Shrewd little hunter of woods all gray,
Whom I meet on my walk of a winter day,
You’re busy inspecting each cranny and hole
In the ragged bark of yon hickory bole;
You, intent on your task, and I, on the law
Of your wonderful head and gymnastic claw!
The Woodpecker well may despair of this feat—
Only the fly with you can compete.
So much is clear; but I fain would know
How you can so reckless and fearless go,
Head upward, head downward, all one to you,
Zenith and nadir the same to your view.
—Edith M. Thomas, in _Bird-Lore_.
Even the woodpeckers, supplied, as they are, with a reversed toe
and a stiff, supporting tail, cannot compete with the Nuthatches
in descending head first. The Woodpecker, in going down the
trunk, finds itself in the same predicament as the bear,—its
climbing tools work only one way. It is dependent on its stiff
tail for support, and so must needs hop down backwards. The
Creeper is still more hidebound in its habits, and its motto
seems to be “Excelsior.” It begins at the foot of its ladder,
and climbs ever upwards. But the climbing ability of the
Nuthatch is unlimited. It circles round the branches, or moves
up, down, and around the trunks, apparently oblivious to the law
of gravitation. Its readiness in descending topsyturvy is due,
in part, to the fact that, as the quills of its tail are not
stiff enough to afford support, it is obliged to depend upon its
legs and feet. As it has on each foot three toes in front and
only one behind, it reverses the position of one foot in going
head downward, throwing it out sidewise and backward, so that
the three long claws on the three front toes grip the bark and
keep the bird from falling forward. The other foot is thrown
forward, and thus, with feet far apart, the “little gymnast has
a wide base beneath him.” The Nuthatch not only straddles in
going down the tree, but spreads its legs widely in going around
the trunk, but bird artists generally seem to have overlooked
this habit. The slightly upturned bill of the Nuthatch, and its
habit of hanging upside down, give it an advantage when in the
act of prying off scales of bark, under which many noxious
insects are secreted.
—E. H. Forbush.
“The little, brown-striped bird that Sarah saw this morning, that
somewhat resembles a Wren, is the Brown Creeper, for it creeps like a
veritable feathered mouse. Though it is a true tree-trunk bird, in that
it lives and nests as close to the heart of wood as possible, it has a
slender needle-like bill for picking out insects; but it cannot bore
wood with it, so it has to be content to make its home between the wood
and the bark.
“This bird comes to us in middle New England only as a winter visitor,
and well does it pay its way by eating grubs and insect eggs. It does
not seem very shy, hereabouts, but in the nesting time it loves deep,
silent forests and the cedar swamps of the North, and it is only in
these places that its strange, sweet song may be heard, which is
something that I have never heard successfully imitated or put into
syllables, but Mr. Brewster, who is one of the Wise Men who knows, says
it is like the soft sigh of the wind among the pine boughs.
“It is in these deep woods, also, that it nests. Discovering a tree
where the bark is loose and yet does not strip off too easily, this
little Creeper finds a nook of the right size, which he lines with soft
bark, moss, or bits of wood so thoroughly decayed that it is like
sponge, and in this bed are laid six or eight pretty little lavender
eggs with brown spots wreathed about the larger end.
“When the Creeper comes to us, he has evidently forgotten home and
family cares as well as his beautiful song, for he only favours us with
a very scratchy squeak, as if a file at work on a wire and a couple of
crossed tree branches were striving to see which could sing the better.
But he is as busy as busy can be, and acts as if he were practising for
a race in climbing the stairs of a lighthouse tower.
“At the bottom of the tree, he starts and goes up and around without a
pause until he is two-thirds of the way up and the more frequent
branches bother him. Then he stops a moment to rest, bracketing himself
against the tree by the sharp point of his tail-feathers, which
arrangement he possesses in common with the Chimney Swift and the
Woodpeckers. Next, without warning, he flits with a backward tilt either
to the base of another tree, or to the same one, and again begins to
climb; so for him the Stair-climber would be a good name.
“He, also, when the trees are ice-plated, will come gladly to the
lunch-counter, I know, for as a girl, long before I left home, this
Creeper used to feed upon the scraps that I put upon my window-ledge;
for, though people here have been feeding birds in winter this long
while, it has only been since the Wise Men have told us of the
particular needs of each bird family that we have been able to do it
intelligently, and to the best advantage.
“There are some verses in my scrap-book about this tree-trunk bird,
also, and it seems as if our poets were very fond of these songless
birds who inspire them as much by their friendliness as the others do by
melody. I hope that a couple of you will learn this to recite at
Christmas. As there are four verses, each can learn two, and then
alternate in repeating them.