Birds and Nature Vol. 11 No. 1 [January 1902]

“Why didst thou tarry so long, my brave?” she finally murmured, as she fondly toyed with the soft mottled feathers on his broad breast.

He lifted his feathery horns angrily at the remembrance. “The blue terror caught sight of me as I looked forth from the beautiful dark home in the dead oak tree which I have selected for thee, my beloved. It was just as the gaudy daylight was giving way to the pleasing blackness of night that I came forth, thinking all the little day flyers would have been asleep, but a belated bluejay saw me and, with lifted crest and shrill voice, raised the hue and cry. The robin left his mud daubed nest in the orchard across the road, the titmouse from his home in the knot hole of the rail fence, the nuthatch, the butcher bird and hosts of others all came, with piercing scoldings, sharp pecks and fluttering wings. I might have gone back into the darkness of our new home and so saved myself further annoyance, but, light of the world,” as he rolled his eyes fondly toward her, “I wanted not the blue terror to know where thou wouldst lay thine eggs – he is an egg thief, himself, thou knowest – so I sailed away into the open, and, O, the clamor they raised. And see,” showing two or three broken feathers, “what the bold blue terror has done, the strong voiced and strong winged bluejay.”

“How I wish I had been there,” muttered the lady owl vengefully through her clenched beak. “I would have torn his blue crest from his wicked little head.”

“And I would have taken his head along with it, at least as far as that black necklace of which he is so proud, if he had but given me the chance,” laughed the owl grimly. “It’s my usual way, only there were so many of the light, active little things that when I turned toward one another would come at me from the other side, so that my only safety from annoyance – for that was all they could do – was in my swift and silent wings.

“It seemed,” he went on, his great eyes blazing at the recollection, “as if all the birds in the woods joined the mob, friend and foe flying wing to wing, the most innocent seed bird and the bloodiest thief fighting side by side, and I had to buffet them with wing and claw, though they kept beyond reach of my beak,” he added proudly, and he passed his great feather-clad claw caressingly down his polished black beak, curved like a scimitar, and as strong and sharp.

“Thou knowest, my beautiful one,” he continued, “how the bluejay and the woodpecker fight one another, but tonight they joined forces as if they had been friends from the dawning of creation; and when the butcher bird cried out, ‘He ate three of my children yesterday,’ the titmouse – forgetting the thorn on which that same butcher bird impaled her first husband in the early summer – replied in fullest sympathy, ‘And he stole one of my lovely eggs only a week ago,’ and then she screamed with all her tiny might and flew at my head as boldly as if she had been an eagle. The little pests!”

“Never mind, my hero,” murmured the lady owl as fondly as a coo dove, “a man has his mosquitoes, a dog has his fleas, there is a horsefly for the horse, and these little birds are our mosquitoes, our fleas and our flies. Who-who-who,” she stammered in her rhetorical flight; “who has not his troubles in this world?”

“Who-who-who,” echoed the owl.

S. E. McKee.

TO A NUTHATCH

Shrewd little hunter of woods all gray,Whom I meet on my walk of a winter day,You’re busy inspecting each cranny and holeIn the ragged bark of yon hickory hole;You intent on your task, and I on the lawOf your wonderful head and gymnastic claw!The woodpecker well may despair of this feat —Only the fly with you can compete!So much is clear; but I fain would knowHow you can so reckless and fearless go,Head upward, head downward, all one to you,Zenith and nadir the same to your view?– Edith Thomas.

THE BROWN-HEADED NUTHATCH

(Sitta pusilla.)

Come, busy nuthatch, with your awl,But never mind your notes,Unless you’ve dropped your nasal chordsAnd tuned your husky throats.– Ella Gilbert Ives, “Robin’s Thanksgiving Proclamation.”

Of the twenty species of nuthatches known to inhabit the temperate regions of the Northern hemisphere, but four are distinctively American. They are classed by ornithologists with the tits and chickadees in the family Paridæ, a word derived from the Latin parus, meaning a titmouse. The nuthatches, like the woodpeckers, are climbers, but unlike the latter they climb downward as well as upward and with equal facility. Their tails are very short and are not used for support. Their bodies also do not touch the tree “unless they are suddenly affrighted, when they crouch and look, with their beaks extended, much like a knot with a broken twig to it.” A sudden clapping of the hands or a sharply spoken word will often cause a nuthatch to assume this attitude. They are busy birds, yet they are seldom too absorbed in their work of gathering food to stop and closely scrutinize an intruder. “Few birds are easier to identify: the woodpecker pecks, the chickadee calls ‘chickadee,’ while the nuthatch, running up and down the tree trunks, assumes attitudes no bird outside of his family would think of attempting.”

They do not always seek their food in the crevices of the bark of trees but, flycatcher-like, will fly outward from their perch and catch insects on the wing. Mr. James Newton Baskett relates the following interesting observation: “One spring day some little gnats were engaged in their little crazy love waltzes in the air, forming little whirling clouds, and the birds left off bark-probing and began capturing insects on the wing. They were awkward about it with their short wings and had to alight frequently to rest. I went out to them and so absorbed were they that they allowed me to approach within a yard of a limb that they came to rest upon, where they would sit and pant till they caught their breath, when they went at it again. They seemed to revel in a new diet and a new exercise.”

The Brown-headed Nuthatch is abundant from Louisiana and Florida to the southern part of Maryland. It also strays, at times, farther north, for it has been taken in Illinois, Michigan and Ohio. In the pine woods of the Southern States it passes a happy existence, always chattering in bird language even when its head is downward. “Each one chatters away without paying the slightest attention to what his companions are saying.” Mr. Chapman says: “There is such a lack of sentiment in the nuthatch’s character, he seems so matter-of-fact in all his ways, that it is difficult to imagine him indulging in anything like a song.” Though these words have reference to another species, they apply equally well to the Brown-headed form, whose only note seems to be a monotonous and oft-repeated utterance of a single syllable.

For its nest it selects a suitable hole in the trunk of a tree, or in a stump, that is usually not far from the ground. This it lines with grasses, fine, soft fibers and feathers. Here are laid about six creamy white eggs that are spotted with a brownish color. The parents are attentive to their young and seldom associate with others of their kind till these family cares are finished. Then they become more sociable and are found in companionship not only with other Brown-heads but also with woodpeckers, warblers and chickadees.

MY RED-HEADED NEIGHBORS

I

For five years, with each returning spring, a pair of red-headed woodpeckers has come, to make their nest and rear their brood of young near my cabin door. It was on a cold drizzly day the last of April, when I first observed my new neighbor. He was closely watching me as he dodged about the trunk of a dead tree standing in the yard.

Unmindful of the falling rain, he put in the day pecking and pounding away, seemingly in search of food, occasionally flying away or hitching around the tree as some one passed, returning to his quest as soon as the coast was clear.

Not until the next morning on awaking and hearing my neighbor industriously hammering away, did I suspect he was making a nest, having selected a place on the trunk of the tree about ten feet from the ground, and facing the noon-day sun. He proved to be no stickler for time, working early and late with short intermissions, when he would dart out into the air and stop some passing insect that was quickly disposed of. At the end of two weeks the nest had been completed and on the same day the female arrived. Was it a coincidence? It would seem so, for each succeeding year the male preceded his mate by a fortnight, in which time the place was selected and the new home made ready in which there was no straw, no feathers, nothing but the deep cavernous pocket, clean and fresh, perfumed with the pungent odor of decaying wood.

As the days went by they came to be less afraid of and more neighborly with me, paying little or no attention to my passing or repassing.

After repeatedly testing every available object in the vicinity of the nest, the male finally selected as his drumming place the roof-board of the cabin, where in lieu of song, he beat off many a short strain, like the roll of a snare drum, that was intended for and easily heard by his mate as she kept warm the eggs in the nest near by.

In the matter of incubating each took part, though the female devotes by far the more time, usually remaining on the nest from one to two hours, when the old man would spell her for about twenty minutes, in which time she makes her toilet and indulges her insectivorous appetite. At the end of two weeks they carried out of the nest and dropped, as they flew across the yard, the broken fragments of shell. Now the greatest of all mysteries has taken place. Like some beautiful creation of art that is to be, but as yet is an unexpressed thought in some human brain, so the bird within the egg is but a thought till, warmed by the parent’s soft downy breast, the life lines throb and pulsate till the swelling life within bursts the shell. Now instead of eggs requiring warmth the old birds have two hungry mouths demanding food, that keeps them busy. Yet they knew it, knew it all from the very first; every act was intelligent, not instinctive. During the first days of the baby birds, much care was given to the preparation of their food; the legs, wings and antennae were removed from each bug or beetle. On some dead limb convenient to the nest, a small hole the size of a lady’s thimble had been prepared, and into this improvised mortar the body of the insect was placed and pounded to a pulp before feeding. This care was not long continued, as the young birds were soon capable of eating whatever is given them.

The next ten days were full of business for my neighbors. Throughout the days they were constantly in pursuit of the passing life that filled the air. Each catch was quickly delivered to the baby birds, whose appetite seemed never to be satisfied.

The young birds quickly grew to be squabs, and their bodies were covered with a downy coat resembling fur more than feathers. Soon came the last week in the home before their formal “coming out.” Feathers quickly took the place of down; the rapid feeding was greatly lessened, to which the baby birds made constant complaint in a whimpering cry as they peeked out of the nest into the big world where so soon they were to be launched on their first flight, never to return to the nest.

II

It was about the tenth of May of the following spring when my red-headed neighbor returned from his southern trip, where he had spent the winter. He was soon hard at work and had the lawn sprinkled with his white chips about the root of a pine stub, as he burrowed into the wood a few feet above, where he was making a new nest, the spot having been selected during the past summer. Here, at that time, he had done some preliminary work in the way of a prospect hole, evidently with the view of returning.

With a quick hammer-like stroke of the head, he drove his sharp polished beak into the decaying wood, rapidly repeating the strokes till the pulpy fiber was broken down and then with a mouthful of the loosened fragments, he hitched back out of the entrance, flinging the chips to the wind.

After a quick survey of the surrounding and a peek around the tree to see if there was any approaching danger, he dove into the hole again to make further excavations, soon returning, tail first, with another mouthful of refuse. After several days’ work on the new nest, he came in contact with the hard resinous heart of a knot that he was unable to remove. To get by this obstruction and still be able to utilize the work done, he changed the entrance from a circle to an ellipse by extending it downward. This bit of strategy worked well in getting by the difficulty, but it proved to be only temporary.

The nest was completed in the allotted two weeks and the female came on time. After a very warm greeting she was shown the nest for her approval; but on sight of the new-fangled entrance, she halted, showing her disapproval in many ways. To overcome her objections, the old man went in and out as a demonstration; then hopping close up to her side, he talked in a low voice, making many gestures with his head, sometimes picking at the tree in an absent-minded way, as a man thoughtlessly whittles while pleading his cause. Seeing that she did not readily assent, he went in and out three or four times in rapid succession; then sidling up to her again began his persuasive chatter, but all to no purpose; she gave a decided answer and flew away.

After a little hesitation he followed her. In about an hour they came back. After some maneuvering about the yard he got her back to the nest, but not in it. He tried in every way, but no amount of coaxing could induce her to go in, and refusing to listen longer to his argument, she again flew away. Now he was disconsolate, flying away, then returning to go in and take another look at the nest, then flying to the housetop to pout. Yes, pout, for at all other times he would drum and make a great deal of noise; now, he was sulky and silent.

Next morning they came back, when, if possible, he tried harder than ever to get her to inspect the nest, but without success. She was obdurate, and, after sitting quiet until he was through his demonstrations and chatter, she flew away over the fields, uttering a loud cry as she left him sticking to the side of the tree. He sat still a few moments, seemingly in a brown study, then he began hopping about the trunk of the tree, where in a short time he had selected a place and gone to work with a will in making a new nest, that was completed in a little more than eight days. Very little was seen of the female during the completion of the new home. She was in the yard a few times, but never near the tree where the male was at work.

He had made no mistake this time, the entrance was round and clean cut as an augur hole. When the madam was escorted to the new nest there was no hesitation about inspecting it; she entered at once. Coming out a moment later, she made it known that the nest was satisfactory. Then the old man was jubilant, expressing it by voice and action. From this moment domestic affairs went on as usual and the family jar was forgotten, so far as an outsider could observe.

Eggs, baby birds, busy days, fall and southern journey, ended this year with my pleasant summer neighbor.

III

Many times during the following winter they were the subject of my thoughts. I wondered where they were and whether they would return. Yes, early one morning of the next spring I was awakened by his beating a reveille in the same old place on the roof-board of the cabin. With little delay he selected a place for the new home. Then followed a fortnight of hard work and vigilance when the excavation was completed and only awaited the coming of his better half, who was as prompt in her arrival.

There are families to raise; there are thousands of flies, bugs and beetles to catch, for which they are never given credit, but let them take a berry and it is “Johnnie, get your gun.” Early one bright morning in July there was noise and bustle about the woodpecker home. It was not difficult to guess what was going to take place. The parents were close by the nest on the side of the tree. The little birds had crowded out of the entrance, eager for their first flight, which, like the first tottering steps of a baby, is attended with much chatter and nonsense that is not understood.

The mother set an example by flying to a tree some fifty feet distant. The little birds followed with a labored effort and, striking the tree with a thud near the ground, managed to stick fast. Now began their arboreal life of tree climbing at which they were awkward at first and had many falls. The young birds were a soft smoky gray. There was no sign as yet of the cardinal cap and white bodice with black chevrons, which would make them so conspicuous during the next year.

In their daily visits to the yard each parent chaperoned one of the baby birds, teaching it all the tricks in the woodpecker trade, as they conducted it from tree to tree where they searched amid the bark and worm holes for morsels of food that had been secreted there.

One day late in October they failed to return; this ended another year and brought another separation.

IV

As promptly as ever the following spring found my summer tourists in their old haunts, each year getting a little closer if possible to the cabin with their nest.

Household affairs went along smoothly till one day the old man was keeping house while the madam had gone out for lunch. At the expiration of about twenty minutes he came out of the nest. As he flew away he gave a loud call that on former occasions had invariably brought his mate to take charge of the nest, but to this call she did not answer. She never returned. He waited a few moments, calling for her, then returned to the nest. Ten minutes later he came out again, repeating the call several times as he flew from tree to house and back again to the nest, about which he showed much concern. Five minutes more and for the third time he left the nest, flying down in the orchard where the female often went for food. Soon returning he went direct to the nest, seeming to understand that some misfortune had overtaken his mate.

Like Mark Tapley, when the occasion demanded he came out strong, for with scarcely an intermission he stuck to the nest for the next three days. Then he carried out the broken shells and began bringing food for two mouths that were always agape. With a desire to assist him I daily placed bits of food on a certain stump in the yard. He soon came to understand the meaning of my visits and to regard these tit-bits as belonging to himself. He would fly to the house top and watch me put out the food. As soon as I turned away he would drop off the roof, spread his wings, slide down on the air with a long graceful sweep, bringing up on the edge of the stump.

Nodding and chattering, he hitched around the stump, tasting each bit of food, eating what he liked, but rarely giving any of this food to the babies. No matter whether he ate it or not, no other bird was permitted to trespass.

The undivided care of the family left little time for personal attention. He looked shabby and forlorn by the time the young birds were old enough to quit the nest and seek their own food. Then he spent much time in mending his appearance.

Each passing year my attachment had grown for my summer visitors. The thought that he might never return, owing to the loss of his mate, worried me.

The summer passed; the days grew short and the night grew frosty. The blackbird family would soon be on their way to the sunny south, and I should miss their familiar voices and many cunning pranks about the yard.

V

Early one May morning the next spring I was greatly pleased to hear the well remembered call. I knew my old-time friend had come to spend his summer sojourn in the yard amid the scenes of former years.

He flitted about the yard in his old familiar way, tapping off his short quick rattle on the roof-board which reverberated through the cabin.

He was happy again. Why not? He had brought with him a new bride. She was afraid of me. He showed her by example that I would not hurt them, but on sight of me she slipped around the stumps and trees, and at the least approach flew away.

William Harrison Lewis.

BEAUTIFUL SNOW

Beautiful snowflakes are softly fallingLike down from an angel’s wings,Beautiful snowflakes are softly fallingWhile the snow bird merrily sings.Beautiful snowflakes are softly falling,From the clouds they come whirling down,Like the dust from the floor of a crystal palace,And cover the frozen ground.Beautiful snowflakes are softly falling,Covering the ground with white;The flowers of summer have withered and faded,The robin has taken his flight.Beautiful snowflakes are softly falling,They bring joy to young and old;Beautiful-snowflakes are watching and waitingFor the Christmas chimes to toll.Beautiful snowflakes are softly fallingLike down from an angel’s wings,Beautiful snowflakes are softly fallingWhile the snow bird merrily sings.– J. Frank Richman.

THE SHARP-SHINNED HAWK

(Accipiter velox.)

The Sharp-shinned Hawk is a hardy and courageous bird with an extended range, covering North America as far south as Panama. Unlike the larger number of birds, it breeds throughout its range, even as far north as the Arctic circle. In the fall months it passes over the middle states in large numbers. One writer says that he observed several hundred during a single day’s tramp, the majority flying very high in the air. In the spring, usually in March and April, the same scene is repeated during their northward flight.

Much of the bad repute in which the hawks are held is due to the depredations of the Sharp-shinned and its sister species the Cooper’s and goshawks. All these feed, to a great extent, upon the smaller birds, grouse and poultry. The smaller mammals, such as the troublesome field rodents, form a much smaller proportion of their food than is the case with the other hawks.

Dr. A. K. Fisher, speaking of the Sharp-shin, says: “Little can be said in favor of this hawk, although its daring, courage and impudence are to be admired. A score of valuable species suffer because they belong to a class which includes two or three noxious kinds. However, like most villains, it has at least one redeeming quality, and that is its fondness for the English sparrow, our imported bird nuisance. This Hawk is gradually learning that there is a never-failing supply of food for it in the larger towns and cities, and it is not uncommon in Central Park, New York, all through the winter, where the writer has witnessed it chasing sparrows.”

The Sharp-shinned Hawk is brave and full of dash and spirit. It does not hesitate to attack birds fully as large as itself and in one instance it was known to strike down a night heron, which obtained its liberty only because its discordant squawks so disconcerted its ordinarily cool and collected enemy that it was frightened away. Even though its wings are short and seemingly not fitted for rapid progress, its flight, when in the pursuit of prey, is very swift and direct. “No matter which way the selected victim may turn and double, his untiring pursuer is equally prompt, and only rarely will it miss capturing its quarry. Once struck, death fortunately follows quickly, as it fairly transfixes its victim’s vitals with its long and sharp talons.”

Audubon well describes the habits of this bird. He says: “While in search of prey, the Sharp-shinned Hawk passes over the country, now at a moderate height, now so close over the land, in so swift a manner that, although your eye has marked it, you feel surprised that the very next moment it has dashed off and is far away. In fact, it is usually seen when least expected and almost always but for a few moments, unless when it has procured some prey and is engaged in feeding upon it. The kind of vacillation or wavering with which it moves through the air appears perfectly adapted to its wants; for it undoubtedly enables this little warrior to watch and to see at a single quick glance of its keen eyes every object, whether to the right or to the left, as it pursues its course. It advances by sudden dashes, as if impetuosity of movement were essential to its nature, and pounces upon and strikes such objects as best suit its appetite, but so very suddenly that it appears quite hopeless for any of them to try to escape.”