Kitabı oku: «Birds and Nature, Vol. 12 No. 1 [June 1902]», sayfa 2

THE ALICE’S THRUSH
(Turdus aliciae.)

Alice’s Thrush, or the Gray-cheeked Thrush, has an extensive range covering the whole of North America from the Atlantic coast westward to the Plains and northward to the regions beyond the Arctic Circle and is abundant along the Arctic Coast. Mr. Ridgway says: “This bird and the robin are the only species of our thrushes that cross the Arctic Circle to any distance, or reach the shores of the Arctic Ocean. It occurs from Labrador all around the American Coast to the Aleutian Islands.” It also frequents Siberia. From its breeding grounds in northern North America, on the approach of winter, it migrates southward to Central America, and finally reaches Costa Rica.

Alice’s Thrush closely resembles the olive-backed thrush with which it is frequently associated during its migrations. When thus associated, only the trained eye of an expert can discriminate between them. The two may be distinguished, however, by the much stronger buff coloring on the throat and breast, and on the sides of the head around the eyes, of the olive-backed species.

Alice’s Thrush is a shy bird during the nesting period and remains within the friendly shelter of thickets and though unseen “their low sweet song is frequently heard.” Mr. Ridgway says: “The notes are said to be quite distinctive, the song being most like that of the hermit thrush, ‘but differs in being its exact inverse,’ beginning with its highest and concluding with its lowest notes, instead of the reverse.” However, when their family cares are over, their retiring nature disappears to a great extent and they seem to seek a closer association with the habitation of man and frequent more open places in the vicinity of villages. In his report on “The Birds of Alaska,” Mr. E. W. Nelson says that during the period following the breeding season and before the migration begins, “many are killed by the native boys, armed with their bows and arrows. Their skins are removed and hung in rows or bunches to dry in the smoky huts and are preserved as trophies of the young hunter’s prowess. In the winter festivals, when the older hunters bring out the trophies of their skill, the boys proudly display the skins of these thrushes and hang them alongside.”

So closely does this bird resemble some of its sister thrushes that it was not until the year 1858 that its distinctive characteristics were recognized and it was given a name of its own. In that year it was described from specimens collected in southern Illinois by the eminent naturalist Robert Kennicott and his sister Alice.

For many years it was considered a rare bird, for in its typical form it is only a migrant in the United States, silently winging its way through the forests to and from its summer home.

Its nests are usually placed in shrubs or low branching trees at a height of but two to seven feet from the ground and in a few instances it has been known to nest on the ground. The nest is usually compact and “composed of an elaborate interweaving of fine sedges, leaves, stems, dry grasses, strips of fine bark and lined with fine grass. Occasionally nests are constructed with mud, like those of the common robin.” It is said that this thrush will easily modify its nesting habits to suit the requirements of its environment. In the land of the deer, nests have been found that were wholly constructed of hair and lined with the hair of deer, feathers and some moss.

In our illustration is shown its habit of scratching away the dead leaves that accumulate under the trees, in its search for grubs and worms.

A BIT OF FICTION FROM BIRDLAND

It was a radiant May day, so invitingly fresh and sunshiny that I found it impossible to stay indoors with any degree of resignation. Far up the hillside sloping southward was a favorite nook, and thither I turned my springing steps, so full of life and gladness that I could hardly contain it all.

Robins and bluebirds along my path saluted me, sparrows caroled from shrub and tree top their sweet, glad-spirited chorus, swallows were skimming the meadow with graceful wing, and bobolinks sang everywhere, jubilant, hilarious, in their “rollicking holiday spirit,” evidently intensely amused over some episode of recent date in the blithe bobolink world.

An old orchard of gnarled and tangled trees – a veritable “antique” – ended my ramble; here I threw myself down upon a mossy bank, turning to face the direction whence I had come. Down the valley, with its willow and alder fringed brook threading the meadow flats, I could look far away and over to the distant hills, woods and tilled lands on the other side.

The old orchard stands like the leafy porch to the sylvan halls behind it. Upon either side is a wild unbroken tangle of small growth – saplings of birch, poplar and maple; in front is a stubbly slope cut off by a picturesque brook from the meadows beyond; upon the farther side a deep forest of many years’ standing.

Ah, the restfulness of a retreat like this, shut in from the rustle, bustle and petty cares of the world and the everyday scramble for the bread and butter of mere existence! And the witchery of an hour like this – the whole earth steeped in sunshine, the air exhilarant and inspiring with freshness and fragrance, the woodsy odors of the tender new life but just awakened from the torpidity of frost-bound inanition, and the honeyed fragrance of the abundant apple blossoms inviting bird and bee and human flower lovers.

Evidently the birds were in sympathy with my mood, for there were literally flocks of them all about me; and the air was freighted with the enchanting melody of their rejoicing voices, Robert O’Lincoln as usual making himself delightfully prominent. I threw myself back upon the lap of Mother Earth and mentally rehearsed that characteristic bobolink poem:

 
“A flock of merry singing birds were sporting in the grove,
Some were warbling cheerily and some were making love.
There were Bobolincon, Wadolincon, Winterseble, Conquedle, —
A livelier set were never led by taber, pipe or fiddle.”
 

Presently the soporific influence of the atmosphere and surroundings began to take effect; and, soothed by Nature’s lullaby, I fell asleep with Wadolincon, Bobolincon, Conquedle, Winterseble, all in a confused jumble in my brain.

Immediately my companions began a lively discussion about house-building. At first I could not make out even the subject of the conversation, for all were talking together in such determined I-will-have-my-say accents that they out-babeled Babel with the confusion of tongues and senseless racket.

Soon, however, came a diversion, a hawk flew screaming across the arena, and, in the lull that followed, Mrs. Crow seized the opportunity to mount the platform of a tall spruce and call the meeting to order, suggesting that as the subject under consideration was of common interest and importance, it would be more profitably discussed if each were allowed to speak separately.

I was grateful indeed for this timely suggestion of the sable intruder, for, being myself especially interested in the subject under debate, I was anxious for information, and knew that among so divers opinions one might expect new light upon it.

Mrs. Robin Redbreast came forward just then and opened the discussion by expressing her own choice of “use before beauty” and a dry and airy situation.

Mrs. Bluebird liked privacy and retirement from the public gaze, and declared that no place more conspicuous than a hollow post or stump is a fitting home for the bringing up of baby bluebirds.

Mrs. Sparrow, in modest apparel, showed her quiet taste in the matter of home-making as in dress, choosing a lowly nook in the pasture or upon the edge of some grass-fringed bank.

An equally secluded and unsuspected site, with the meadow grasses waving above and daisies and buttercups nodding in the breeze but telling no tales, is the select location of Mrs. O’Lincoln, and rarely indeed does Madam betray the secrets of her home.

“No position is so favorable for nesting purposes as a big knot upon a bridge sleeper,” tersely remarked Mrs. Pewee. “My sisters and I make a point of utilizing every bridge in our neighborhood, though we like nearly as well the eaves of a barn if only the Swallows would give us permission to build on their territory.”

“Dear me,” exclaimed Mrs. Vireo in a distressed tone. “Under a bridge. How plebeian to be sure! Why, how can the precious nestlings sleep in so much noise? I think a swinging cradle indispensable for my babies.”

“I, too,” chimed in Mrs. Oriole. “I have often watched Mrs. Pewee from our beautiful Elm Lodge and wondered how she could be happy with her home in such a constant jar.”

“Come, come,” interrupted Mrs. Crow at this point. “I hope no sarcasm is intended. Our taste is for a branch high up in some dark hemlocks, out of the reach of gunners and harum-scarum boys. We care more for quantity than quality, too, plenty of room but not too much luxury to make our children lazy in getting their own living.”

“That would never do us,” persisted Mrs. Vireo. “We hold that nothing is too good for the little ones, and early surroundings and influences are everything in cultivating a refined taste, a love for the beautiful, and the art of fanciful designing. You cannot find anyone who takes more pains than we in this respect.”

“O, we all know that the Vireos have plenty of time and means,” tartly responded Mrs. Catbird, in an unmistakably sarcastic tone. She, well aware of her own carelessness both in selection of site and manner of building, had not an advanced idea to offer; and, like certain humans, she therefore indulged in scoffing at her betters. “For my part,” she continued after a pause intended to be impressive, “I think that those who trust to luck a little more come out just as well in the end and have just as respectable and more independent children.”

“Yes, yes,” laughed Mrs. O’Lincoln, “if by ‘independent’ you mean lawless; and fine examples you could furnish us, too. No one will dispute you.”

“I like to see materials correspond with surroundings,” modestly suggested Mrs. Sparrow, and Mrs. Bluebird added: “If you have proper regard for privacy and modesty in the choice of a site you need give less attention to either materials or the style of your structure.”

Madam Cowbird now descended from a perch in the big birch balcony and summarily dismissed the assembly with this rough injunction: “Better be in better business, all of you! Work is better than talk and accomplishes more for the benefit of your neighbors. Theories are well enough, but let me see a practical demonstration of your various ideas. Finish your building and I will come around as critic and inspect your work. I’ll warrant that I shall find little to choose among you for all your fine talk.”

This characteristic speech filled me with such indignation that I resolved at once to expose the duplicity of the speaker, thus thwarting Madam’s wily plans for shirking her own duties.

Springing to my feet and gathering my forces for an energetic and scathing rebuke, I suddenly discovered that the whole company had dispersed, leaving me alone with the beauty and sweetness and quiet gladness of the old orchard.

Sara Elizabeth Graves.

THE CAROLINA CHICKADEE
(Parus carolinensis.)

As one walks through the forest, either in winter when the snow is deep, or in summer when the sun is highest, the stillness will be broken from time to time by the merry “Chicka-dee-dee,” “day, day,” or “hey-de, hey-de,” coming from a little throat only a few feet away.

The Carolina Chickadee is very similar to the blackcapped chickadee with the exception that it has a decidedly shorter tail. Its range is also different, being seldom found north of a line extending from New Jersey, through central Indiana, west to Texas and Indian Territory. The blackcapped is seldom found south of this line.

The nest of this bird is a very cozy affair sheltered in a hollow snag or post. It often takes advantage of the deserted home of a downy woodpecker to make its nest. It also frequently excavates a cavity in some rotten snag or tree trunk. As soft wood is preferred one generally finds the nest in a willow snag. I found a nest of this interesting little bird in a rotten willow snag only a few feet from a small stream. The stump was so decayed that I could easily have pushed it over. The excavation had been recently done, because fresh bits of wood were scattered about the ground. Looking in at the hole, which was about four feet from the ground, I could easily see the nest and eggs in the cavity some ten inches below. Desiring to study it more closely and to obtain a photograph, I carefully pushed my knife through the soft trunk and pried off a large slab. This exposed the cavity and the nest. The nest was a beautiful soft affair, composed of hair, feathers, down, etc., and contained seven small, pinkish white eggs, spotted with reddish brown most profusely at the larger end.

I then carefully replaced the slab and tied it on securely, trusting I had not disturbed the home too much to prevent further nesting.

When I again passed the nest an hour later and looked in I met the gaze of a pair of small bead-like eyes. The parent bird had returned and had resumed her task, apparently in no way disturbed by the rude attack on her domicile.

Whenever I desired to examine the progress of development of this small family I had but to remove the door and look in. This was easily done, for the latchstring was always out. About eight days after hatching the young left the nest.

The Chickadee is one of the farmer’s best friends. During the egg-laying season of the canker-worm moth it destroys a great many eggs. Examination of the stomach contents shows between 200 and 300 canker-worm eggs in each. It has been estimated that each of these birds destroys 14,000 of these eggs during the month of egg laying. The Chickadee has been accused of destroying the buds of fruit trees, but this is not substantiated. It has been found that whenever it attacks a bud it does so to secure the worm which has burrowed into the center.

These birds are doubly useful because they remain with us the entire year and continue their destruction of eggs and larvæ. The amount of work done by a pair of these birds in destroying eggs and larvæ of injurious insects is more than could be accomplished by any man. They should therefore receive the greatest protection possible.

J. Rollin Slonaker.