Usually when I find a bird's nest in a conspicuous place, I have a
peculiar feeling that the bird has not chosen wisely, but I suspect that
most birds that are on good terms with man, choose to brave his presence
rather than risk themselves further away from man, and out where birds
of prey and animals dangerous to them, are accustomed to go. They seem
to think that man will do to trust, while they know that Nature knows no
other law but struggle and destruction.
The little nest about which I am now to tell was in an old decayed
fencepost about three feet from the ground on the south side of the lane
that leads down through the pasture and to the lake beyond. It was
easily accessible to all that passed along the lane, and besides, the
chickadee is so motherly in her habits and so innocent of all that is
going on about her, that one can see her on the post or even in the door
of the little house almost any time. The interest I had taken in the
nest, caused me to frighten her away many times as I passed down the
lane on my morning and afternoon walks. I thought that I would by this
means train her to be a little more cautious, but she seemed to take my
warning as a joke and finally became so gentle that I could almost put
my hand on her.
When I knew that many of the day laborers had discovered my nest and had
become somewhat curious about it, I began to entertain grave doubts as
to whether the brood would ever come off. For very few people have a
real love for birds and bird-life, and most people rather delight to
tell of their brutality to the bird kingdom, when they were smaller.
Many times have I sat and listened to men tell of how many bird nests
they broke up when they were boys, and they seemed to think that a boy
could spend his time no better. Some of my neighbors have large
collections of birds' eggs that were taken in this spirit, and I think
they belong to that class of 'Oologists,' spoken of by Burroughs as the
worst enemies of our birds, 'who plunder nests and murder their owners
in the name of science.'
While I was out one morning for my usual walk, my attention was
attracted by an unusually joyful song, "_Chickadee-Dee, Chickadee-Dee_,"
in rapid succession, a little softer and sweeter than I had heard from
my black cap this season, and I decided to see if there was not some
love-making going on. As Seton-Thompson says, I 'froze' for a few
moments and saw what it all meant. The mother bird was building her nest
in the post to which I have already referred. The male bird did not
appear till three days after, but how interested he was when he did come
upon the scene. When these little birds decided to neighbor with me my
heart rejoiced, for I had often during the winter seen the vacant home
and wondered if it would be occupied in the summer, and if so by whom.
As soon as I knew that my chickadees were really to stay I thought to
myself: Well I shall have one good neighbor at least. On the morning of
the 26th of April, I looked into the nest to see what progress was being
made with the new home, and found the female bird on, but she made no
attempt to fly away. I went away whistling and at the same time thinking
that I should soon see some fledgelings with open mouths for food, and
that I would in all probability, have the pleasure of giving them a
morsel occasionally. To aid the mother in this way helps to get in
sympathy with bird life. For then we feel that we have become partly
responsible for their health and daily _bread_. I had often aided mother
birds in feeding their young, though I do not remember to have rendered
such service to chickadees. I have, however, known for a long time that
chickadees are noted for their gentleness and fearlessness. When they
meet honesty they are always ready to make friends and will cheer you
with their little familiar ditty, but they seem to divine evil, and will
get on the other side of the tree from the boy that carries a
sling-shot. Nature seems to have taught them what and whom to fear.
[Illustration: POINTING OUT THE JUNCO'S NEST BY A MOUNTAIN ROADSIDE]
I shall never forget how provoked I was, when I passed down the lane on
Monday morning, May 4th, and found that some vandal had been there and
robbed and partially destroyed the nest on Sunday, the day before. I was
cross all day and could not collect myself. Everything in my office went
wrong and what little work I did that day had to be done over later.
This little nest had meant a great deal to me, and the most interesting
stage of its development had not yet been reached. If it had been any
other nest probably it would not have affected me so seriously or
grieved me so much, but this little family had, in a measure, become a
part of my own family, and I had a most tender feeling for it. The poor
mother bird I saw in some small oaks not far from the wrecked home and I
watched her for a long time, that I might see just what emotions she
would express to me. The sadness of her song chickadee-dee,
chickadee-dee, was evident, but she uttered these words in rapid
succession. The following seemed to be her feeling: