April. One rarely sees more than a few individuals
during the winter, and the species does not often go
south of Maryland.

He has a smaller southern cousin known as the
Loggerhead or Migrant Shrike, which in summer
nests as far north as southern Canada and winters
from Maryland southward.

The Loggerhead lives chiefly on grasshoppers
and other insects which it detects at a distance of
thirty yards or more from its perch as they crawl

FIELD BIRDS 115

about in their grassy jungle. These it impales
upon thorns and also upon the barbs of wire fences,
which, it might well be imagined, were erected for
the double purpose of supplying it with perch and
meathook.

Only an expert can tell a Loggerhead from a
Northern Shrike in nature; but when the birds are
seen at close range it will be observed that the
Loggerhead has the forehead blacker than the
Northern Shrike, and the underparts are usually
whiter, immature individuals of the northern bird
having fine, wavy, brownish cross-lines on the breast.

While therefore difficult to distinguish one from
the other, the black and white and gray plumage
and characteristic flight of Shrikes quickly distinguish
them from our other winter birds. They are not
strong fliers, a number of rapid wing-strokes being
followed by a short sail, as though the bird were
alternately running and sliding, and the flight almost
always ends by an upward swing to the highest part
of whatever the bird alights on, where, like a bird
of prey, it may keep a sharp outlook for its quarry.

MEADOWLARK

A HERALD OF SPRING

(Fig. 23)

HE Meadowlarks that remain with
us during the winter live in flocks
in the marshes or lowlands where
the tides, or a flowing spring, pre-
vent the earth from freezing. In
such places they can probe the

ground with their long, strong bills for grubs and
worms. The first Meadowlark I can remember see-
ing was feeding on a patch of vivid green grass
which bordered a snow-surrounded spring oozing
from a hillside. It was a bit of spring set in the
very heart of winter and the bird’s rich yellow
breast gleamed like a flower against the green back-
ground.

Evidently I saw this bird before he saw me, for
the Meadowlark seems careful not to show his
brightly colored vest and black cravat, but turns
his neutral-toned back toward the observer.

Traveling on horseback through a part of Cuba
116

FIELD BIRDS 117

where Meadowlarks were common along the high-
way, I observed that all the birds perching on the
fences by the roadside turned their backs toward
me as I passed. Try as I would, I could not see
their very differently colored underparts. Finally
I came to one bird who faced me squarely and,
turning his back toward the field behind him, per-
mitted me to ride by without flying. Here, I said to
myself, is a young and inexperienced bird who does
not realize how much more conspicuous his breast
is than his back, with its dull earth-brown, streaked
with dead grass-blades and stems; but, looking fur-
ther, I saw a Hawk coursing over the field just be-
yond the Meadowlark. The bird, too, had seen
him, and evidently choosing the lesser of two evils,
had turned his strongly-marked breast toward me
while the neutral-tinted back was presented to the
Hawk!

While the Meadowlark, like all walking birds,
spends most of the time on the ground, where it se-
cures its food and builds its home, it also frequently
perches in trees. When on the ground in the grasses,
like Bob-white, it often will not fly until one almost
steps upon it. Its resemblance to a Bob-white at
such times is so great that it is sometimes called
“Marsh Quail’; Quail, we remember, being a com-
mon name of Bob-white. But the white outer tail-

118 OUR WINTER BIRDS

feathers which the Meadowlark flashes as it flies
will always distinguish it from Bob-white.

Let us watch our bird as, first flapping, then sail-
ing, then flapping again, he alights in a tree nearby,

fit (
Asin
SEK WA aNs

MEADOWLARK (UPPER FicureE) AND BoB-WHITE

“The white outer tail-feathers which the Meadowlark flashes as it
flies will always distinguish it from Bob-white.”

uttering a sharp note and metallic twitter while nerv-
ously flitting his tail and showing its white feathers.
Alert and suspicious he seems now to realize that
his brown-streaked cloak no longer conceals him
and, trusting to his wings instead of to his protective

FIELD BIRDS 119

colors, he takes flight before we are within forty
yards of him.

In March the Meadowlarks which have passed
the winter with us will leave for more northern
homes, and their places will be taken by new ar-
rivals from the south.

The Woodpeckers and Ruffed Grouse are the
drummers among birds, but the Meadowlark plays
the fife. High, sweet and clear his notes ring like a
clarion call through the chill March air, and we stop
to greet the feathered fifer—true herald of spring.
Later in the year, perhaps when his mate is near,
he sometimes sings while flying; a warbling, twitter-
ing song quite unlike that with which he announces
the birth of a new year.

Meadowlarks have been known to nest within a
few yards of occupied houses, but as a rule they
show very little confidence in man; a fact I have
always regretted, for I am sure that these strong,
wholesome, hardy birds would be well worth num-
bering among one’s friends. But they prefer their
own company to ours, and usually nest where they
are free from intrusion. The uncut and unused por-
tions of golf courses make admirable meeting places
for Meadowlarks. Here, in early May, they con-
struct their arched nests of grasses and lay four to
six white eggs, spotted and speckled with brown.

BOB-WHITE
‘A BIRD OF GOOD CHEER
(Figs. 1, 2)

ITH most birds family life lasts only
during the nesting season. This
includes the time when the young
are helpless and entirely dependent
on their parents for food, and also
a period of variable length when,

under the care of their parents, they learn what to

eat, where and how to find it, how to avoid the ene-
mies of their kind, where to sleep, and the daily
routine of their lives.

After this preparation, and having exchanged
their nestling suit for their first winter costume,
family ties are usually broken and the young be-
come independent and shift for themselves. Some
birds join great flocks of their own species, as do
the Blackbirds, Starlings, Shorelarks and Snow
Buntings. Others, like the Juncos, White-throated,
and Tree Sparrows, live in rather scattered com-

panies which are probably associated day after day;
120

FIELD BIRDS 121

while a few, like the Shrike, live solitary and alone.

But the Bob-white family is too happy to be sepa-
rated. The children left the nest soon after leaving
the egg, and have become accustomed to traveling
about with their parents. They do not migrate and
doubtless do not therefore feel that restlessness which
induces other birds to leave their home.

Day after day, therefore, they are never more
than a few feet apart, feeding contentedly side by
side from the wood borders, through the surround-
ing brush lots into the stubble fields, resting in the
hedgerows at noon and gradually working back
toward their sleeping place in the evening. Then
they all get, as it were, into one bed, roosting in a
tight little circle on the ground, tail to tail, heads out,
so that if sudden flight should be necessary they
could all take wing without danger of a collision.

Sometimes the falling snow gently spreads a white
covering over the sleeping birds, who, if there be
no fall in temperature, can easily throw it aside in
the morning. But should the snow be succeeded by
a drizzling rain, which freezes as it falls, the birds
are imprisoned and their bed becomes their grave.

I have never flushed a flock of Bob-whites during
the night, but I can imagine that it would be a very
nerve-trying experience for all concerned. It is cer-

122 OUR WINTER BIRDS

tainly startling enough to walk into a covey during
the day.

Bob-white’s plumage represents the best type of
what is termed protective coloration. That is, an
arrangement of colors and markings which make
the bird, when it is motionless, seem so like its sur-
roundings that it is very difficult, if not almost im-
possible, to see it. Birds so colored rely upon their
invisibility, rather than flight, to escape from their
enemies.

We cannot, of course, believe that Bob-white does
not hear us as we come crashing through the bushes.
At the first sound he is doubtless on the alert, but
trusting to his color he squats in his tracks and waits
for us to pass. It is only when we almost step on
him that he seems to lose faith in his protective
suit and takes to his wings. Short, rounded wings
they are, not designed to carry him far, but wings
that can be moved quickly in a flying start. For
after waiting until the last moment, it is necessary
that Bob-white put on “full speed ahead” in the
shortest possible time, and with a whirring roar he
springs from the earth and shoots away like a bullet.
Then, indeed, the family is so widely scattered that
one wonders how its members ever find one another
again. They do not, as a rule, perch in trees, so
that sight is of no assistance, while the air route

FIELD BIRDS 123

over which they travel leaves no trail that could
be retraced. But listen! What note was that?
A soft, whistled ““Whére are you? whére are you?”
It comes first from the right, then from the left,
then from far ahead near that thicket yonder. Let
us answer it, “Where are you? whére are you?”
At once the responses come, and as we reply they
draw nearer. Soon we hear low twittering notes
and a moment later a Bob-white runs out into a
nearby opening, head erect, looking eagerly here
and there for the bird it was answering. Then
others come and we quickly withdraw while they
excitedly twitter their experiences to one another.

I once heard this “scatter call,” as it is termed
by sportsmen, from my window in the Museum of
Natural History in New York City. Little think-
ing that a Bob-white could be its author, I neverthe-
less immediately answered it when, to my surprise,
a Bob-white ran rapidly across the lawn and was
actually about to enter the Museum door when,
alarmed by visitors, he took flight and disappeared.
Poor little fellow, I wonder did he ever find his
way out of the great city into which he had so
strangely wandered?

In April the flocks break up and the birds begin
to pair, the males battling for their mates like
diminutive game cocks, and challenging their rivals

124 OUR WINTER BIRDS

with the ringing notes from which they are named:
“Bob-white! Ah-Bob-white!” they call, or as the
farmer puts it, ‘“Buck-wheat-ripe?”” What a cheer-
ful call it is! No one, it seems to me, can hear it
without a feeling of warmth in his heart for the
bird whose voice so clearly echoes the joy of the
season.

Late in May or early June the nest is made on
the ground in the bushy border of some field, and
as many as ten to eighteen pointed, white eggs are
laid. -Bob-white is an attentive husband as well as
an ardent lover. Unlike most of the members of
the order to which he belongs, he does not leave all
the duties of the household to his wife, but takes his
place on the nest when she is feeding; and when
her tiny chicks appear he is apparently as much
concerned as their mother in their welfare.

SPARROW HAWK

A HUMBLE MEMBER OF A ROYAL FAMILY
(Figs. 7, 8)

HAVE never known any one who
made friends with a wild Sparrow
Hawk. The bird will not come to
us and he will not permit us to go
to him. Still, if one has a young
Sparrow Hawk, which has not yet

learned to fear man, it can be taught to trust him

and, in a hawk-like way, apparently to like him. At

least, it recognizes its master and when given its
freedom, will come to a whistled call.

We must, however, remember that the Sparrow
Hawk is a Falcon and hence belongs to the most
distinguished family of Hawks. We have heard of
falconry and how the Peregrine Falcon (which in
North America is called Duck Hawk) was trained
to hunt for the nobles of England, who alone were
permitted to use this splendid, fearless bird of fleet
wing and powerful foot. The Sparrow Hawk,

therefore, while a very humble relative of the dash-
125

126 OUR WINTER BIRDS

ing Peregrine, evidently possesses enough true Fal-
con temperament and intelligence to learn to asso-
ciate with man.

The Peregrine preys exclusively upon birds, but
the Sparrow Hawk, in spite of its name, feeds
chiefly upon insects. The Peregrine goes boldly
forth in search of food, and strikes his victim on the
wing. The Sparrow Hawk believes in watchful
waiting, and captures his quarry on the ground.
Usually he has a favorite look-out on a dead stub,
a telegraph wire, or some similar perch from which
he can keep a close watch on the surrounding coun-
try. I have known them to use the staffs which
mark the holes of a golf course. The flag fluttering
at their feet might alarm most birds, but the Spar-
row Hawk accepts it as though it was his own
emblem of victory. Suddenly he starts and flies per-
haps fifty yards or more directly to the ground where
his marvelously sharp eyes have detected a grass-
hopper. If the insect should disappear he hovers
on rapidly beating wings directly above the place in
which he last saw it, waiting for another view and
an opportunity to strike, just as the Fish Hawk and
Kingfisher poise before plunging on their prey.

Woe to the unsuspecting grasshopper that crawls
from beneath the protection of a sheltering leaf
when the Sparrow Hawk is watching nearby!

FIELD BIRDS 124

Quickly the bird drops, seizes him in its claws and
bears him to his perch, which serves as a table as
well as a look-out.

Coe

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Sparrow Hawk
“Hovers on rapidly beating wings”

The Sparrow Hawk is not common in the north-
ern states during the winter, but increases in num-
bers during its northward migrations in March. It
is always a bird of the open fields, and rarely visits
the woods.

The Falcons, unlike most Hawks, build, as a rule,

128 OUR WINTER BIRDS

no nest; but lay their eggs in holes in trees, or in
openings or ledges in cliffs. The Sparrow Hawk
selects a hollow limb, enters it from the top or
through a knot hole or doorway drilled by a Wood-
pecker, and returns to the same place year after
year. The three to seven brownish eggs are laid in.
April or early May. The young birds don at once
the characteristic plumage of the male or female,
as the case may be. The male, it will be observed
(Fig. 7), has one bar in the tail, while in the female
there are seven or eight. The female is streaked
below from bill to tail with reddish brown, while the
male has the breast tinted with brownish and the
sides and abdomen spotted with black. One can
always tell a Sparrow Hawk by its small size, brown-
ish color, black markings about the head and habit
of perching in exposed places in the open, and, with
the aid of glasses, it is generally possible to say
whether it is a male or female.

The Sparrow Hawk’s call is a high, rapidly re-
peated “‘Killy, killy, killy,” which in the south gives
it the name of ‘“‘Killy Hawk.” This note is given
on the wing, especially by the male in the mating
season. I do not know whether it is also uttered by
the female.

SHORT-EARED OWL
A MARSH MOUSER
(Fig. 18)

HE books tell us that the Short-eared
Owl is nearly cosmopolitan. Which
means that it may be found from
the bleak Arctic tundra of Canada
‘to the wind-swept plains of Pata-
gonia, in Europe, in Asia and

Africa, and on remote oceanic islands. What an

incalculable number of years his kind must have

lived to become so widely distributed over the
earth’s surface!

Unlike most Owls, he shuns the forest and lives
in marshy, grassy places. During the winter we are
apt to find him near the coast. He arises from the
grasses almost at our feet and flies silently to some

stump or little knoll to watch us as we approach.
Occasionally he may be seen by day beating low
over the marsh in search of the meadow-mice which
form the largest part of his fare. Perhaps the fact
that these mice are active by day accounts for the

Owl’s diurnal habits.
129

130 OUR WINTER BIRDS

Like the Marsh Hawk, the Short-eared or Marsh
Owl nests upon the ground, laying four to seven
white eggs in April. While the Short-eared Owl’s
“ears” are not ears, they certainly are short, being
barely evident unless the Owl raises them; and this
fact, in connection with its yellowish brown plum-
age, yellow eyes and the character of its haunts, will
serve to identify it.

FOREST BIRDS

IV
FOREST BIRDS

MIEIE tree-inhabiting birds like the
Chickadee, Nuthatches and Wood-
peckers, which come about our
homes, are all forest birds which,
when the forests disappear or de-
crease in extent, adapt themselves

to the change and accept the trees of our orchards

aH LLG
iad |} iy i |

(aes;

and gardens in place of those of the woods.

_ But there are other species which cannot make
this change. Either they do not find the food they
require near the home of man, or they are by nature
too wild to take up their residence near ours.

The Screech Owl finds an old apple-tree just as
good a home as a forest-growing beech. But the
Great Horned Owl will not leave his forest dwell-
ing; and when it disappears he seeks another like it.
So if we want to see him and other true wood in-
habitants, we must go to their haunts.

While we cannot value too highly the friendship
of Chickadee, Downy and Nuthatch, it is well that
some birds should express to us the spirit of the
wilderness and forever be associated in our minds

with the mystery of the forest.
133

THE HAWKS

‘ OUTLAWS AMONG BIRDS
(Figs. 4-6, 9-12)
AWKS are the warriors of the bird

world. Fierce, aggressive, usually
untamable, with spirit unbroken by
imprisonment, they neither ask nor
give mercy. Raptores, or Robber
Birds, the ornithologist calls them,
but I do not think that they deserve this title. A
robber, as we understand the term, is one who not

only breaks the law but usually does so in the most
sneaking, despicable way. But the Hawk<: obey,
they do not break the law, and they do it with no
attempt at concealment.

Nature’s laws demand that certain forms of life
shall live upon other forms of life. Every creature
has its special enemies which prevent it from be-
coming unduly abundant. So it is the Hawks’
duty to prey upon mice and shrews, lizards, frogs,
birds and other animals to prevent them from be-

coming so abundant that they would overrun the
134

FOREST BIRDS 135

world. From Nature’s point of view there is no more
cruelty in a Hawk’s catching a mouse than there is
in a Swallow’s catching a mosquito. Both are play-
ing the part that is assigned to them. The Hawk’s
equipment of strong, sharp, curved talons, hooked,
tearing bill, and great strength are no more effective
than the large mouth and wonderful agility of the
Swallow. But the Hawk looks the part; the Swal-
low does not, and we therefore attribute to the for-

Tue PowErFuL GrasPING Feet oF (A) AN Owl, (8) A Hawk

mer a disposition in keeping with its habits and
expression.

It is a great Hawk—the Eagle—which we have
made the symbol of war, just as we have made the
gentle-appearing Dove the symbol of peace. Per-
haps if the less obvious characteristics of other birds
were as well known to us, the Woodpecker would
symbolize industry, the Nuthatch thrift, the Brown
Creeper, perseverance, and the Chickadee, good
cheer.

Man has been more unjust to Hawks than to any
other birds. The motto “give a dog a bad name”

136 OUR WINTER BIRDS

applies even more closely to these winged hunts-
men. Because one kind of Hawk has an undue
fondness for poultry, all Hawks are commonly be-
lieved to be chicken thieves and the name ‘‘Chicken
Hawk” or ‘Hen Hawk” is applied to Hawks at
large, without regard to species or habits.

The Food of Hawks

So general is the opinion that all Hawks are de-
structive to poultry, that, instead of giving these birds
a vote of thanks for their services in destroying the
small rodents so destructive to our crops, some states
have actually offered a reward for every one killed.
It is just as though we should treat an ally as an
enemy and turn our guns upon him instead of wel-
coming him with open arms.

The states that passed such ill-considered laws lost
not only the thousands of dollars foolishly expended
in bounties, but also the services of the Hawks that
were killed, and their crops suffered from a cor-
responding increase in the numbers of mice which
were formerly kept in check by the Hawks that had
been so unjustly condemned to death.

The warfare against the Hawks (and also their
relatives, the Owls) became so serious that the
United States Department of Agriculture sent a re-
quest throughout the country for the stomachs of

FOREST BIRDS 137

Hawks that had been killed in order that their con-
tents might be carefully examined and its nature
learned, not from hearsay, but by actual analysis.
Many thousands of stomachs were sent to Wash-
ington. Experts devoted several years to a study
of their contents and the results proved, what nat-
uralists had long believed to be true, that, with but
few exceptions, our Hawks and Owls are among
the farmer’s best friends. It was found, for ex-
ample, that of five hundred and thirty Red-tailed
Hawks no less than four hundred and fifty-seven,
or eighty-eight per cent, had eaten field mice, rabbits,
ground squirrels, gophers, and cotton rats, all more
or less harmful mammals.

Only three out of two hundred and six Red-shoul-
dered Hawks had committed the crime of chicken-
killing for which the law condemned unheard the
remaining two hundred and three, while one hundred
and forty-two of these proved their value as allies
by eating mice and other rodent pests and ninety-
two had feasted upon insects.

The Marsh Hawk, Broad-winged, and Rough-
legged Hawks had equally good, or even better rec-
ords, but when we come to Cooper’s and the Sharp-
shinned Hawks we find the real offenders. Of
ninety-four of the former thirty-four had been eat-
ing poultry or game birds and fifty-two other birds.

138 OUR WINTER BIRDS

The Sharp-shinned Hawk is too small to catch grown
chickens, but it is winged death to small birds. Ex-
amination of one hundred and five stomachs of

Dl De
iy
ney sn ve

jee : eee ys tv alhattt>
Bhool ih i"

We

RED-SHOULDERED HAWK

this little Hawk showed that six had eaten poultry
or game birds, and ninety-nine other birds. The
Goshawk, a very large cousin of these two Hawks,
which comes to the northern states usually in small
numbers in winter, also feeds upon other birds and

FOREST BIRDS 139

is most destructive to game birds, particularly Ruffed
Grouse. Fortunately this bird is not common, and
as we are here concerned only with those species
which we may expect to see any winter’s day, let us
see how we may distinguish the innocent ones from
those that are guilty.

We must not be misled by appearances. The
large size, habit of perching in conspicuous places,
and of soaring in wide circles while calling loudly,
has made the Red-shouldered and Red-tailed Hawks
familiar figures to the farmer. But the Cooper’s
and Sharp-shinned Hawks are less frequently seen.
They avoid exposed places, slip quickly through the
woods, and, as a rule, are quiet. They are smaller,
lighter birds than the Red-shoulder and Red-tail,
and few people seeing all four together would select
them as the criminals.

It is, however, far easier to drop on some unsus-
pecting mouse than to capture a bird. Watch the
Sharp-shin in pursuit of a Robin. With what speed
it follows its victim, dashing through the trees, mak-
ing every twist and turn of the poor bird that is
flying for its life, until its keen talons are plunged
into its prey.

The heavy-bodied Red-shoulder or Red-tail could
not perform this feat. They are built for hunting
in the open and, while they may sometimes take a

140 OUR WINTER BIRDS

bird on the ground unawares, they do not, as it were,
fly him down.

I have placed these Hawks in the group of ‘‘Birds
of the Woods,” for they all nest in the forests and
are true wood-inhabiting Hawks. Still we shall find
them also in the fields wherever there are trees in
which the mouse-hunters may watch or the bird-
hunters hide.

The Red-shoulder and the Red-tail

The Red-shoulder is not quite so large as the
Red-tail and has the underparts reddish brown with-
out black markings. Its call is a fierce ‘“Keé-you,
keé-you”’ uttered as the bird sails in wide circles,
often so high that he is but a mere speck in the sky.
The Blue Jay imitates this call so well that if he
did not usually follow it with some notes of his own,
one would think a Hawk was near by.

The adult Red-tail may be known by the reddish
brown tail-feathers with a single black bar, and the
broken band of black markings crossing its under-
parts. The immature bird has the tail barred and
may be mistaken for a Red-shoulder but for the
black markings below. This Hawk may best be
known by its cry, a high, long-drawn squealing ‘‘Kee-
ee-ee-ee-e.”

Both the Red-shoulder and Red-tail build bulky

FOREST BIRDS I41

nests of sticks, placing them in trees from thirty to
seventy feet above the ground. When not disturbed
they return to the same nest year after year. The
three or four dull white, brownish-marked eggs are
laid early in April.

Cooper’s and the Sharp-shinned Hawks

In the south, Cooper’s Hawk is called the “Blue
Darter.” So far as color is concerned, the name
applies only to the adult bird, which is slaty blue
above; but old and young may with equal truth be
called darters. With a speed which gives them also
the name “Bullet Hawk,” they shoot through the
air and plunge upon their prey. This is the true
“Chicken Hawk.” One visit to the poultry yard
is very apt to be followed by another, and just as
a man-eating tiger acquires a taste for human blood,
so does a liking for the tender flesh of pullets doubt-
less grow upon the Blue Darter.

I suppose it is proper that he should pay the pen-
alty for his raids upon the hen-yard; but how is a
mere Hawk to know that the chickens were not
placed there especially for him? We spread a lunch-
counter with nuts, seeds and suet for the Finches,
Woodpeckers and Chickadee and make them wel-
come guests. Why, therefore, should the Darter not

142 OUR WINTER BIRDS

believe that he was invited to partake of a feast
which had been prepared for him?

Contrary to the rule among birds, the female
hawk is larger than the male. This sexual differ-
ence in size is well marked in the Darter and Sharp-

aN

, Ugtten" UM ~eetp ll
sy a. Te NI iw,
—_ ee No \

SHARP-SHINNED HAWK PuRSUING A REDPOLL

shin, as our figures( Nos. 9-12) of them clearly ,
indicate. The Sharp-shin is the smaller of the two,
but a female of this species is nearly as large as a
male Darter. While it is therefore always possible
to identify a male Sharp-shin and a female Darter,
the male Darter and female Sharp-shin cannot cer-
tainly be distinguished in life. Indeed, it sometimes
puzzles an expert to name specimens of them, when
in the streaked, immature plumage.

FOREST BIRDS 143

Both species, however, without regard to sex, may
be told from the Red-tail and Red-shoulder by their
smaller, more slender bodies, shorter wings and
longer tails. Note how in the other Hawks the
folded wings reach nearly to the tip of the tail,
while in the Darter and Sharp-shin they do not ex-
tend more than half of its length.

Neither cry of pursuit nor scream of victory is
uttered by these winged huntsmen. Perhaps, indeed,
we might better call them marketmen, for they hunt
to supply themselves and their families with food and
not for the mere pleasure of chase.

Their insignificant cackling calls are therefore
usually heard only when one approaches their nest.
Evidently forgetting then their power of wing and
foot, they make no attempt to defend their young
other than a weakly uttered protest.

Both build nests of sticks and twigs in trees in the
woods, and lay from three to six eggs early in May.
Those of the Sharp-shin are bluish-white, spotted or
blotched with brownish, while the Darter’s are
bluish-white, generally unmarked

THE OWLS
BIRDS OF THE NIGHT
(Figs. 15-18)

HE human-like traits which make
birds so interesting to us are us-
ually not evident until we actually
become acquainted with them.
This is only another way of say-
ing that, as a rule, birds’ faces do
not reveal their characters; but Owls are exceptions.
Any one can see at a glance that they are wise birds.
At least they look like wise birds, and it remains for
us to discover whether Owls actually deserve the
reputation for wisdom which they have borne ever
since mankind has known of their existence.

We must, of course, always remember that Owls
are birds and in our attempt to measure their in-
telligence compare them, not with man, but with
other birds. Doubtless the first thing that will im-
press us when we make this comparison is that

Owls arise at about the time most birds go to bed;
144

FOREST BIRDS 145

and this difference in habit is so important that it
affects their whole lives.

Whether Owls can see as well at night as other
birds can during the daytime we do not know; but
the ease with which they steer a safe course through
the woods and pounce upon a scurrying mouse be-
low in what to our eyes is darkness, gives us some
conception of the keenness of their vision. We may
well believe, therefore, that instead of being handi-
capped by their nocturnal habits, Owls enjoy a real
advantage over diurnal birds.

While Sparrows, Warblers and Flycatchers, for
example, have to compete with scores of others of
their kinds, Owls are comparatively few in species
and in numbers, and the world at night offers them
an abundance of room and a never-failing supply of
food.

So, without inquiring further into the habits of
Owls, we must admit that, if they are responsible
for their night-loving ways, they show no little wis-
dom in remaining at home during what we may call
the rush-hours of the day, and coming forth to hunt
only when they can have the world pretty much to
themselves.

Two interesting exceptions to the rule that Owls
are nocturnal are the Snowy Owl and the Hawk
Owl, both of which are active by day. Evidently

146 OUR WINTER BIRDS

the fact that these Owls live in the far north where,
in summer, the sun is visible during the entire twenty-
four hours and consequently there is no real night,
has made it impossible for them to wait for dark-
ness before starting forth on their hunt for food.
Indeed, in the fall, when the long winter night comes,
these Owls migrate southward to latitudes where the
sun can be seen for a part of each day, and although
their twenty-fours are then divided into periods of
darkness and light, they still retain their habit of
hunting by day.

The Food of Owls

The studies of the food of birds made by the
Biological Survey in Washington, have proved that
mice form the largest part of the fare of Owls.
They also eat large numbers of grubs and insects
and are, therefore, valuable allies of the farmer.

The Great Horned Owl, it is true, shows an un-
due fondness for poultry and game, and is therefore
not deserving of the protection which should be
given our other members of this family. Their
records as mousers are clearly shown by the follow-
ing figures based on examinations of the contents
of their stomachs. Thus, eighty-four out of ninety-
two Long-eared Owls, seventy-seven out of eighty-
seven Short-eared Owls, and seventeen out of nine-

FOREST BIRDS 147

teen Acadian Owls had all been feasting on mice,
while of two hundred and twelve Screech Owls’
stomachs, ninety-one contained mice and one hundred
insects. Unlike Hawks, Owls do not as a rule hold
their prey in their claws and tear it into pieces with
their bills before eating it; but, if it is not too large,
they swallow it entire. By the processes of diges-
tion the bones and hair are formed into oblong
wads which are ejected at the mouth.

Hundreds of these matted pellets may sometimes
be found on the ground beneath some dense ever-
green in which an Owl dozes away the daylight.
From them we may not only learn of an Owl’s roost-
ing-place, but can tell far more certainly than by
an examination of his stomach, the nature of his
food. Here we have not the record of one meal,
but of hundreds of meals. Only an expert can
identify for us all the little bones which we shall find
closely embedded in the hair, but to one familiar
with the anatomy of animals the more important
ones can be distinguished as readily as we could
name the letters of the alphabet. Placed together
they spell the story of a night’s hunting. The white-
footed, wood, or deer mouse, the short-tailed
meadow mouse, the jumping mouse and tiny shrews
may all have been on the bill of fare.

No less than four hundred and fifty-four of these

148 OUR WINTER BIRDS

little mammals, and of some others so rare that no
naturalist had ever seen them in the vicinity, were
found in two hundred pellets gathered in the tower
of the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, where
a pair of Barn Owls, a southern species, had made
their home.

Even if Owls see as well by night as Hawks do
by day, their success in capturing these dull-colored
little animals among the tangle of grass and shelter
of leaves in which they live is remarkable. I have
an idea that, like the hunter waiting for his game
to appear on some traveled “runway,” Owls may
watch over open places for the coming of mice and
shrews. Several times, when motoring at night, the
light of the automobile has fallen on Owls in the
road ahead where they had apparently either just
captured their prey, or were waiting for a victim
to cross the road.

Both the Hawk Owl and the Snowy Owl are such
rare visitors to the United States that we may pos-
sibly never see either of them. But the Great
Horned, Barred, Long-eared, Short-eared and
Screech Owls are with us throughout the year, and
the Acadian sometimes wanders southward from the
northern border of the United States in winter.

The Screech Owl, although a wood Owl, shows so
marked a fondness for the haunts of man that we

FOREST BIRDS 149

may class him with the “Home Birds’; while the
Short-eared Owl belongs among the ‘Field Birds,”
leaving the remaining five among the “Forest Birds.”

Great Horned Owl

They are not numerous, these soft-feathered loy-
ers of darkness, and might forever be strangers to
those who did not seek them, were it not for their
voices. How the deep, sonorous notes of the Great
Horned Owl echo through the stillness of the night!
Under favorable conditions I have heard birds call-
ing which were not less than half a mile away.
“Whoo, hoo-hoo-hoo, whooo, whooo,”’ he cries, all
on the same note, and in a tone which reminds one
of a bass-voiced dog barking in the distance. I won-
der do the birds and animals on which the Great
Horned Owl preys recognize in the ominous tones
the voice of their natural enemy?

The ferocious, untamable nature of the Great
Horned Owl has won for it the name of “tiger
among birds.’’ Sometimes it calls a wild, piercing
scream which suggests the voice of an animal rather
than that of a bird. I was in the heart of the Adiron-
dacks on my first camping trip, when a Great Horned
Owl on a mountainside across the lake uttered this
blood-curdling cry. ‘‘Panther?” I gasped to my
guide. ‘No, Hoot Owl,” he replied.

150 OUR WINTER BIRDS

The Great Horned Owl disappears with the for-
ests. His wild nature requires more than a small
patch of woodland for a home; so he is rare or un-
known in more settled regions. Able to provide for
a family at any time of the year, he does not wait
until late spring or early summer, when food is more
abundant, before going to housekeeping. The Great
Horned is indeed the first of our birds to nest; its
two or three white eggs being laid in an old Crow,
Hawk, or Squirrel nest as early as the latter part
of February. I knew of one nest from which an
icicle was hanging while the mother Owl sat on her
eggs above. Fortunate it is that the young Owls
are born clad in a thick suit of warm, white down.

You are far more likely to hear the Great Horned
Owl than to see him; but when seen he may always
be known by his conspicuous feather “horns” and
large size. ‘The Long-eared, Short-eared and
Screech, our only other Owls with “horns” or “ears,”
are, as our plate shows, less than half his size.

In the Screech Owl these feather-tufts are enough
like cat’s ears to give this little Owl the name of
“Cat Owl,” but there is small resemblance between
even a cat’s ears and the feather-tufts of the Long-
eared Owl, which, if feathers must be called either
“ears” or “horns,” might better be known as Long-
horned Owl.

FOREST BIRDS 151

A recluse of cedar swamps and dense evergreens,
the voice of this retiring Owl is so seldom heard that
no one seems to know much about it. The bird’s
presence is as often betrayed by the pellets scat-
tered beneath its roost as in any other way.

The Long-eared Owl nests early in April, laying
its three to six white eggs in an old Crow, Hawk,
or Squirrel nest.

Barred Owl

Next to the Great Horned Owl, the Barred Owl] is
the largest of our resident Owls. He has no horns,
and his eyes are dark brown or black, while his
plumage, particularly that of his face, lacks the yel-
lowish brown tints of that of the Great Horned.
The voices of the two birds are much alike, but the
Barred Owl’s is less deep and the hoots of his call
are not all on one note. ‘‘Whoo-whoo-whoo, who-
whoo, to-whoo-ah” he calls in tones that go boom-
ing through the woods. With a little practice one
can learn to speak the Barred Owl’s language well
enough to be understood by the Owl, even if one
cannot understand oneself! Whenever I hear one
I always answer him and he rarely fails to come to
me, even in the daytime. Perching near where I
am ‘concealed, he peers down with such an intelligent
look in his dark eyes that I often feel I am talking

152 OUR WINTER BIRDS

to a feathered man rather than to a feathered bird.

Our conversation is made up only of “whoos,”
“ahs,” and “‘whas,” but they are uttered in such a
variety of ways that they no doubt possess an equally
great variety of meanings. Sometimes we are joined
by a second (I almost said “third’”) Owl, and then
indeed the words fly fast and furious as we all talk
at once. Occasionally the two real Owls sing a duet;
or perhaps I should say a piece together. One ut-
ters about ten rapid hoots while the other, in a
slightly higher tone, hoots half as fast, both per-
formers ending together with a prolonged ‘“‘whoo-
ah.” Rarely their voices rise to a weird, gasping
shriek, emphasized at its conclusion like a cry of
distress. One night an Owl perched in the low,
sweeping limbs of a live-oak directly above our
house-boat on the Suwanee River, gave utterance
to this hair-raising scream. If a wild-cat had sud-
denly sprung upon us we could not have been more
frightened.

Crows seem to understand the language of Owls
even if we do not; and too often my interviews with
Barred Owls are interrupted by the black bandits of
the air who, sounding their rally call, soon appear
in numbers ahd worry the Owl into retreat, while
with a chorus of caws they follow.

The Barred Owl nests in March, laying two to

FOREST BIRDS 153

four white eggs, usually in a hollow tree, but some-
times in an abandoned Hawk or Crow nest.

Saw-whet Owl!

Should you see an Owl even smaller than the
Screech Owl and without ears you would know that
you have added the Saw-whet Owl to your list of
bird friends. Poor eyesight by day or ignorance of
man and his ways—perhaps both combined—make
him the least wary of our Owls and when found in
his hiding-place in some dense evergreen we may
sometimes touch him before he takes wing.

The Saw-whet owes his name to his notes, which
are described as resembling the sound made by filing
a large-toothed saw. He nests from the northern
border of the United States northward and wan-
ders southward irregularly in winter.

RUFFED GROUSE
A WOODLAND DRUMMER
(Fig. 3)

5 the days grow shorter, and the
leaves fall and the ground becomes
covered with snow and the ponds

with ice, we don heavier clothing,
build a fire in the furnace, put up
= “storm doors” and prepare for the
biting cold of winter.

The Thrushes, Warblers, Vireos, Flycatchers and
other Summer Resident birds have all gone to
warmer climes; even some of those we class as Per-

manent Residents have retreated further south or
sought the shelter of protected lowlands, but the
Ruffed Grouse asks no mercy of the weather nor any
better home in winter than his woodland domain has
furnished him in summer.

The slender toes that then so daintily trod the
moss and fallen leaves are now bordered with
comb-like fringes that, like snowshoes, support him

on the soft white carpet of the earth, and leave be-
154

FOREST BIRDS 155

hind their record of his wanderings. When the
deepening snows cover the seeds and berries, he goes
to the upper story of his woodland dwelling and
changes his diet to buds and catkins. If the night
is too bleak to sleep in the open, he flies headlong
into a snowbank and finds a warm bed beneath this
strange blanket.

Tue SLENDER FooT oF A RUFFED GROUSE IN SUMMER (LEFT) AND
(RIGHT.) THE FRINGED Foor oF A RUFFED GROUSE IN WINTER,
WHEN THE Birp Dons SNowsHOES

With the passing of winter the Grouse joins the
band of Spring’s musicians. His part is not the pipe
of the frogs, the trumpet of the Geese, or the fife
of the Meadowlark. The drum is his instrument,
and most vigorously does he play his part. Thump-
thump-thump, he begins, increasing the speed of
beats until they run into a muffled roll.

How the bird produces this remarkable sound
long remained a mystery. Some persons believed

156 OUR WINTER BIRDS

that he beat the log on which he usually takes his
stand; others were equally sure that he clapped his
wings on his sides.

It was not until Grouse, raised in captivity, be-
came so tame that they would drum almost on one’s
knee, that it was learned that their stiff, rounded
wings struck only the air. The startling whirr with
which a Grouse springs into the air from beneath
one’s feet is also caused by the quick strokes of his
concave wing-quills beating the air.

The Grouse’s tattoo is his love song. With the
coming of May we more rarely hear it rolling
through the woods, and then may know that his
mate is on her leaf-lined nest at the base of some
_ tree, sitting on ten or a dozen pale buff eggs.

The Grouse chicks, like those of their relative, the
barnyard hen, can run about as soon as the thick
covering of down in which they are born is dry.
They are true feathered brownies, and have the
power of becoming invisible while your eyes are upon
them.

Walking through the woods in June we come sud-
denly upon a mother Grouse and her family. Does
she desert them? Not a bit of it! Thought of fly-
ing possibly never enters her head. She thinks only
of those little balls of down which a moment before
were running so actively about her. At any cost

FOREST BIRDS 157

they must be saved. But how can she do it? She
is not strong enough to fight and they are too weak
to fly. The use of force being therefore out of the
question, she resorts to strategy. From a trim, grace-
ful bird leading her brood of youngsters over the
leaves she becomes in a twinkling, a poor, maimed,
wing-broken, whining creature who, fluttering pain-
fully before us, can barely keep beyond our reach.
We will note, however, that she does keep beyond it.
If we increase our pace she hastens hers. Finally,
when we are just about to touch her, she drops her
role as quickly as she assumed it, regains, as if by a
miracle, her power of flight, and goes whirring off
through the woods. Then we discover that we
have been led yards away from the place where we
first saw her and her downlings.

Meanwhile what has become of them? We may
remember now that we caught only a glimpse of their
hurrying forms and then they magically disappeared.
Let us, if we can, return to the spot where we un-
wittingly brought such confusion into their lives.
Shall we find them calling plaintively for their
mother? Not a note do we hear, nor do we see a
bird. We look carefully over each foot of ground
and at last see one squatting on a leaf head down,
and so motionless that he might be a leaf himself.
Perhaps we may discover a second and a third; but

158 OUR WINTER BIRDS

although we know the whole family of ten or a
dozen is within a few feet of us, most of them will
remain invisible and not one will move.

At the first sign of danger the mother called to
them something in the Grouse language which means
“scatter and squat.” Disobedience with the young
of all wild creatures often means death. Obedience
is, therefore, instinctive, and these little Grouse were
now waiting for the soft cluck which would tell them
the danger was past, when each one would spring into
life and seek the sheltering wings of its parent.

THE GROSBEAKS

OUR MOST DISTINGUISHED WINTER VISITORS

T is a great blessing to have good
neighbors whom we may see daily
and learn to know and to love.
Life would indeed be dreary with-
out their congenial companionship,
and our pleasure in their society
grows as we form associations and share experiences
which give us a past in common.

Nevertheless, we always eagerly welcome the
visitor from distant lands. He brings us news from
strange parts of the earth which through him for the
first time become real places and not merely names
upon a map.

So though we must not tire of Chickadee, Nut-
hatch and Downy, of Song Sparrow, Flicker and
Blue Jay, who, as the years pass, become increas-
ingly dear to us, their daily visits never bring the
thrill which passes through us when we see some
rare bird visitor from a remote region.

It is the especial charm of making friends with
159

160 OUR WINTER BIRDS

the birds, that we never know to whom we will be
introduced next. During the migration months in
spring and fall when feathered travelers are arriv-
ing and departing in an endless procession, our list
of acquaintances grows so rapidly, that if we did not
record their names, we should not remember them
when we met again.

But there is not a month, yes, not a day in the
year, when we may not chance to see some bird we
have never seen before. This ever present possi-
bility keeps us always on the alert. Even in mid-
winter we should maintain a constant lookout with
the hope that our vigilance may be richly rewarded
—for this is the season of the Grosbeaks—Pine and
Evening.

At any time of the year they would make a note-
worthy addition to the bird-life of the season, but
coming at a time when our feathered population is
at its lowest mark and when birds of any kind mean
more to us than when they throng every field and
hedgerow, these large, handsome, strikingly marked
Finches are as welcome as they are conspicuous.

About them, as about the Crossbills, hangs the
fascination of mystery. No one can say when they
will come or when they will go. Absent entirely
some years, they may be abundant others; and when
they do come they show such entire confidence in

FOREST BIRDS iol

our good-will that we may form the most delightful
intimacy with them. While, therefore, they have
been classed under “Forest Birds,” they will come
freely about our homes if food is to be found there.

Pine Grosbeak

(Figs. 53, 54)

The Pine Grosbeak is especially fond of the ber-
ries of the mountain ash and staghorn sumach, but
it also feeds upon cedar berries and the buds of pines
and spruce. Its call is clearly whistled and strongly
reminds one of the notes of the Yellow-leg. To this
day I can clearly recall the first time I ever heard the
note of the Pine Grosbeak. At once I answered and
within a few moments the bird alighted on the
ground almost at my feet. That, indeed, was a
memorable experience.

The Pine Grosbeak’s song I have never heard,
but it is said to be prolonged and melodious. We
may look for this robust, hardy Finch any time be-
tween November and March, but if it has not been
reported before the holidays it is not likely that we
shall see it at all during the winter.

The male does not acquire its red plumage until
its second year, and meanwhile wears a dress like
that of the female.

162 OUR WINTER BIRDS

The nest of twigs and rootlets is placed in a conif-
erous tree somewhere in northern New England or
Canada. The pale greenish blue, brown-spotted eggs
are laid in June. Very little is known of the birds’
nesting habits.

Evening Grosbeak

Beyond question our most distinguished winter vis-
itor is the Evening Grosbeak. Until recent years it
was so rarely seen east of Wisconsin and [Illinois
that few bird students could claim the honor of its
acquaintance, but for the past eight years it has
come to us more frequently and in greater numbers
than the Pine Grosbeak, southern New Jersey being
the most southern point from which it has been re-
corded.

About the size of the latter birds, the males have
the forehead yellow, crown black, back olive-brown,
underparts yellow, the wings and tail black, the for-
mer marked with white, while the female is brownish
gray, tinged with yellow below and on the nape, the
wings and tail much as in the male.

The Evening Grosbeak is usually seen in flocks
of from six to eight to as many as sixty birds. They
feed mainly on the seeds of the box elder, maple,
and buckthorn, but also evidently acquire a taste for
sunflower seeds. By placing a supply of these seeds

FOREST BIRDS 163

first under the buckthorn tree in which Grosbeaks
were feeding, a writer in Bird-Lore for December,
1917, soon induced a flock of thirty birds to visit
her window-sill, where they disputed among them-
selves for the privilege of feeding from her hand.

EVENING GROSBEAKS

Surely no bird-lover could be accorded a higher
honor! When perched in the trees awaiting their
breakfast, the constant chirping of the birds sounded
like the jingle of small sleigh bells. Sometimes they
sang a beautiful caroling song and occasionally ut-
tered a soft throaty trill, like a Bluebird’s note.
From February to April these birds were almost

164 OUR WINTER BIRDS

daily visitors to the table which was always spread
for them. Then they disappeared. Where did they
go? No one knows. Pine Grosbeaks have been
found nesting all the way from Nova Scotia to
Alaska, but during the summer Evening Grosbeaks
are rarely seen east of the Rocky Mountains. Un-
less, therefore, we should discover them nesting in
some remote portion of the great evergreen forests
of eastern Canada or the northern United States, it
is evident this handsome gold and black Finch
has crossed the continent to be our guest during the
winter. Certainly after so long a journey he de-
serves the best entertainment we can give him. Let
us make his stay so attractive that he will be tempted
to return to us every winter.

THE CROSSBILLS

THE CONE-EATERS

(Figs. 49-52)

JOME winter day you may be sur-
prised by seeing what at first glance
looks like a flock of red and green
Paroquets climbing about the
branches or hanging to the cones
of a spruce or pine. Then you will
remember, perhaps, that the only Paroquet we ever
had in North America is now practically extinct, and

that, in any event, we should not expect to see these
birds of southern climes in our northern winters.
The birds, like most visitors from the far north who
know little of man and his ways, are so tame that
you can approach them closely, and may even pick
one off the tree as you would the cone on which it
is feeding. You will, therefore, have no difficulty
in seeing the peculiar form of the bird’s bill with
its singularly crossed tips; then if you have looked

over the list and pictures of birds which may visit
165

‘166 OUR WINTER BIRDS

us during the winter, the name ‘“‘Crossbill” will prob-
ably at once occur to you.

Should you have cone-bearing trees about your
home, you are just as likely to see Crossbills there
as in the pines, spruces or hemlocks of a distant
forest; but cones they must have, for on their seeds
they feed almost exclusively.

No one can say when the Crossbills will come.
Years may pass without one being seen; then, some
autumn, the country will be overrun with them. At
once the weather-wise will predict an unusually severe
winter under the belief that the birds have been
driven south by exceptionally cold weather. But
given an abundance of food and it’s little the Cross-
bills care about the weather. It is not low tempera-
ture, ice and snow that makes them desert their
usual winter quarters in the coniferous trees of north-
ern New England and Canada—it is hunger that
sends them south.

The coming of Crossbills is not, then, a sign of
approaching cold, but an indication that the crop
of cones, on which they are dependent for food, has
failed.

The Crossbill’s bill looks as though it were de-
formed; but here, also, we must not form an opinion
too hastily. Watch him force it between the scales
of the spruce cones, and with a dextrous motion twist

FOREST BIRDS 167

them off to secure the seeds at their base, and you
will at once see that it is an excellent tool for an
operation of this kind. The sight or sound of these
falling scales may sometimes be the first sign we
have of the birds feeding above so quietly that we
should have passed them had we not seen these
“chips from their workshop.”

Many seeds fall with the scales, and on moist or
rainy days, when the cone-scales are so tightly closed
that they cannot readily be forced off, the birds fre-
quent the ground to gather the crumbs, as it were,
which have fallen from their table on the dry, sunny
days when the scales were invitingly open.

Like the Paroquets they so much resemble, Cross-
bills chatter in low tones to one another while feed-
ing, and again, like Paroquets, they all take wing
together, uttering a sharp clicking note as they go.
The only song I have ever heard was a short, and
not loud warbling, but they may reserve their best
efforts until they return to their nesting ground in
the north; this may be in March, or the birds may
remain with us until May, for the Crossbills are as
irregular in their going as they are in their coming.

Nesting time with the Crossbills ranges from
March to June. The nest is built of twigs and
grasses in an evergreen. ‘The three or four eggs are

168 OUR WINTER BIRDS

pale greenish, spotted with brown and lavender about
the larger end.

The Red or American Crossbill is much the com-
moner of our two species. It spends the summer
not only in the north, but, in the higher parts of the
Alleghenies, it nests as far south as North Carolina.

The White-winged Crossbill may be readily
known by the marking from which it receives its
name; while that of the adult male, as our figure
shows, is more rosy than that of the Red Crossbill.
The red plumage in both species is not gained until
the second year, and during the first year of its life
the male wears a plumage like that of its mother.

WINTER WREN

A WOODLAND SPRITE

(Fig. 58)

VERY one who has offered it a home
knows the House Wren, for he
rarely fails to accept our hospital-
ity, but comparatively few people
have met his little cousin who
comes to us in October, when the

House Wren goes south, and remains until April,

when the House Wren returns. Winter Wren, we

call him, though in northern New England and Can-

ada he is a Summer Wren. But at all times he is a

Wood Wren rather than a House Wren.

Fallen tree-tops or brush-piles in low wet woods
are his chosen haunts. From such safe retreats he
greets us with a rather nervous, impatient “chimp-
chimp,” much like the call-note of a Song Sparrow.
With tail pertly pointed upward, or even forward,
he jumps in and out and bobs up and down, all the
time evidently as much interested in us as we are

in him.
169

170 OUR WINTER BIRDS

It is not alone his color which makes him a true
Brownie among birds, a quaint little wood sprite
with whom we would be glad to make friends. But
wholly unlike his cousin, he evidently has small use
for mankind and one can imagine him saying:
“Well, well, what is it you want? I really haven't
anything for you, and would be quite as well pleased
if you would go on about your affairs and leave me
to mine.”

It is a pity that this diminutive Wren is so un-
sociable, for he is a rarely talented songster, whose
rippling, trickling melody brings delight to every one
who hears him. This song he reserves for nesting
time, when in some snug nook in the roots of a tree
he builds a home of twigs and moss and lines it
softly with feathers.

The eggs number from five to seven and are
white, usually finely speckled with reddish brown.

PIONEERS FROM THE SOUTH

CAROLINA WREN, MOCKINGBIRD, AND TUFTED
TITMOUSE

ETE pioneers among birds, like the
pioneers among men, are hardy,
venturesome individuals who can
withstand the hardship and ex-
posures of life in lands beyond the
regions usually inhabited by their
kind. The ability of any species of bird to extend
the limits of its range depends upon its possession

of pioneers and their success as an advance guard
in entering and establishing themselves in a new
country.

A species, therefore, does not occupy new terri-
tory by advancing in force, but by gradually form-
ing outposts, from which, if conditions are favor-
able, the increase in population gradually fills up
the intervening areas.

The Carolina Wren, Mockingbird and Tufted
Titmouse are good examples of bird pioneers. All

three are southern birds which have been slowly
171

172 OUR WINTER BIRDS

advancing northward and which are represented
beyond the limits of the country where they are com-
mon by more or less widely separated outlying
settlements.

The Tufted Titmouse

The Tufted Titmouse looks so much stronger
than his cousin, the Chickadee, that of the two one
would expect him to live much the farther north.
But the Hudsonian Chickadee lives northward to
the very limit of tree-growth in Labrador and the
bleak interior of British America, while the Tufted
Titmouse is rarely found north of the latitude of
New York City.

With the coming of winter this species usually
retreats a little from its more advanced stations
and it is during these short journeys in the spring
and fall that one is more apt to see it—or perhaps
one should say hear it, for the Tufted Titmouse
is an inveterate whistler and is more than apt to
announce his presence by a loud, clear ‘“‘peto,
peto, peto,” which can be heard for a long dis-
tance and which the bird seems never to tire of re-
peating.

Doubtless this call is the equivalent of the Chicka-
dee’s tenderly whistled “phoebe” call, though it is

FOREST BIRDS 173

far from resembling it, in either form or the senti-
ment it expresses.

Should we follow the whistler and discover him
actively exploring the branches, he might greet us
with a rather hoarse “‘dee-dee-dee,” which would
at once betray his relationship, while his promi-
nent crest, soft gray colors and black frontlet would
further serve to identify him (see initial at the head
of this chapter).

The Tufted Titmouse sometimes visits our lunch
counters, but he is far from showing that confidence
in man which makes his black-capped cousin such a

cherished bird friend.

The Carolina Wren

The regular range of this fine large Wren extends
to about the latitude of central New Jersey, but it
has succeeded in planting outposts as far north as
Naushon Island, off the Massachusetts coast, and
Gardiner’s Island at the eastern end of Long
Island.

On the sheltered, eastern slope of the Palisades
at Englewood, New Jersey, I have seen as many
as twelve Carolina Wrens in an hour, more than one
usually sees in this time in the heart of their range.

This species is not migratory and these pioneers
must withstand the most severe winters of the coun-

174 OUR WINTER BIRDS

try in which they have settled, if they are to advance
the boundaries of their range. This fact places a
trying test on their vitality and endurance, and only
too often they are called upon to pay the penalty
which falls to the lot of the leader.

During a succession of favorable years they thrive

_,

a '

aM ee
Jat

CAROLINA WREN

———

apa

and multiply and one hears of them from places at
which they had not been previously seen. Then
comes a winter with exceptionally heavy snowfall
and with storms of ice and sleet that prevent the
birds from securing food, when the little colonies at
the outposts die of starvation and the ground gained
by generations is lost in a single season. Only the
hardiest individuals survive and it is their progeny

FOREST BIRDS 175

which takes the leading part in regaining the lost
ground.

Thus these pioneers gradually become fitted to
endure hardships which more southern members of
their species could not endure, and the range of their
kind is slowly extended.

Every one who knows the Carolina Wren will
wish him good fortune in conquering new territory.
His activity and his loud, ringing, musical voice
make him a prominent and welcome figure in the
bird life of the community he inhabits. He looks
half again as large as the House Wren and is
brighter, more cinnamon in color, with a conspicuous
whitish line above the eye. His song is in no sense
a trill but consists of a variety of clean-cut notes,
most of which may be closely imitated by a skillful
whistler. His alarm note is a loud, rolling chir-r-
ring which resembles the call of a tree-toad as well
as that of the Red-headed Woodpecker; and if one
could whistle the words ‘‘tea-kettle, tea-kettle, tea-
kettle,” the sound produced would resemble one of
this Wren’s most characteristic calls.

In the South the Carolina Wren at times lives
about dwellings, but in the North he is usually a
bird of the woods, frequenting fallen tree-tops and
thick undergrowths.

176 OUR WINTER BIRDS

Mockingbird

All that has been said of the pioneering habits of
the Carolina Wren applies also to the Mockingbird.
We associate this famous songster with magnolia,
yellow jessamine and palms, but it lives as far north
as Massachusetts, where a few venturesome indi-
viduals spend the entire year, for, like the Carolina
Wren, the Mockingbird is not truly migratory.

The only bird with which we may confuse the
Mockingbird is the Shrike, but the resemblance is
only superficial and when one is familiar with both,
there is small possibility of mistaking one for the
other. The Mockingbird 1s more slender and has
a much longer tail; there are no black markings
about its head and when it flies the white markings
in its wings are more conspicuous, while if one is
near enough, the rather long, slender bill of the
Mockingbird can not be mistaken for the stout
hooked weapon of the Shrike.

I recall a Mockingbird which one November ap-
peared near the Museum of Natural History in New
York City. Its fare consisted mainly of the berries
of a Virginia creeper which covered some rocks in
the museum grounds. This was before the day of
the Starlings, which now make such short work of

FOREST BIRDS 177

the yearly crop of these berries, and the Mocking-
bird’s supply of provisions might have lasted him
throughout the winter if it had not been covered by
a heavy fall of snow. The weather was unusually

MockINGBIRD

severe, the mercury falling below zero, but the
Mockingbird discovered a new source of food in the
berries of the privet and seemed not to suffer from
the cold. Strange it was to hear his sharp, kissing
alarm-note, which I had long associated with more
southern scenes, mingled with the voices of children

178 OUR WINTER BIRDS

who were coasting merrily past the tree in which he
was perching.

Food, therefore, is the all important thing, and
as long as birds are well-fed, even those which are
not accustomed to cold weather can withstand a
surprisingly low temperature. I have known of a
number of Mockingbirds which survived a northern
winter as guests at a bird-lover’s lunch-counter. It
is not often, however, that we are honored by such
a distinguished bird visitor.

INDEX

Birds, Dutcher window-box | Crossbill, American, 167

for, 18
feeding stand for,
19
food for, 16, 19
in summer, 4
inviting the, 14
in winter, 3, 4, 5, II

Red, 167

18, White-winged, 167
Crossbills, 165
Crow, 97

Field Birds, 95
Finch, Purple, 80

number seen in one day, | Flicker, 61

II, 12
our allies, 5
shelter for, 15, 16
value to man, 6-12

Forest Birds, 133

Goldfinch, 69
Goshawk, 138

why we should know | Grosbeak, Evening, 159,

them, 10
window shelf for, 18
Bob-white, 120
Bunting, Snow, 102

Cardinal, 58

Cats and birds, 14

Chickadee, 9, 10, 24

Chickadee, Carolina, 29
Hudsonian, 29

Creeper, Brown, 73

162
Pine, 160, 161
Grouse, Ruffed, 154

Hawk, Broad-winged, 137
Cooper’s, 137, 141, 142

Marsh, 137

Red-shouldered, 137, 138,
139, 143

Red-tail, 137, 139, 140,
143

179

180

Hawk, Sharp-shinned, 137,
138, 139, 141, 142,
143
Sparrow, 125
Hawks, food, 136
place in nature, 134
Home Birds, 23

Jay, Blue, 53
Junco, 71

Kinglet, Golden-crowned, 86

Lark, Horned, 108
Longspur Lapland, 109

Meadowlark, 116
Mockingbird, 176

Nuthatch, Red-breasted, 35
White-breasted, 30

Owl, Barred, 147
Great Horned, 145
Long-eared, 147

INDEX

Owl, Saw-whet, 153
Screech, 88, 147
Short-eared, 129

Owls, food of, 148
Place in nature, 144

Planting for food and shel-
ter, 15, 16

Redpoll, 96, 105

Shrike, Northern, 112
Siskin, 106
Sparrow, English, 20, 45, 96
Song, 66
Tree, 7, 8, 102
White-throated, 76
Starling, European, 49

Titmouse, Tufted, 171

Waxwing, Cedar, 82

Woodpecker, Downy, 37
Hairy, 43

Wren, Carolina, 173
‘Winter, 169

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~ MANOMET Bisa OBSERVATORY . BRARY
MANOMET, MASS. 02345 3 id

Winter Landbirds of
Northeastern United States

Plate II (Scale one coor — 1)

Li273 Tet 5761718 J9 fom aH

Permanent Resident Species or those which are with us
throughout the year

20. Blue Jay 31. English Sparrow, female

21. Flicker, male 32. Purple Finch, female

22. Flicker, female 33. Purple Finch, male

23. Meadowlark 34. Song Sparrow

24. Starling, winter 35. Goldfinch, female

25. Starling, summer 36. Goldfinch, male

26. Downy Woodpecker, male 37. Chickadee

27. Downy Woodpecker, female 38. White-breasted Nuthatch, male
28. Hairy Woodpecker, male 39. White-breasted Nuthatch, fe
29. Hairy Woodpecker, female male

30. English Sparrow, male 40. Cedar Waxwing

Winter Visitant Species or those which come from the North
in the Fall and Remain until Spring

41. Saw-whet Owl 53. Pine Grosbeak, male
42. Prairie Horned Lark 54. Pine Grosbeak, female
43. Junco 55. Siskin

44. Tree Sparrow 56. Northern Shrike

45. White-throated Sparrow, adult 57. Snow Bunting
46. White-throated Sparrow, young 58. Winter Wren

47. Redpoll, female 59. Brown Creeper

48. Redpoll, male 60. Red-breasted Nuthatch, male
49, Red Crossbill, male 61. Red-breasted Nuthatch, female
50. Red Crossbill, female 62. Golden-crowned Kinglet, female

51. White-winged Crossbill, male 63. Golden-crowned Kinglet, male
52. White-winged Crossbill, female

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37 . "Mia, LP E
PERMANENT RESIDENTS |

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WINTER VISITANTS

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