For several years I have been interested in birds. I have watched them
through the glad nesting time of spring, have sought their quiet
retreats in summer and have heard their faraway calls as they moved
southward in the dark, cold, misty evenings of autumn; but for the first
time I have succeeded in bringing them near enough to study them in
winter.
On the ledge of a second story window, out of the reach of cats, a wide
shelf is fastened, and above it the branch of a dead cherry tree is
securely wired to a shutter. On the shelf I scatter scraps from the
table and shelled corn. To the branch, a long piece of suet is always
bound with a cord. This is my free lunch table, spread for all my bird
friends who wish to come. They have accepted the invitation beyond my
expectation, and have fully repaid me for all the trouble it has been to
prepare for them, in the pleasure their company gives me. I sit just
inside the window and they appear not to notice me, so that I have an
excellent opportunity to note their peculiarities.
The one that comes every day and all day, is the tufted titmouse. He
comes down with a whir, looks sharply about with his bright, black eyes,
then takes a taste of the suet or marrow, and sometimes carries a crumb
away. It is hard to tell how many of them come, as they all look so much
alike. Not more than two or three ever come at once.
A pair of downy woodpeckers are constant visitors at the meat table.
They seldom come together, but sometimes it is the male with his bright
red head spot, sometimes the female, in her plain black and white
stripe. She is very plain, indeed, and somewhat more shy than her mate.
If an English sparrow comes to the shelf while either of them is on the
branch, it quickly drops down beside him as if to say, “See here, you
are out of place,” and the sparrow leaves without a taste of the good
things.
Occasionally a winter wren, with his comical tail and delicate manners,
calls on his way somewhere, and makes a pleasing variety in the
appearance of the visitors. He eats all he needs of the bread crumbs
before leaving, unless some sudden movement within startles him.
The blue jays are the most persistent and least welcome of all. Their
plumage is beautiful, viewed at such close range, but their actions are
not pleasing. They flop down near the window and look in, turning the
head from side to side, as if suspecting some enemy there. The slightest
sound sends them back to the trees, but they soon return, and eat as if
they were starved, driving their bills into the meat with quick hard
strokes, or grabbing at the corn in a nervous, famishing way. After
eating a few grains, they fill their mouths and carry it away to hide
for future emergencies. I have seen them hide it in an old gatepost or
drive it down in the crevices of trees. They carry away more than they
eat and probably never find half of it again, for they have no special
hiding place, but they tuck it in wherever they see a convenient place.
It is somewhat provoking to have the table cleared in this way, unless
it is always watched, for the corn is spread especially for the
cardinals whose brilliant color is such a delight to the eye amid the
sombre colors of winter. There is one blue jay with a drooping wing. We
call him our “Bird with the broken pinion.” He appears to have no
difficulty in getting to the table, and his appetite is not impaired,
but possibly, as Butterworth says, “He will never soar so high again.”
A pair of cardinals come and partake of the corn with a grace and
dignity befitting their royal apparel. They do not hurry nor worry, but
eat slowly and stay until they have enough. They are very quiet now, but
their spring song will repay me for all the corn they will eat.
But of all that come, none are more interesting than the chickadee. He
surely merits all the bright sweet things that have been said or written
about him. He is the only one that utters a note of thanksgiving for his
daily bread before he begins to eat. Then he has such gentle, confiding
ways. Today the ground is covered with a deep, sleet-encrusted snow; the
trees are all icebound, and it must be one of the most disheartening
days the bird world ever knows, yet just now, at four o’clock, two
chickadees are singing their good night song outside my window. In a few
minutes they will be snugly tucked away in some wayside inn, some
sheltered nook prepared by Mother Nature, where they will sleep away one
more cold night, to awaken one day nearer the joyous springtime.
Caroline H. Parker.
BEAUTIFUL VINES TO BE FOUND IN OUR WILD WOODS
III.
Another beautiful vine that grows wild in most of our states is the
Trumpet Flower, a popular name for various species of Bignonia and
Tecoma, which belong to the other Bignoniaaceæ or Bignonia family, all
of which are either shrubs or woody vines. There are two or three
species of this family native to the United States, chief among them
being the Tecoma radicans, or what is generally known as the Trumpet
Flower. In some parts of the country it is also called Trumpet Creeper.
The word Tecoma is of Mexican origin and means trumpet, the only known
difference between the Tecoma radicans and the Bignonia is a structural
difference in their pods.
We have several imported varieties of both, that come from South Africa
and Japan, but none prettier than the Tecoma radicans or Trumpet Flower,
which any of us can find along almost any roadside or in rich, moist
woods, blooming in the greatest profusion in August and September.
It is a woody vine, climbing to great heights by abundant rootlets,
produced along the stems. Its pinnate leaves have from five to eleven
ovate, toothed pointed leaflets. Its deep orange-red flowers come in
midsummer and later and grow in corymbs or clusters; its tubular corolla
is funnel-shaped, two or three inches long, with five somewhat irregular
lobes, within which the four stamens are enclosed; its fruit is a
two-celled pod, containing numerous winged seed.
The Trumpet Flower is found in a wild state from Pennsylvania to
Illinois, and southward, and is very common in cultivation, being
vigorous and perfectly hardy, soon covering a large space and reaching
to a height of sixty feet. Blooming as it does in late summer, and early
fall when flowers are scarce, the abundance of its great orange and
scarlet flowers make a very showy spot in a dull landscape, and an
especially attractive bit of color, if you happen to find a vine around
which the ruby-throated hummingbirds are hovering, they being very
partial to the nectar from its flowers.
It is a beautiful vine to drape a tree that is in itself not very
pleasing, or to cover brick or stone outbuildings.
Its faults, and it is a shame to discover faults in anything so
beautiful, are a tendency to become naked below, which can be remedied
by cutting back, an over abundant production of suckers, and its
immensely long roots.
Bignonia capreolata, named for the Abbe Bignon, who first found it, is a
closely related species, of a more southern range than the Tecoma, being
found in Tennessee, Virginia and Georgia. Its leaves consist of but two
leaflets and a terminal tendril. Its flowers, similar to those of the
preceding, are orange. In the southern states it is called cross-vine,
as the wood if cut transversely shows a cross.
One species of the Trumpet Flower, the Tecoma stans, is a non-climbing
shrub of southern Florida and northern Mexico. It grows about four feet
high and bears large clusters of lemon-yellow flowers. It is hardy at
Washington in the Botanical Gardens and there were fine plants exhibited
at the Buffalo Exposition.
J. O. Cochran.
THE PERSIMMON.
(_Diospyros virginiana._)
Have you ever,
On your travels
Through the queer, uncertain South,
Had a ’simmon—
Green Persimmon—
Make a sortie on your mouth?
—Frank H. Sweet.
The Persimmon, or Virginian Date Plum, is a North American tree, growing
wild in nearly all of the Southern United States, and will thrive and
ripen its fruits as far north as the state of Connecticut and the great
lakes. It is one of about one hundred and eighty species belonging to
the genus Diospyros. These are all hardy trees or shrubs.
Representatives of the genus are found in nearly all regions that have a
tropical or a temperate climate. The name Diospyros is of interest, for
it is from a Greek name used by Theophrastus, and is derived from two
words, one meaning Jove’s and the other wheat or grain. This name of
Theophrastus has reference to the edible fruit and literally translated
means divine or celestial food.
Only a few of the species are cultivated. These are highly ornamental
trees with a beautiful foliage, which is rarely attacked by insects. The
common Persimmon of America is the only species that is at all hardy in
the north. This and the Japanese species (Diospyros kaki) are the only
trees that produce the edible fruit commonly found in the market. The
wood of nearly all the species of Diospyros is hard and close-grained.
The trees that yield the beautiful ebony of commerce belong to this
genus, and the species that is said to yield the best quality of this
wood (Diospyros ebenum) is a native of the East Indies and Ceylon. It is
also cultivated to some extent in hothouses and in tropical climates.
The common Persimmon of the United States (Diospyros virginiana) is a
tree, usually growing to a height of about fifty or sixty feet, and
rarely reaching one hundred feet. This is a beautiful round-topped tree
with more or less spreading branches. The name Persimmon is of Indian
origin and of unknown meaning. The fruit of this species is but lightly
appreciated except by those who visit the forest regions in which it is
native, for it is only cultivated to a very limited extent. The fruit is
globular in form and quite plum-like. It varies both in size, color and
flavor. When green the fruit is astringent and has a very disagreeable
taste. This, however, disappears when the fruit becomes fully matured.
It is generally thought that the fruit of the Persimmon is not palatable
until there has been a frost. Regarding this supposition Dr. L. H.
Bailey says: “The old notion of early botanists that this fruit must be
subjected to the action of frost before it becomes edible is erroneous.
Many of the very best varieties ripen long before the appearance of
frost, while others never become edible, being so exceedingly astringent
that neither sun nor frost has any appreciable effect on them.” This
fruit, so popular in the localities where it grows, was not unknown to
the natives who traversed the wild woods before the time of the early
explorations and conquests of America. A narrative of De Soto’s travels
relates that his men, who were camping at a native town “halfe a league
from Rio Grande” (Mississippi River) found the river “almost halfe a
league broad and of great depth,” and that the natives brought to them
“loaves made of the substance of prunes, like unto brickes.” These
loaves were made of dried Persimmons, possibly, mixed with some
pulverized grain. At the present time, in some southern localities, the
fruit is not infrequently kneaded with bran or ground cereals, molded
and baked.
[Illustration: PERSIMMONS.
(Diospyros virginiana).
Life-size.]