THE AMERICAN ROBIN
_Thrush Family--Turdidæ_
Length: 10 inches.
Male: Head black; bill yellow; a white spot above and below eye; throat
white, streaked with black; back and wings gray; tail black, with
white spots near tips of outer feathers; white beneath tail; entire
breast and sides reddish-brown; color less brilliant in autumn and
winter, and bill darker.
Young Female: Paler than male.
Young: Similar to female, except for speckled breasts and backs.
Call-note: A sharp _tut_, used to express anger or alarm; also a sweet
tender note, with which it encourages its young or converses with
its mate.
Song: A loud, clear morning song, _Cheer-up, cheer-up, cheer-up,
cheer-up_, sweeter and more subdued toward evening. The song varies
decidedly with different individuals. Many robins seem to enjoy
improvisations; we may hear them sing their somewhat monotonous
strain with pleasing variations. During their sojourn in the South
they sing but little, and live in flocks remote from human
habitations; consequently they are not loved as they are in the
North.
Range: North America, breeding from the tree-limit south to the northern
part of the Gulf States and Mexican tableland; in winter, to Florida
and the highlands of Guatemala.
None of our birds is so well-known and so universally beloved as the
robin. He, together with the song sparrow and the bluebird, arrives at a
time when we are weary of winter and yearning for spring. He seems to
show so much eagerness to return to us that he receives a hearty
welcome. He is the first bird that we knew in childhood, unless it be
the English sparrow; our earliest books were filled with tales and poems
concerning him. Most of us have a fund of anecdotes that we could
relate.
[Illustration: ROBIN]
A robin has distinct individuality. His is a many-sided nature. He is
cheerful and optimistic, aggressive and fearless, pugnacious and
ardent--like the brave Lochinvar, "so daring in love and so dauntless in
war,"--yet withal tender, joyous, and lovable. He is a fighter at mating
time, but a gentle husband.
There are few bird-choruses as sweet as robins' rain-song or even-song.
I recall a flock of these happy birds singing from maple-tops in a
little village nestled beside a brawling river, when patches of brown
earth showed beneath melting snow, and heavy rain-clouds broke away to
reveal a golden western sky. The robins sang with the joy that my own
heart felt at the renewal of life on the earth. I once heard their
even-song in an elm-shaded college-town of Massachusetts during a lovely
Sunday evening in June, when church-bells rang and robins held a vesper
service all their own. My sister and I walked beneath the great arched
trees and found ourselves speaking in whispers, as was our habit in the
cathedrals of the Old World.
The robin's _tut-tut_, or _tut-tut-tut'-tut-tut-tut-tut_,--his scolding
note,--is very similar to the exclamation of reproof our grandfather
used to administer to us for childish misdemeanors. It is amusing to see
how robins use this form of remonstrance to humans. John Burroughs wrote
that he was kept out of his own summer-house by a female robin that was
nesting there. She scolded him so soundly for trespassing upon his own
property, which she had appropriated, that he could have no peace. He
finally left her in possession till her young had flown.[49] I had a
similar experience when picking cherries in a friend's garden. A robin
had preceded me and resented my intrusion in no uncertain manner. No
angry fishmonger of Billingsgate ever hurled more noisy vituperation at
a thief than did that robin fling at me, especially when I coolly
refused to heed his commands to "Keep Off."
I recall an amusing experience with a robin family one summer. The
second brood of hungry babies were clamoring for "More," and following
their overworked father about as I have seen human babies tease their
mothers. He was decidedly "frayed" as to temper, but he chose to assume
the entire parental responsibility. His faded, bedraggled spouse,
perched disconsolately upon the roof of the chicken-house, flew down two
or three times into the bosom of the family and endeavored to "do her
bit"; but her testy husband drove her off each time with a sharp
_tut-tut_, until in despair she remained upon the ridge-pole peeping
forlornly. The father proceeded to pull up worms for his gaping brood in
a manner so irritated and strenuous that I wondered whether he had had a
"family jar," or was only worn out with anxiety and overwork. It is a
huge task to feed one baby robin alone, who can eat sixty-eight
angleworms a day,[50] or one hundred and sixty-five cutworms.[51]
Robins do good to the soil by dragging forth earthworms and preventing
their too rapid increase. Mr. Forbush calls attention to the value of
these birds in devouring "dormant cutworms and caterpillars even in
February," also quantities of the larvæ of March flies and white grubs
that injure grass. The robin is an enemy of caterpillars, especially
those that live near the ground; his destruction of cutworms and white
grubs alone entitles him to our gratitude. He does eat early cherries,
and has been bitterly arraigned for so doing. When later cherries,
apples, peaches, pears, and grapes are ripe, wild fruits and mulberries
which he eats by preference, have also matured; so on the whole, he does
little harm.[52] He is now protected in most of our states.
A Maine robin that had an inordinate love for cherries and
garden-raspberries was at first intimidated by a most lifelike,
well-set-up scarecrow placed in the garden for his benefit. But he grew
wiser as the days passed: he approached the fearful creature and
received no harm. Familiarity finally bred contempt, for one day he was
discovered perched upon the scarecrow's shoulder eating a raspberry!
Robins become very tame. I once had the pleasure of the companionship of
a dear, gentle, little English robin--a bird very different in size and
manner from his American cousin--who would come out of the shrubbery
whenever I called him. He would approach within two or three feet of my
chair, to snatch the soft crumbs that I placed on the ground to lure
him. He rewarded me frequently with his delightful little bubbling song.
An American robin during a March ice-storm learned that bread crumbs
were to be found upon the window-sill of a house in Cleveland. He flew
to the sill frequently. When he found no crumb awaiting him, he would
tap on the pane, then fly away a short distance and remain until a fresh
supply appeared. He and his mate nested in an apple-tree near by. They
and their brood were fed in this way the entire season by their
bird-loving friends, until they were in danger of becoming pauperized!
One morning the following March while the Cleveland family were
breakfasting, they heard the familiar tap upon the pane! There was Robin
back again--you may imagine his welcome! For four years, he continued to
announce his arrival in the same manner, and to build in the same yard;
each year he and his family were supplied with part of their food by
their devoted friends. Then ill must have befallen him, for he never
returned.
To another Ohio woman came the joy of having a robin enter her room
frequently. She had tempted him with crumbs inside a window-sill. One
day he perched upon the sewing-machine where she was at work, and sang
his sweet song to her, as the busy machine hummed its tune.
A robin's nest is an untidy affair, but it is something that we should
miss were it not a part of our environment. Few birds' eggs are more
lovely in color than those of the familiar robins'-egg blue, nestled in
their grass-lined cup of clay. Olive Thorne Miller wrote of a clever
robin that wished to build her nest during an almost rainless spring.
She could find no mud, so she waded about in her drinking-dish to wet
her legs; she then hopped into the dust, and with her bill scraped the
mud off her legs. This she did repeatedly, until she had the necessary
amount.[53]
I once saw a mother-robin sheltering her brood during a rainstorm of
great violence. Her soft body and outspread wings were pelted by the
rain, but she seemed quite oblivious to everything except to keep harm
from her young. Her protecting attitude and the look in her bright eyes
made as beautiful an expression of mother-love as I ever witnessed.
THE BLUEBIRD
_Thrush Family--Turdidæ_
Length: About 6½ to 7 inches.
General Appearance: Upper parts bright blue; under parts reddish-brown;
_no crest_.
Male: Head, back, and tail bright blue; wings blue, edged with black; in
the fall, edged with reddish-brown; throat, breast, and sides
reddish-brown; white from center of breast to tail.
Female: Similar to male, but paler; wings and tail brightest in flight.
Young: Grayish-blue, speckled with whitish; wings and tail bluish.
Call-note: An indescribably sweet rendering of the syllables,
_Cheer-e-o_, given usually while the bird is on the wing.
Song: A gentle warble of exceptional sweetness--_whew'-ee, whew'-ee,
whew'-ee_, uttered tenderly and pensively.
Habitat: Orchards and gardens. The birds are usually seen in pairs, and
like rather conspicuous perches, such as fence-posts and telegraph
wires.
Nest: Made of grasses and placed in old hollow trees, preferably
apple-trees. One objection raised against tree-surgery is that it
deprives bluebirds of nesting-sites, but that objection may be
removed by furnishing nesting-boxes.
Range: Eastern North America. Breeds from southern Canada and
Newfoundland to the Gulf Coast and Florida, west to the Rockies;
winters in the southern half of the eastern U. S., south to
Guatemala.
[Illustration: BLUEBIRD]
As spring approaches, I invariably "go a-hunting," not for
"rabbit-skins," but for song sparrows and bluebirds. Robins usually seek
us, and sometimes their blue-winged cousins call _Cheer-e-o_ as they fly
swiftly over our housetops; but I am never happy until I have visited an
orchard or pasture frequented by these heaven-sent birds. "My heart
leaps up when I behold" once more their exquisite blue and hear their
soft, delightful warble. Then I know that spring is really on her way,
and I am again eager and expectant.
Bluebirds have always been much beloved, especially in New England.
Florence Merriam writes: "Although the Bluebird did not come over in the
Mayflower, it is said that when the Pilgrim Fathers came to New England
this bird was one of the first whose gentle warblings attracted their
notice, and, from its resemblance to the beloved Robin Redbreast of
their native land, they called it the Blue Robin."[54]
The bluebird has always been a favorite theme for poets and
nature-writers, especially in New England, where the beauty and warm
coloring of this sweet bird seem exceptionally welcome after a long,
severe winter. In Thoreau's diary, "Early Spring in Massachusetts," he
refers to the bluebird thirteen times and writes: "The bluebird--angel
of the spring! Fair and innocent, yet the offspring of the earth. The
color of the sky, above, and of the subsoil beneath, suggesting what
sweet and innocent melody, terrestrial melody, may have its birthplace
between the sky and the ground."[55]
Burroughs, too, makes frequent mention of the bluebird. In "Under The
Maples" he says: "None of our familiar birds endear themselves to us
more than does the bluebird. The first bluebird in the spring is as
welcome as the blue sky itself. The season seems softened and tempered
as soon as we hear his note and see his warm breast and azure wing. His
gentle manners, his soft, appealing voice, not less than his pleasing
hues, seem born of the bright and genial skies. He is the spirit of
April days incarnated in a bird. Not strictly a songster, yet his every
note and call is from out the soul of harmony."[56]
Bluebirds are of economic as well as æsthetic value. They devour
cutworms and other kinds of caterpillars, grasshoppers, crickets,
katydids, and beetles. They eat fruit in the winter; they prefer that
taken from pastures, swamps, and hedgerows, rather than from gardens or
orchards. They never destroy cultivated crops; on the contrary, benefit
them.[57]
These birds are such devoted lovers that one is rarely seen far from its
mate. The female is very gentle and timid; she seems to need reassurance
and protection. There are times, however, when she knows her own mind
and shows firmness of character. A male bluebird in Asheville, N. C.,
intoxicated by the warmth of a sunshiny January day, wooed a female
ardently. She was very distant and finally dismissed him. She evidently
had sufficient foresight to realize that it would be disastrous to go to
housekeeping so early and therefore withheld her consent.
Numerous instances have been recorded of bluebirds that have lost their
mates by accident and have mourned so deeply as to touch the heart of
any one who saw the tragedy or heard the cries of sorrow.
THE SONG SPARROW
_Finch Family--Fringillidæ_
Length: A little over 6 inches; about the size of the English sparrow.
General Appearance: A small brown bird with a grayish breast, a body
heavily streaked with black, _a black spot in the center of breast_,
and at each side of the throat.
Male and Female: Brown head with black streaks, a grayish line in center
and over eye; brown line back of eye; back brown and gray, streaked
with black; wings brown, with black spots,--no white bars; throat
grayish-white; _a dark patch on each_ side of throat; _a conspicuous
black spot in center of breast_; belly white; sides whitish,
streaked with brown and black; tail long, brown, darkest in center.
Call-note: _Chip, chip_--sharp and metallic.
Song: A sweet cheerful strain, with considerable variety in different
individuals. It usually consists of three notes that sound like
"See? See? See?" followed by a short trill. Henry van Dyke
interprets the song as _Sweet, sweet, sweet, very merry cheer_.
Habitat: Bushes; near water, preferably.
Range: North America, east of the Rocky Mts. Breeds in Canada from Great
Slave Lake to Cape Breton Island, south to southern Nebraska,
central Missouri, Kentucky, southern Virginia, the mountains of
North Carolina. Winters from Nebraska, Illinois, Massachusetts
(locally) and New Jersey, south to the Gulf Coast.
[Illustration: SONG SPARROW]
The Song Sparrow, like air and sunshine, is a part of our daily lives
after we have once become acquainted with him. In some localities he
takes up his abode permanently; in others, he arrives in late February
or early March and remains until November. Joy in life and deep
contentment abide with him. He is the most incurable optimist of my
acquaintance. I have heard him sing beside a brook that has just broken
its icy fetters, while patches of snow still remained on the ground;
during days of rain which silenced most songsters; through hot summer
noons and during the almost songless molting-season,--nothing seems to
daunt him, from early morning until sunset. Occasionally during the
night is heard his simple strain, as though he needs must sing in his
sleep.
His song is pleasing, but in no way remarkable. It is in a major key and
lacks the ecstasy and piercing sweetness of the fox sparrow's, and the
exquisite tenderness of the field and the vesper sparrow's, but it
possesses a charm all its own. It breathes a joy in simple things--a
steadfast and cheerful courage that makes us say, "He, too, is no mean
preacher."
Song sparrows, like other members of the Finch family, are of great
service in their destruction of insects and weed seeds, of which they
consume enormous quantities. They eat wild berries and fruits only when
their favorite food is not obtainable. They possess no bad habits and
are desirable "bird-neighbors" to cultivate. Water always attracts them;
one is most likely to find them near streams, in which they love to
bathe.
Their nests are made largely of grasses, dead leaves, and root-fibres,
and are lined with soft grasses. They are placed in bushes or on the
ground. The eggs, pale in color and flecked with brown, are well
concealed by their markings. Song sparrows, usually serene, grow
intensely nervous when the nest is approached, and betray its
whereabouts by their incessant _Chip, chip_.