Birds and Nature, Vol. 10 No. 4 [November 1901]

Mr. Eagle told the crowd that there was no need of a scare. “That,” said he, “is only Mr. Barred Owl in yon tree. He has been roused by our talking. Put on your coat, foolish Mr. Sparrow.”

Mr. Jay could not let slip the chance to twit his neighbor. “Ha, ha!” said he; “you had better get enough more wives to teach you how to behave yourself.”

Everyone looked around laughing. Thinking that night had come and that his friends from the next timber had come to make a call, Mr. Owl again broke out: “He-he-he-he, hi-hi-hi-hi, ha-ha-ha-ha!”

Mr. English Sparrow was vexed and ashamed, but being afraid to get into a fight he flew off.

As it was getting late in the day the chairman said that the meeting must close. “It is useless to talk longer,” said he. “It is plain that our pretty Meadow Larks and other insect eating birds must move or starve. We shall be very sorry to see them leave and hope to meet them again on their return next spring. They are needed at the south. May God speed their journey.

“But some of us must remain or shirk our duty. The Turkey Buzzards and their helpers must be here to clean up the fields and groves and to clear away dead things washed ashore. If these things are not done the foul air next spring may make much sickness. Woodpeckers must keep at their work or plants will suffer next summer. Those who can eat seeds must be active or the farmers will not be able to keep down the weeds. Grouse, Jay, Wax Wing and others who can manage berries and nuts must not leave or in a few years trees and underbrush will be so thick that there will not be room for them to branch out. Even our hated Mr. English Sparrow is needed to pick up droppings in the street and waste around houses. We are all needed – each to do his own bit of work in his own place and way. Although that may not be just what we prefer, may we all do our duty just as cheerfully as man’s friend, Mr. Turkey Buzzard, does his unpleasant tasks.”

Loveday Almira Nelson.

THE FIELD SPARROW
(Spizella pusilla.)

 
A bubble of music floats
The slope of the hillside over;
A little wandering sparrow’s notes;
And the bloom of yarrow and clover,
And the smell of sweet-fern and the bayberry leaf,
On his ripple of song are stealing;
For he is a chartered thief,
The wealth of the fields revealing.
 

– Lucy Larcom, “The Field Sparrow.”

The Field Sparrow is the smallest of our sparrows and is quite easily distinguished from the other species by its reddish bill. The common name is misleading, and perhaps it would be more appropriate to call this bird the Bush Sparrow, a name by which it is frequently known. Instead of the field it seems to prefer the pasture, with its weeds and bushes. It will also frequent the shrubby thickets that follow the removal of a forest. This shy bird has a somewhat extensive range, which includes the eastern United States and Southern Canada. It passes the winter months chiefly in those states south of the Ohio river.

The Field Sparrow when frightened does not retreat to the cover of foliage, as does the Song Sparrow, but flies to an exposed position on top of bush or low tree, where it can watch and await developments. In the fall they frequently gather in small flocks. If disturbed all will fly to the nearest bushes, and in perching will cluster close together.

The Field Sparrow is all the more interesting because of its shyness. Mr. Keyser speaks of it as “a captivating little bird, graceful of form and sweet of voice, singing his cheerful trills from early spring until far past midsummer. The song makes me think of a silver thread running through a woof of golden sunshine, carried forward by a swinging shuttle of pearl.” Mr. Chapman says: “There is something winning in his appearance; he seems such a gentle, innocent, dove-like little bird. His song is in keeping with his character, being an unusually clear, plaintive whistle, sweeter to the lover of birds’ songs than the voice of the most gifted songstress.” It is not possible to describe the song in words, for it varies greatly. No two birds seem to have the same song and the same bird may vary its song. Locality also seems to affect its character. It is the sweetest at the going down of the sun and in the early twilight. To hear it then, in the absence of all other sounds, is indeed soul inspiring.

Its delicate nest, too, becomes the lovely character of this little bird. This small house is usually placed near the ground in a low shrub, or on the ground where it is well protected by tall grasses. The nests are not usually found near fence rows, but rather in less public places, on hillsides and nearer the center of the field. When possible, a thorny bush is chosen. The nest is constructed of fine grasses and very fine roots loosely woven together and lined with finer grasses, hair and the delicate bark fibers.

Writing of the finding of a Field Sparrow’s nest near the top of a hill, some one has said: “How ‘beautiful for situation’ is this tiny cottage on the hill! Here the feathered poets may sit on their leafy verandas, look down into the green valleys and compose verses on the pastoral attractions of Nature. One is almost tempted to spin a romance about the happy couple.”

DISHRAG VINES

Margie was cross. It was a rainy day, and she was having to sew; two things she hated.

“I think it might rain on school days. And I wish dish-cloths had never been invented,” she exclaimed, jerking her thread into a tangle.

“You ought to move down south,” quietly said her aunt.

“Why? Don’t they have rain and dish-cloths there?”

“Yes, of course they do; and I will tell you a true story, if you will promise not to complain the least bit for the rest of the day.”

Margie promised; and, after threading a needle, her aunt began:

“When I was in Georgia, last October, I saw a queer vine growing over the porch of an old negro’s cabin. It looked like a pumpkin vine, with its great coarse leaves, and it had green, gourd-like seed pods, or fruit, hanging all over it. I asked the old colored man, who was hoeing near by, about it, and he said, in surprise: ‘Lawsy me! Didn’ you neber heerd tell ob a dishrag vine afore?’

“‘Dishrag!’ I echoed.

“‘Yes, they grows dishrags on ’em,’ he answered. Then, pulling off one of the funny gourds, he cut it in two and showed me the matted fibers inside. It seems when these halves are dried in the sun, that they become something like a tough sponge.

“He seemed very proud of the fact that his wife had used one for a whole year, and asked, in a tone half of pity and half of disgust, ‘Does you all hab ter use er rag?’ He was pitying me just as I was sorry for him! It was too funny to see him hobble off, shaking his head and laughing at a white woman who ‘neber knowed nothin’ ’bout dishrag vines!’”

“Will you bring me one next winter, aunt?” Margie asked.

“Do you want to wash my dishes with it?”

“N-no. I’d rather hem cloths, I b’lieve: but I’d like to try it on my doll dishes.”

Lee McCrae.

A SNOW-FLAKE

 
Once he sang of summer,
Nothing but the summer;
Now he sings of winter,
Of winter bleak and drear:
Just because there’s fallen
A snow-flake on his forehead,
He must go and fancy
’Tis winter all the year!
 

– Thomas Bailey Aldrich.

NEIGHBORING WITH NATURE

We were at breakfast one morning, when a loitering breeze from the woods filled the room with delicious aroma. The graceful spring flowers and the wild fruit trees were just beginning a life of promise.

“There’s sweet smelling fern in that,” exclaimed Charley, sniffing critically.

“I think it’s from the crab-apple trees by the chalybeate spring,” said grandma.

“No, it’s the chicksaw plums by the creek,” cried Margaret.

“It ’mells ’ike ’bacco moss to me,” murmured Pearl, touching the tip of her nose with her dainty forefinger.

“I know what it is,” asserted Grace; “it’s the wild cherry tree; it’s full of blossoms.”

“There’s Ginseng in it somewhere,” laughingly commented papa.

“Ginseng?” cried the children. “What’s that?”

“The name of a plant in the wood. The word is supposed to be of Chinese origin. The Iroquois called the root garentoqucu, literally, legs and thighs separated. The plant belongs to the genus Pauax, and it is a great medicine with the Chinese. We export it in large quantities, but northern Asia grows it as well as we.”

“And there is some in our wood?”

“Yes, I saw some yesterday near the tobacco-plant bed.”

“Can we go for some as soon as we have finished breakfast?”

“Yes, and I will go with you. A walk through the wood will be good for us; I feel like I had slept a hundred years and been one of Tennyson’s characters in The Day Dream.”

“And I,” said the artist, “will take my pencil and sketching block.”

Six plants were found, all having good long roots.

“What you have now would cost you a quarter of a dollar if you were buying it,” said papa.

“One could live very well then, by gathering Ginseng to sell,” commented practical Charley.

“Why, yes, you remember old Uncle Baskett, the colored doctor?”

“Yes,” said Margaret. “He cured toothache by hanging a rabbit’s foot about your neck.”

“And fits with a four-leafed clover,” cried Gracie.

“He made his living,” went on papa, “after he was freed, by collecting the roots of Ginseng, Calamus and other medicinal plants, and it was then, too, he gained his almost marvelous knowledge of herbs, becoming famous, even among the white people, for his success in curing certain diseases.”

“I think this leaf and root are accurate,” said the artist presenting the sketch.

“To a ‘T,’” cried the children. “You must go with us every walk we take.”

Sallie Margaret O’Malley.

 
Gaunt shadows stretch along the hill;
Cold clouds drift slowly west;
Soft flocks of vagrant snow flakes fill
The redwing’s empty nest.
 

– Thomas Bailey Aldrich, “Landscape.”

THE CAROLINA WREN
(Thryothorus ludovicianus.)

This little brown bird is sufficiently hardy to remain throughout the year a resident of the localities which it frequents. This is true except in the northern part of its range, which covers the eastern United States as far north as the states of Wisconsin and Connecticut.

The Carolina Wren does not enjoy the society of men and unlike its relative, the house wren, does not seek “the cozy nooks and corners about the house of man,” but rather the distant shrubbery and the forest. Here it hides and is more often heard than seen. In spite of this show of timidity it is not so shy and retiring as it would seem. It loves the privacy and seclusion of the forest yet it will frequently visit the garden and explore outhouses. “If we attempt to penetrate its hidden resorts” it hurries away into deeper recesses with a low fluttering near the ground, or scrambling and hopping from one bush to another, very likely mocking us with its rollicking song as soon as it feels perfectly secure.

It is restless and curious like the other wrens. Perhaps it is even more inquisitive than its sister species, for it is certainly more active. Frightened from a favorite perch the Carolina Wren will return and, from a safe cover of foliage, slyly examine the cause that disturbed it, “peering from among the leaves with an inquisitive air, all the while teetering its body and performing odd nervous antics as if it were possessed with the very spirit of unrest.” When disturbed it seems to challenge the intruder with a chattering note that has a harsh and decidedly querulous tone.

It seems almost incredible that such a delicate and sprightly being should exhibit so much temper and resentment. Intrusion of its chosen territory by its own kind is resented even more vehemently.

The Carolina Wren possesses a wonderful vocabulary with appropriate notes for all occasions. It is highly musical. Its song is rich and sweet, voluble and melodious, loud and clear and seemingly as happily delivered in one season as in another. Mr. Chapman says: “He is sometimes called Mocking Wren, but the hundreds of birds I have heard were all too original to borrow from others. In addition to his peculiar calls he possesses a variety of loud, ringing whistles somewhat similar in tone to those of the tufted titmouse or cardinal and fully as loud, if not louder, than the notes of the latter.”

It is difficult to state its preference in regard to its choice of nesting sites, for it will select any place that suits its fancy. The hollow of a tree or a stump, a thickly branching shrub or a secluded nook in some unfrequented outhouse, perhaps with a knothole for a doorway – all these places are equally suitable and some one of them will meet the taste of this positive little bird.

The materials used in the construction of the bulky nests are any fibrous substance, sticks, leaves, fine grasses and “in fact trash of any kind.” The lining of the ball-like nest, which has a side entrance, is made of finer fibers, hair and grasses. In this cozy home are laid from four to six creamy white eggs which are “variously marked with reddish brown and lilac, in a wreath or cluster at the larger end.”