Birds and Nature, Vol. 12 No. 5 [December 1902]

The blue jays are the most persistent and least welcome of all. Their plumage is beautiful, viewed at such close range, but their actions are not pleasing. They flop down near the window and look in, turning the head from side to side, as if suspecting some enemy there. The slightest sound sends them back to the trees, but they soon return, and eat as if they were starved, driving their bills into the meat with quick hard strokes, or grabbing at the corn in a nervous, famishing way. After eating a few grains, they fill their mouths and carry it away to hide for future emergencies. I have seen them hide it in an old gatepost or drive it down in the crevices of trees. They carry away more than they eat and probably never find half of it again, for they have no special hiding place, but they tuck it in wherever they see a convenient place. It is somewhat provoking to have the table cleared in this way, unless it is always watched, for the corn is spread especially for the cardinals whose brilliant color is such a delight to the eye amid the sombre colors of winter. There is one blue jay with a drooping wing. We call him our “Bird with the broken pinion.” He appears to have no difficulty in getting to the table, and his appetite is not impaired, but possibly, as Butterworth says, “He will never soar so high again.”

A pair of cardinals come and partake of the corn with a grace and dignity befitting their royal apparel. They do not hurry nor worry, but eat slowly and stay until they have enough. They are very quiet now, but their spring song will repay me for all the corn they will eat.

But of all that come, none are more interesting than the chickadee. He surely merits all the bright sweet things that have been said or written about him. He is the only one that utters a note of thanksgiving for his daily bread before he begins to eat. Then he has such gentle, confiding ways. Today the ground is covered with a deep, sleet-encrusted snow; the trees are all icebound, and it must be one of the most disheartening days the bird world ever knows, yet just now, at four o’clock, two chickadees are singing their good night song outside my window. In a few minutes they will be snugly tucked away in some wayside inn, some sheltered nook prepared by Mother Nature, where they will sleep away one more cold night, to awaken one day nearer the joyous springtime.

Caroline H. Parker.

BEAUTIFUL VINES TO BE FOUND IN OUR WILD WOODS

III

Another beautiful vine that grows wild in most of our states is the Trumpet Flower, a popular name for various species of Bignonia and Tecoma, which belong to the other Bignoniaaceæ or Bignonia family, all of which are either shrubs or woody vines. There are two or three species of this family native to the United States, chief among them being the Tecoma radicans, or what is generally known as the Trumpet Flower. In some parts of the country it is also called Trumpet Creeper.

The word Tecoma is of Mexican origin and means trumpet, the only known difference between the Tecoma radicans and the Bignonia is a structural difference in their pods.

We have several imported varieties of both, that come from South Africa and Japan, but none prettier than the Tecoma radicans or Trumpet Flower, which any of us can find along almost any roadside or in rich, moist woods, blooming in the greatest profusion in August and September.

It is a woody vine, climbing to great heights by abundant rootlets, produced along the stems. Its pinnate leaves have from five to eleven ovate, toothed pointed leaflets. Its deep orange-red flowers come in midsummer and later and grow in corymbs or clusters; its tubular corolla is funnel-shaped, two or three inches long, with five somewhat irregular lobes, within which the four stamens are enclosed; its fruit is a two-celled pod, containing numerous winged seed.

The Trumpet Flower is found in a wild state from Pennsylvania to Illinois, and southward, and is very common in cultivation, being vigorous and perfectly hardy, soon covering a large space and reaching to a height of sixty feet. Blooming as it does in late summer, and early fall when flowers are scarce, the abundance of its great orange and scarlet flowers make a very showy spot in a dull landscape, and an especially attractive bit of color, if you happen to find a vine around which the ruby-throated hummingbirds are hovering, they being very partial to the nectar from its flowers.

It is a beautiful vine to drape a tree that is in itself not very pleasing, or to cover brick or stone outbuildings.

Its faults, and it is a shame to discover faults in anything so beautiful, are a tendency to become naked below, which can be remedied by cutting back, an over abundant production of suckers, and its immensely long roots.

Bignonia capreolata, named for the Abbe Bignon, who first found it, is a closely related species, of a more southern range than the Tecoma, being found in Tennessee, Virginia and Georgia. Its leaves consist of but two leaflets and a terminal tendril. Its flowers, similar to those of the preceding, are orange. In the southern states it is called cross-vine, as the wood if cut transversely shows a cross.

One species of the Trumpet Flower, the Tecoma stans, is a non-climbing shrub of southern Florida and northern Mexico. It grows about four feet high and bears large clusters of lemon-yellow flowers. It is hardy at Washington in the Botanical Gardens and there were fine plants exhibited at the Buffalo Exposition.

J. O. Cochran.

THE PERSIMMON

(Diospyros virginiana.)

Have you ever,On your travelsThrough the queer, uncertain South,Had a ’simmon —Green Persimmon —Make a sortie on your mouth?– Frank H. Sweet.

The Persimmon, or Virginian Date Plum, is a North American tree, growing wild in nearly all of the Southern United States, and will thrive and ripen its fruits as far north as the state of Connecticut and the great lakes. It is one of about one hundred and eighty species belonging to the genus Diospyros. These are all hardy trees or shrubs. Representatives of the genus are found in nearly all regions that have a tropical or a temperate climate. The name Diospyros is of interest, for it is from a Greek name used by Theophrastus, and is derived from two words, one meaning Jove’s and the other wheat or grain. This name of Theophrastus has reference to the edible fruit and literally translated means divine or celestial food.

Only a few of the species are cultivated. These are highly ornamental trees with a beautiful foliage, which is rarely attacked by insects. The common Persimmon of America is the only species that is at all hardy in the north. This and the Japanese species (Diospyros kaki) are the only trees that produce the edible fruit commonly found in the market. The wood of nearly all the species of Diospyros is hard and close-grained. The trees that yield the beautiful ebony of commerce belong to this genus, and the species that is said to yield the best quality of this wood (Diospyros ebenum) is a native of the East Indies and Ceylon. It is also cultivated to some extent in hothouses and in tropical climates.

The common Persimmon of the United States (Diospyros virginiana) is a tree, usually growing to a height of about fifty or sixty feet, and rarely reaching one hundred feet. This is a beautiful round-topped tree with more or less spreading branches. The name Persimmon is of Indian origin and of unknown meaning. The fruit of this species is but lightly appreciated except by those who visit the forest regions in which it is native, for it is only cultivated to a very limited extent. The fruit is globular in form and quite plum-like. It varies both in size, color and flavor. When green the fruit is astringent and has a very disagreeable taste. This, however, disappears when the fruit becomes fully matured.

It is generally thought that the fruit of the Persimmon is not palatable until there has been a frost. Regarding this supposition Dr. L. H. Bailey says: “The old notion of early botanists that this fruit must be subjected to the action of frost before it becomes edible is erroneous. Many of the very best varieties ripen long before the appearance of frost, while others never become edible, being so exceedingly astringent that neither sun nor frost has any appreciable effect on them.” This fruit, so popular in the localities where it grows, was not unknown to the natives who traversed the wild woods before the time of the early explorations and conquests of America. A narrative of De Soto’s travels relates that his men, who were camping at a native town “halfe a league from Rio Grande” (Mississippi River) found the river “almost halfe a league broad and of great depth,” and that the natives brought to them “loaves made of the substance of prunes, like unto brickes.” These loaves were made of dried Persimmons, possibly, mixed with some pulverized grain. At the present time, in some southern localities, the fruit is not infrequently kneaded with bran or ground cereals, molded and baked.

AS TO ALLIGATORS

The alligator generally impresses the mind as a reptile so dangerous that he should be given a wide berth on any and all occasions, yet it is really peaceable and harmless unless aroused to the defensive.

Anywhere south of the Mason and Dixon line, among the rivers, lakes and marshes, are found the alligators, but Florida, because of its great area of such places which the alligator delights in, may almost be termed the home of the alligator.

In traveling through the dense hammocks, where for miles and miles the sun scarcely penetrates through the heavy timber and the rank vegetation beneath, one may often meet with the huge saurian as he travels from one cave or mud hole to another. Tease or wound him, and he will show fight, and woe to him who then comes within reach of his vengeance. And it matters little to him with which end he must fight. He can crush equally well with his tail as with his jaws – or, to end the matter more speedily, he may use both. But if you go on about your business his ’gator-ship will do the same, and not notice you so much as ever to wink. Come upon him as he is lying asleep or sunning himself on a mud bank, if he is aroused and finds you between himself and the river he will sweep you aside as you yourself would a fly from the sugar bowl, and then slide into his native element, and he does this so quickly as to allow you little time to explain that you just happened there and had no designs on him whatever.

At other times you might think you are stepping out onto a sunken log imbedded in the mud, but find that the log suddenly gets very much alive, for under that slimy mud and grass an alligator was taking a sitz bath. You might have walked all around him with impunity, but walking on him is an indignity he resents quickly – so quickly that it is a question whether you get back to safety or are served up for the alligator’s dinner. Sometimes you may see an alligator lying motionless just under the surface of the water, with his long snout protruding. His jaws are open far enough to allow the flow of the current through them, and when a stray fish or other tid-bit comes along with that flow, the jaws snap down on it. He can be seen keeping his trap thus set for hours at a time. Should you row near in order to watch him, he will not seem to pay the least attention to you if you behave yourself; but if you drop an oar or shout at him he will drop down out of sight and lie low waiting to see what you are really up to. Now, if you will remain perfectly quiet as to motion, but will imitate the barking of a puppy, the squealing of a pig, or the caw of a crow, although there was not an alligator in sight, you will soon see several snouts appear, and gradually, if you keep up the call, the alligators will come near and nearer, in curiosity as to what the call means. A half dozen or more will be nosing about the boat, and you have a good chance to observe them closely – if your nerves can stand it. This sport is exceedingly dangerous, for if the boat should bump an alligator on the nose, straightway all would make common cause and reduce the offending boat into splinters; and that the occupant of the boat should escape would be next to impossible.

When the female alligator wishes to build her nest, she selects a dry place, open to the rays of the sun, yet near to water. She commences her nest by scraping together a lot of dry leaves, grass or other trash, until she has a round, compact bed as large as a cartwheel. On this she deposits her eggs. This done, she proceeds to cover them up by going round and round the nest and, with her body pushing more leaves and trash over the eggs. A well made nest is of the shape of a hay-cock, and very nearly so large. The nest completed, the alligator goes off to the nearby water, and leaves the sun to do the hatching. Many differ as to the time it takes for the eggs to hatch, as much depends on the construction of the nest, and also on the heat of the sun. So, also, many differ as to the number of eggs a female will lay in one season. Some aver that eighty is the average number, but the writer has never found more than forty in one nest.

Alligator eggs are white, oblong in shape, about three inches and a half in length, and have a ring around the middle. When first hatched the little fellows are red and black spotted and striped. They are exceedingly lively, and, as soon as hatched, make straight for the water – apparently in search of the protecting care of their mammy – but they often come back to sun themselves about the old nest.

The male alligator is a cannibal, and will eat his own young if he finds them. For this reason the female selects a place far from the usual haunts of her spouse when she prepares for maternal cares by building her nest. And she stays with her babies until she thinks they are capable of wiggling away from dangers themselves.

When in Florida many of the winter tourists secure these little alligators and take them North to keep them as pets. As they are exceedingly slow in growing, they make “little” and “cunning” pets for many years. When they get to be “big fellows,” they had best be dispensed with.

Although the alligator has long been considered one of the despised species of animals, or reptiles, it is far from being a useless one – though its use is only practical after it has been killed. One may say that there is no good alligator but a dead one, but one may qualify the remark by adding that the dead one is very good, indeed, for commercial purposes.

There is a great demand for alligator hides, and good prices are being paid for them. Consequently the hunting of alligators for the sake of their hides, and the preparing of them for shipment is a profitable industry. Then the tanning of these hides and, finally, the making of the leather into trunks, valises, purses, etc., makes three distinct industries due to the alligators.

Those making a business of hunting alligators generally take the night time for it, and the darker the night, the better.

Two men, provided with a light, easy-going skiff, a good rifle, an ax, and a bull’s eye lantern fastened to the forehead of one of the hunters, start out together. One man – the one with the lantern – sits in the bow of the boat; it is his business to “shine the eyes” of any alligator who might come within the radius of the light. The eyes of the game will shine like two balls of fire, and if the man is careful to make no unnecessary movements, and his partner is careful to scull the boat steadily and silently, they can get so near the game as to almost touch it.

The man in the bow holds, from the very start, the rifle ready for a quick shot. This shot comes so suddenly and so unexpectedly to the alligator, that, quick as he generally is, he falls a prey to his prolonged curiosity as to the nature of that approaching light.

The hunters must be so expert at their trade that as soon as the shot has been fired the man who did the shooting must lean over and grasp the alligator by the tail, pull him half way over the gunnel of the boat and hold him there for the quick cut with the ax in the back, which his partner must be, by this time, prepared to strike. All this is done far quicker than it can be told; so quickly is it done that often the alligator is killed by the ax only, and it is found that the bullet had never struck him, and he had only been either stunned, or so demoralized as to forget his own power.

This cut in the back, severing the vertebrae, places the alligator entirely hors de combat. There is even no flopping about in the bottom of the boat where he is then thrown. Now the hunters are ready to proceed on to their next capture.

The morning generally finds the hunters with their boat loaded, and they are glad of a short rest and – breakfast. There then remains but the task of skinning their game and salting the hides down in barrels, ready for shipment.

Leo L. Stratner.

DANDELION

(Taraxacum taraxacum Karst.)

You are bilious, my good man. Go and pay a guinea to one of the doctors in those houses… He will prescribe taraxacum for you, or pil. hydrarg. – Thackeray, Philip, ii.

Dandelion is a perennial herb thoroughly familiar to everyone, as it is found almost everywhere throughout all temperate and north temperate countries. It has a basal tuft of rather large, spatulate to lanceolate, deeply incised leaves. There are several slender, cylindrical, hollow stalks, six to twelve inches long, each one ending in a bright yellow flower head with numerous small flowers. The fully matured fruits form a white, fluffy head and are easily removed and scattered by air currents. Each fruit is a miniature parachute and every child has blown upon the fruit head and watched the individual fruits sail for great distances, suspended in air by the parachute-like expansion of the pappus. Roots are quite large, branching, rather fleshy. The plant contains a milky juice, having a bitter taste.

The Dandelion is said to be a native of Greece, southern Europe and Asia Minor. It has spread very rapidly and widely via the commercial routes. It has become thoroughly naturalized in the United States and Canada, forming the most conspicuous plant in farmyards, along roadsides, meadows, pastures and in orchards. Flowers are matured throughout the entire season, but chiefly in the spring and again in the late summer or early autumn. The plant belongs to the same family as the sunflower, daisy, goldenrod and iron weed.

Dandelion has been used medicinally for many centuries, and the name is derived from the Latin dens leonis, meaning lion’s tooth, referring to the incised leaves. Theophrastus described the plant and lauded it very highly in the treatment of liver complaints and for freckles. Later (980-1037 A. D.) Arabian physicians employed it very extensively, principally in jaundice and other liver complaints. During the middle ages the milky juice of this plant was highly recommended in the treatment of diseases of the eye. During the sixteenth century European physicians found it useful as a quieting and sleep-producing remedy.

The poor of nearly all countries collect the young, crisp leaves in the early spring and prepare therefrom a salad, resembling lettuce salad. The poor in large cities visit vacant lots, in which the plants usually grow abundantly, and collect the leaves for home consumption, or fill large, often dirty, sacks, and vend it among the poor tenement dwellers. This is certainly a dangerous procedure, as all manner of dirt and disease germs are found on the leaves, to say nothing of dirty hands, utensils and containers of the collectors. No doubt many a case of typhoid fever or other germ disease among the poor could be traced to this source. In country districts there is little danger connected with eating Dandelion leaves, and they really form a good, palatable salad when properly prepared.

The leaves are also cooked, usually with leaves of other plants (species of chenopodium), forming “greens,” highly relished by the poor. The American Indians as well as savages of other countries eat large quantities of the leaves raw, more rarely cooked. In Germany and other European countries the roots are collected, dried, roasted and used as a substitute for coffee.

The principal use of this plant has thus far been medicinal, but its value as a curative agent has certainly been overrated. It has been used in dropsy, pulmonary diseases, in stomach derangements, in hepatic or liver disorders, in icterus, blotchy skin and other skin diseases, for biliary calculi, in hypochondriasis, etc. It has no marked curative properties in any disorder. Beyond mildly laxative and tonic properties it has no effect whatever. Using taraxacum preparations for a considerable length of time causes digestive disorders, mental excitement, vertigo, coated tongue and nausea.

In lawns the plant proves a great nuisance, as it displaces the grass, and it is difficult to exterminate. The plants must be dug up, roots and all, carted away and burned. This should be done early, before the seeds are sufficiently mature to germinate. For medicinal use the roots are gathered in March, July and November, cleaned, the larger roots cut longitudinally, dried and packed to be shipped to points of consumption. The juice expressed from the fresh roots is also used.

Albert Schneider.

FROM SPRING TO RIVULET

Still dances the brook with its murmurs gay,Down through the woods and under the way,Splashing o’er rocks, – through meadow agleam,To lose itself in the larger stream.It passes a laugh with ferns that peerTo see their forms in its waters clear;It meets a rock, and dashes sprayAt moss and lichens that light its gray;And yet, as it nears where violets hide’Neath soughing pines, its waters glideWith hardly a sound, lest the tender flowerShould feel, in its haste, too hard a shower.But ever it sings, be it night or day,Year after year, in the selfsame way,“Here I tinkle, and there I dash,I ripple, I murmur, I gaily splash;Such a mad, such a glad little brook am I,Singing along ’neath a summer sky!”But just as gay as it is in JuneIs the brook as it sings its winter tune.Jack Frost makes his call, – and droop the ferns;Again and again the sprite returns,Till over the pool beneath the pinesA magical covering gleams and shines.Now hide and seek does the brooklet play,For it dashes forth once more on its way,Again to be hidden beneath the snow,That gives no hint of the songster below.But the grand old trees that love it well,And the winter bird, – they both can tellThat ever it sings, as it sang of old,When winds are bleak and days are cold,“Here I tinkle, and there I dash,I ripple, I murmur, I gaily splash;Such a mad, such a glad little brook am I,Singing along when snowflakes fly!”– Grace E. Harlow.