Birds and Nature, Vol. 10 No. 1 [June 1901]

THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS

 
I hear from many a little throat
A warble interrupted long;
I hear the robin’s flute-like note,
The bluebird’s slenderer song.
 
 
Brown meadows and the russet hill,
Not yet the haunt of grazing herds,
And thickets by the glimmering rill
Are all alive with birds.
 

– William Cullen Bryant.

HOUSE-HUNTING IN ORCHARD TOWN

 
’Tis up and down
In Orchard town,
When airs with bloom are scented,
You’ll hardly find
To suit your mind
A nook that is not rented.
 
 
The old sweet-bough,
They all allow,
The robin first selected.
“Our home is here,
Good cheer, good cheer,
All other claims rejected.”
 
 
“Chick-a-dee-dee,
Don’t come to me!”
The titmouse is refusing,
“We’ve leased this tree,
We’ll friendly be,
But say you’re late in choosing.”
 
 
“Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet,”
Across the street
The yellow-birds are moving.
“Chip-chip-a-chee;
So dear is she!”
He scarce can work for loving.
 
 
On lower floor,
Beside her door,
The wren is surely scolding.
If one but glance
She cries, “No chance
To rent the flat I’m holding.”
 
 
To hear her scold,
The sparrow bold
And jay, beside her dwelling,
Cry, “Tschip, tschip, chee!”
“Tease! tease! say we!”
The noise and chatter swelling.
 
 
On orchard wall,
To quip and call,
A stranger gay is listening;
His mate can hear
In meadow near,
Where daisy-birds are glistening.
 
 
Oh, Lady-link!
Ho, ho! just think!
To nest in trees what folly,
When they might be,
Like you and me,
In Daisy-land so jolly!
 
 
Down Pipin-way
Where branches sway,
An oriole hammock swings.
Mistress starling
And kingbird’s darling.
Rest near with brooding wings.
 
 
If you should go
Down Blossom-row,
Which runs right through the center,
At each day,
In morning gray,
You’d hear from every renter.
 
 
For handed down
In Orchard town,
’Tis quite an ancient notion,
To wake the earth
With song and mirth,
Such joy is their devotion.
 

– Isabel Goodhue.

THE SANDERLING
(Calidris arenaria.)

 
By the beach border, where the breeze
Comes freighted from the briny seas,
By sandy bar and weedy rock
I frequent meet thy roving flock;
Now hovering o’er the bending sedge,
Nor gather’d at the ocean edge;
Probing the sand for shrimps and shells,
Or worms marine in hidden cells.
 

– Isaac McClellan.

This little shore or beach bird is sometimes called the White or Surf Snipe, and the Ruddy Plover. It breeds only in the colder portions of the northern hemisphere and migrates southward, even beyond the equator where it makes its home during the winter months. It frequents chiefly those regions near the surf-beaten shores of the oceans. It is also a common visitor to the beaches of larger inland waters. On these shores its beautiful form and habits are very noticeable. It walks and runs in a dignified and graceful manner as it chases the receding water searching for its food.

The pure white of the plumage of the under parts of the bird is a striking characteristic as they reflect the sunlight during flight. It is a silent bird and it sometimes appears alone, though it is usually seen in flocks and is frequently associated with other species of the snipe family. Regarding its habits, some one has said: “When feeding along the extreme verge of the ocean it is pleasant to watch its active movements when advancing or retreating with the influx of the sea. It is naturally very unwary and regards man with less suspicion than most of our snipes. When a flock is fired into, those which survive rise with a low whistling note, perform a few evolutions and presently resume their occupation with as much confidence as previously exhibited.”

The feet of the Sanderling are unlike the other members of its family, being without a fourth toe, entirely divided and without a membrane. This indicates that it frequents firm surfaces and that it is fitted for running and walking upon the long, shelving beaches over which the tides and surf roll, leaving an abundance of its particular food.

The nest of the Sanderling, rudely constructed of dried grass and decayed leaves, is placed in a depression in the ground so situated as to be protected by the natural vegetation of the region. The eggs, usually three or four in number, have an ashy or greenish brown ground color and are finely spotted with different shades of brown.

The food of the Sanderling consists mainly of sea worms, small bivalve shells and crustaceans, though it will also eat buds and insects. It would seem as if its hunger was never satiated – always busy, always moving. These expressions describe its habits, as with its fellows and the other snipes with which it associates, it seeks its food in the wake of the retreating wave and turning, runs before the incoming water which seldom engulfs it.

For those who are so fortunate as to be located near the feeding grounds there can be no more interesting recreation than to sit on the beach and watch the peculiar antics of these delicate creatures. Frequently, without an apparent reason an entire flock will rise as if in answer to a signal and, after executing a few turns alight, again resume the occupation it had left.

PARTNERS

No doubt every one knows the Lichens, the greenish gray growths, sometimes like rosettes or clusters of leaves or of fruit, on tree trunks or the gray rocks by the water, and even on the ground and old wood. Their forms are various and often graceful, and mingled with their greenish gray are many brighter colors, giving a rich tone to the rough surfaces they cover and adorn. But I dare say that most of us have thought of a Lichen as a single plant. It is not so, though it looks so exactly like one in its close union. It is a partnership, indeed; generally what looks like a single Lichen is a colony of partners keeping house together, or a manufacturing firm, if you like that expression of their business better. The partners are also kindred, or were so, in the past.

For there was a time long ago when there was only one big family of plants, the Algae; the brown Algae or seaweeds known as kelps often form the “wrack” or tangle of weeds like long leaves or branching stems, with berry or fruit-like bladders, thrown on the coast in great masses by a storm; and the red Algae, or the beautiful fern-like and coral-like seaweeds that grow far down in the deep sea. There are also the green Algae, found in fresh water, or even on damp tree trunks and rocks. They have many odd forms. One kind, called a pond scum, is a frothy, slippery mass of spirally wound bands, floating in ponds or still water; another, called “green felt,” is found in water also, and has egg-like things from which spores or seed-like bodies escape to form new plants. They have filaments at the bottom, like roots, that are called “holdfasts.” Lastly, there are blue-green Algae, jelly-like masses found on trees, rocks, damp earth or floating as green slimes in fresh water. Most water plants are active and independent. They are on the upward road, for though they have not distinct stems, roots, leaves or fruit, their different parts, as I have already said, show a decided likeness to these, especially their “holdfasts” to roots and their air-bladders to fruit. The exquisite red seaweeds are as graceful in form and vivid in color as many flowers.

There is a remarkable foreshadowing of the moral law even among these early growths. Some have shirked their work, which was to absorb waste substances, and manufacture these into organized plant food. They tried to live on other growths, to the injury of the latter, and even sank to feeding on dead substances. They lost the green chlorophyll, which is necessary for manufacturing, though the red and brown Algae do not show its presence because their other coloring is more vivid. But it is present all the same with every busy, self-respecting plant. The lazy, pauper growths deteriorated more and more and at last were no longer Algae at all, but Fungi. They could not live by themselves; their only chance was to get active or well-stocked partners. As the Alga developed more and more into a likeness of a perfect plant, so the Fungus grew less like one. The white furry “mould” on bread or preserved fruit, the “mildew” on grapes and lilac leaves, the “black knot” of cherry and plum, the “ergot” of rye, the “rust” of wheat, do not look like plants unless you study them through a magnifying glass. Nor do the “slime moulds” or the mushrooms, toadstools, puff-balls and truffles bear much resemblance to flowers. Some of these, however, are both pretty and useful.

In the case of a Lichen the partners really seem to be of use to each other. The Fungus is not a mere pauper living on his more active kinsman. If you examine a Lichen you will find a large number of transparent threads, and in their meshes lie the green Algae, giving the whole a greenish tint. The little cups or discs of the Fungus that appear on the surface are lined with vivid colors, and have delicate little bags or sacs, with seed-like spores inside. The Fungus supplies a shelter from extreme cold, and also holds water in which the Algae finds raw material. It is like a man and wife housekeeping, the man providing the house and the raw stuff – flour, eggs, sugar, etc. – and the wife makes these materials into food. Plants, by aid of their green stuff, work over the carbon and other materials they get from air and water and make sugar and starch, or organized food. This is their manufacture and they must have an abundance of light to do it well, so when the sea Algae grow to be immense kelps or seaweed, hundreds of feet long, they are kept afloat by their air bladders. Now, it is true the Fungus in our Lichen could not live at all without its busy Algae, which it holds in its transparent filaments, but it is not a useless partner, so we will not call it evil names. I think you will be surprised to hear, after all the warning given by these dependent and generally worthless idlers in the plant world, some of the beautiful and blooming flowers have fallen into their bad habits and are regular underground thieves.

For the Gerardia or false foxglove has established no partnership; it is plain stealing. It still works, so it has not lost its green of the leaf, or the purple and gold of its flower, but it steals the materials for its work. When it becomes utterly idle and useless it will lose all its color and be like the ghostly white Indian pipes that grow in the shadowy pine woods.

It is interesting to know how it steals. In the dark basement chambers underground the root servants of the plant move slowly in a certain circle that corresponds to the circle of light that the branches describe overhead. Within this space they gather chemicals from the soil and store up moisture, sending these by the sap up their elevators to the well-lighted leaves, where the manufacturing of starch and sugar goes busily on. Now, the Gerardia, being too trifling to collect its own stuff, sends suckers into the roots of other plants and greedily absorbs their contents. That is the reason it is so hard to transplant the Gerardia – its roots are enmeshed and entangled so in other roots below ground. A very odd thing sometimes happens to it. In the dark the roots occasionally blunder and tap other roots of the same Gerardia, just as if a pickpocket in the dark were by mistake to put his hand slyly into his own pocket and steal his own purse.

Ella F. Mosby.

 
O violets tender,
Your shy tribute render!
Tie round your wet faces your soft hoods of blue;
And carry your sweetness,
Your dainty completeness,
To some tired hand that is longing for you.
 

– May Riley Smith.

THE GREAT NORTHERN SHRIKE
(Lanius borealis.)

Of the great family Laniidae, the shrikes, of the order Passeres, we have in America only two species, the Great Northern Shrike, Lanius borealis, and the loggerhead shrike, which has been dealt with in a previous article. The name of the Great Northern Shrike is much more than a mouthful, and is all out of proportion to the size and importance of the bird, though when I intimate it lacks in importance I by no means wish to say that it lacks in interest.

There are two hundred species of shrikes altogether, nearly all of them being confined to the Old World. When one comes to know fully the characteristics of the creatures he feels that the birds would not have been out of place if they had been classed in the order Raptores, because they possess the distinguishing traits of the bird of prey. The shrikes, however, do not have talons, and they are singers of no mean order, facts which perhaps disqualify them for association with their larger rapacious brethren.

The Great Northern Shrike, more commonly perhaps called Butcher Bird, comes from northern British-American territory to the latitude of Chicago in the fall and stays through the winter, when it leaves for the vicinity of Fort Anderson in the crown territories, to build its nest. This is placed in a low tree or bush and is composed of twigs and grasses. The eggs number four or five. During the winter the shrike’s food consists almost entirely of small birds, with an occasional mouse to add variety. In the summer its diet is made up chiefly of the larger insects, though at times a small snake is caught and eaten with apparent relish.

The Great Northern Shrike has the habit of impaling the bodies of its victims upon thorns or of hanging them by the neck in the crotch of two small limbs. The bird has a peculiar flight, hard to describe, but which, when seen a few times, impresses itself so upon the memory vision that it can never afterward be mistaken, even though seen at a long distance. The Great Northern’s favorite perch is the very tiptop of a tree, from which it can survey the surrounding country and mark out its victims with its keen eye. In taking its perch the shrike flies until one gets the impression that it is to light in the very heart of the tree. Then it suddenly changes direction and shoots upward almost perpendicularly to its favorite watch tower.

The Great Northern Shrike is larger and darker than its brother, the loggerhead. It is also a much better singer, its notes being varied and almost entirely musical, though occasionally it perpetrates a sort of a harsh half croak that ruins the performance. In general appearance at some little distance the shrike is not unlike a mocking bird. The description here given for the adult answers for both male and female: Upper parts gray; wings and tail black; primaries white at the base, secondaries tipped with white or grayish; outer, sometimes all the tail feathers, tipped with white, the outer feathers mostly white; forehead whitish; lores grayish black; ear coverts black; under parts white, generally finely barred with black; bill hooked and hawk-like. Immature bird similar, but entire plumage more or less heavily barred or washed with grayish brown.

One has to have something of the savage in him to enjoy thoroughly the study of the shrike. As a matter of fact, the close daily observance of the bird involves some little sacrifice for the person whose nature is tempered with mercy. The shrike is essentially cruel. It is a butcher pure and simple and a butcher that knows no merciful methods in plying its trade. More than this, the shrike is the most arrant hypocrite in the whole bird calendar. Its appearance as it sits apparently sunning itself, but in reality keeping sharp lookout for prey, is the perfect counterfeit of innocence. The Great Northern Shrike is no mean vocalist. Its notes are alluringly gentle, and, to paraphrase a somewhat famous quotation, “It sings and sings and is a villain still.”

There is one compensation beyond the general interest of the thing for the student who has to endure the sight of the sufferings of the shrike’s victims in order to get an adequate idea of its conduct of life. The redeeming thing is found in the fact that in the winter time the great majority of the shrike’s victims are the pestilential English sparrows, whom every bird lover would be willing to see sacrificed to make a shrike’s supper, though he might regret the attending pain pangs.

My own observations of the shrike have been limited to the city of Chicago and to the fields immediately beyond its walls. For those unfamiliar with the subject it may be best to say that in the winter season the shrike is abundant in the parks of the great smoky city by the lake, and not infrequently it invades the pulsing business heart of the town. No one ever saw the placidity of the shrike disturbed in the least. It will perch on the top of a small tree and never move so much as a feather, barring its tail, which is in well nigh constant motion, when the clanging electric cars rush by or when the passing wagons shake its perch to the foundation.

The Great Northern Shrike reaches the city from its habitat beyond the Canada line about the first of November. For four years in succession I saw my first Northern Shrike of the season on November first, a day set down in the Church Calendar for the commemoration of “All Saints.” It is eminently in keeping with the hypocritical character of Mr. Shrike, sinner that he is, to put in an appearance on so holy a day. From the time of his coming until late March and sometimes well into April, the shrike remains an urban resident and harries the sparrow tribe to its heart’s content.

As far as my own observation goes the Great Northern Shrike in winter does not put very much food in cold storage. I have never seen many victims of the bird’s rapacity impaled upon thorns. Perhaps I should qualify this statement a bit by saying that I have never seen many victims hanging up in one place. I have watched carefully something like a score of the birds, and while every one occasionally hung up one of its victims, there was nothing approaching the “general storehouse” of food, so often described. It is my belief that this habit of impaling its prey upon thorns or of hanging it by the neck in a crotch is one that is confined largely to the summer season, and especially to the nesting period.

The Great Northern Shrike has been said by some writers to be a bully as well as a butcher. I have never seen any evidence of this trait in his character. He does not seem to care for what some small human souls consider the delight of cowing weaker vessels. When the shrike gives chase to its feathered quarry it gives chase for the sole purpose of obtaining food. While the bird is not a bully in the sense in which I have written, it displays at times the cruelty of a fiend. It has apparently something of the cat in its nature. It delights to play with its prey after it has been seized, and by one swift stroke reduce it to a state of helplessness.

Every morning during the month of February, 1898, a shrike came to a tree directly in front of my window on Pearson street, in Chicago. The locality abounded in sparrows and it was for that reason the shrike was such a constant visitor. The bird paid no attention to the faces at the window, and made its excursions for victims in plain view. The shrike is not the most skilled hunter in the world. About three out of four of his quests are bootless, but as he makes many of them he never lacks for a meal. The Pearson street shrike one day rounded the corner of the building on its way to its favorite perch, and encountering a sparrow midway struck it down in full flight. The shrike carried its struggling victim to the usual tree. There it drilled a hole in the sparrow’s skull and then allowed the suffering, quivering creature to fall toward the ground. The butcher followed with a swoop much like that of a hawk and, catching its prey once more, bore it aloft and then dropped it again as it seemed for the very enjoyment of witnessing suffering. Finally when the sparrow had fallen for the third time it reached the ground before the shrike could reseize it. The victim had strength enough to flutter into a small hole in a snow bank, where it was hidden from sight. The shrike made no attempt to recapture the sparrow. It seemingly was a pure case of “out of sight, out of mind.” In a few moments it flew away in search of another victim. The sparrow was picked up from the snow bank and put out of its misery, for it was still living. There was a hole in its skull as round as though it had been punched with a conductor’s ticket clip.