“A rodless Walton of the brooks,
A bloodless sportsman I;
I hunt for the thoughts that throng the woods,
The dreams that haunt the sky.”
—_Samuel Walter Foss._
An isolated orchard certainly comes very near being an inner sanctuary
of bird life. For some reason or other, the gnarled old trees and matted
June grass touch either the practical or artistic sense of bird nature
very closely, and appeal strongly to many a bird heart, for therein do
congregate all sorts and conditions of feathered life. Probably it is an
exceptional feeding-ground, for the curled and misshapen leaves testify
to the abundance of the hairy caterpillar and leaf-worm supply, which
proves such delectable tidbit to the bird palate. When I see the birds
feasting upon these unsavory looking morsels, I can but wonder at the
unregenerate farmer who so loudly decries the bird as a fruit-destroyer,
when a few hours’ observation will teach him that to one cherry stolen
there are a hundred tree destroyers gobbled up, and a thousand weed
seeds devoured. It is Wilson Flagg who so curtly says:
“The fact, not yet understood in America, that the birds which are the
most mischievous as consumers of fruit are the most useful as destroyers
of insects, is well known by all the farmers of Europe; and while we
destroy the birds to save the fruit, and sometimes cut down the fruit
trees to starve the birds, the Europeans more wisely plant them for
their sustenance and accommodation.”
Our orchard is surrounded by a fence of weather-stained chestnut rails,
whose punctured surface has been the scene of many a worm tragedy
resulting in the survival of the fittest. We enter through a pair of
lichen-covered bars, grey-tinted and sobered by age. How far less
picturesque is our field and hedgerow when inclosed by that inhuman
human invention, a barbed-wire fence, and trim swing gate. To be neat
and up to date, is never to be picturesque, and seldom to be artistic.
But our quiet entrance into the orchard has caused something of a
disturbance among the inhabitants, if no great alarm. Fluttering hastily
to a convenient tree top goes a dainty red-eyed vireo, who seems to me
to have more of a grey than olive gleam to his shining back. As he
alights upon the topmost bough—
“A bird’s bright gleam on me he bent,
A bird’s glance, fearless, yet discreet,”
but to show that he is in no way seriously alarmed he flings down to us
some sweet notes of liquid song. It is Wilson Flagg, I believe, that has
dubbed him the Preacher, but to me he seems more correctly termed the
Lover, for I can but interpret his accentuated notes into “Sweet Spirit,
Sweet—Sweet—Spirit,” a continuous cry, as it were, of loving eulogy to
the devoted little wife who is so carefully hidden in her pocket nest in
a distant thorn tree. But all of this time we understand his clever
machinations, as he carefully leads us in an opposite direction by his
song allurements. He flits from tree to tree with a naive turn and
flutter, keeping upon us all the time, an eye alert and keen, until he
deems us at a safe distance enough to be left to our own clumsy device,
when, with a quick turn, he wheels backward to the starting-point, and
we hear a triumphant praise call to the beloved “Sweet Spirit.” Near a
corner of the old orchard where there are great bunches of Elder and
Sumach, we hear vehemently stitching, a busy little Maryland yellow
throat, doing up his summer song work with an energetic
“Stitch-a-wiggle, Stitch-a-wiggle, Stitch-a-wiggle, stitch ’em,” the
“stitch ’em” brought out with such emphatic force that it seems the last
satisfactory utterance of a work accomplished. His pert vivacity has
been most delightfully illustrated by Ernest Seton-Thompson, in Frank
Chapman’s “Bird Life,” and I am sure the snap-shot caught him on his
last accentuated “stitch ’em.” Dr. Abbot tells us that these busy little
people usually build their nests in the skunk cabbage plants, indicating
that they must have an abnormal odor sense, but perhaps they allow their
sense of safety to overcome their sense of smell. However, this pair of
yellow-throats have built instead, among some thickly matted Elders,
just above the ground.
Another fact that favors our orchard in bird minds, is its close
proximity to a thickly foliaged ravine which affords such delightful
security to feathered people. It is also a charming background for our
sunny orchard, filled in below, as it is, with tall, ghostly stalks of
black cohosh gleaming white in the shadows.
Near by, upon a bit of high ground, quivers a group of prim American
aspens, the pale green of their bark gleaming against the dark shadows
of a hemlock hedge. As we look at them, not a leaf is in motion, when
all of a sudden one little leaf begins to gesticulate frantically,
throwing itself about with violent wildness, then another leaf catches
the enthusiasm of the soft summer air, then another, and another until
all of the trees are a mass of gesticulating, seething little serrated
atoms, for all the world like a congregation of human beings,
vociferating, demonstrating, or contradicting some poor little human
leaf that has dared to be moved by some passing thought in advance of
his fellow kind. Darting through the quivering foliage comes a gleam of
fire, which resolves itself into a scarlet tanager who calls to us,
“look-see,” demanding our attention to his bright beauty, remembering
possibly that his brilliant coloring is but a thing of short duration,
for too soon will come winter and plain clothes. Perched upon a fence
rail, but somewhat out of place in this shady corner, sits a blatant
meadow lark, about whose golden breast is hung a gleaming neck chain and
locket of shining black feathers, of which, from the pert poise of his
head, we deem him justly proud, and he is at least a conspicuous spot of
color against the green of the hillside. He eyes us impertinently as he
inconsistently but musically calls to us, “You-can’t-see-me,
You-can’t-see-me,” in the face of the most contradictory evidence of his
own conspicuousness, varying his song to “Erie-lake-Erie,” with every
other breath. As a child I used to wonder who taught him the name of the
great lake on whose borders he makes his summer home. But to other
people, other interpretations, for to Neltje Blanchan he says
“Spring-o’-the-year, spring-o’-the-year,” and to Frank Chapman his song
is a bar of high, trilling notes. Sing on, you wary warbler, for we have
not time to search out your carefully hidden nest among the timothy
grasses of the distant meadow, for we know that it would be like looking
for the pearl in the oyster, so carefully is it concealed among the
dried grasses, but which snakes and field mice depredate so effectually.
In the distant valley we hear the soft echo of the Italian liquids of
the wood thrush’s “A-o-le-le, a-oa-o-le.” Shy little songster, who so
sweetly trills to us long after his feathered kind have tucked their
busy little bills away in soft wings. Across the orchard comes the
romantic “Coo-coo-coo-coo,” sometimes interpreted into
“I-thou-thou-thou,” of the purple plumaged mourning dove, starting out
on a high minor and softly falling to a low contralto. There are no more
delightful representatives of romantic bird love, than these birds
illustrate. More frequently than in any other species you see the
devoted pair going about together, on the telegraph wire, on the tree
top, on the wing, always together, undulating their graceful necks with
marked devotion. Many a bird lover has criticised Mr. Dove for his
remarkable fondness for a lady who is a so decidedly slack housekeeper,
and who is satisfied with so shiftless a nest in which to deposit the
two white eggs, for the few carelessly thrown together sticks can prove
anything but a bed of down to the tender bird babies. However, perhaps
these romantic birds consider that “love is enough” as they follow Le
Gallienne’s refrain of:
“The bird of life is singing on the bough,
His two eternal notes of ‘I and Thou’—
Oh, hearken well, for soon the song sings through
And would we hear it, we must hear it now.”
Alberta A. Field.
THE CANADA GROUSE.
(_Dendragapus canadensis_.)
The Canada Grouse, also called the Spruce Partridge, frequents the
evergreen forests and swamps and the shrubby areas of British America
east of the Rocky Mountains, and in Alaska it is a resident of the
Pacific coast. In its southern flights it seldom passes beyond the
latitude of the northern portion of New England and Minnesota.
This bird is an interesting member of the bird family Tetraonidae, which
also includes the birds variously called bob-white, quail and partridge,
the ptarmigans and the prairie hen. The family includes about two
hundred species, about one-half of which belong to the Old World. There
are twenty-five distinct species of the subfamily of grouse. These are
practically confined to the higher latitudes of the northern hemisphere
and are strictly speaking non-migratory. In fact, nearly all the birds
of this family are resident throughout the year in the localities where
they are found.
They are terrestrial in their habits, and when frightened they usually
depend on hiding in places where their dull colors will least attract
attention, but they will, occasionally, fly into trees when flushed.
The Canada Grouse, like all the related species, is a bird of rapid
flight. The feathers of their small wings are stiff, causing a whirring
sound during flight. The male during the mating season gives a great
deal of attention to his appearance. He is quite black in general color
and more or less barred with white underneath and above with gray or
reddish brown. The female is not quite as large as the male, and is not
as dark in color. Above the eye of the male there is a small area of
bare skin, which is a bright vermilion color.
These gentle and retiring birds mate in the early spring and remain
together through the breeding season. Captain Bendire states that he has
good reason for believing that the mating may last for more than one
season, as he has frequently found a pair, in the depth of winter, when
no other individuals of the same species were near. The nest, consisting
of loosely arranged blades of grass and a few stalks and twigs, is built
by the hen on a slight elevation of ground, usually under the low
branches of a spruce tree.
The number of eggs varies greatly. Mr. Ridgway says that they vary in
number from nine to sixteen. The eggs also vary greatly in color from a
pale, creamy buff through various shades to brownish buff, and are
irregularly spotted with a deeper brown, though occasionally they are
spotless.
During the spring and summer months the food of the Canada Grouse
consists very largely of the berries of plants belonging to the Heath
family, such as the blueberry, the huckleberry and the bearberry, as
well as the tender buds of the spruce. In the winter it feeds almost
entirely on these buds, and the needle-like leaves of the spruce, the
fir or the tamarack trees. At times they seem to show a preference for
certain trees, and will nearly strip the foliage from them.
As a food for man their flesh is far from satisfactory. It is
dark-colored and strongly flavored with the odor of their natural food.
However, certain Indian tribes are said to relish them and hunt them
extensively.
[Illustration: ]
Mr. Bishop, in “Forest and Stream,” relates the following very
interesting account of the strutting of the male Canada Grouse while in
captivity. He says, “I will describe as nearly as I can his conduct and
attitude while strutting: The tail stands almost erect, the wings are
slightly raised from the body and a little drooped, the head is still
well up, and the feathers of breast and throat are raised and standing
out in regular rows, which press the feathers of the nape and hind neck
well back, forming a smooth kind of cape on the back of the neck. This
smooth cape contrasts beautifully with the ruffled black and white
feathers of the throat and fore breast. The red comb over each eye is
enlarged until the two nearly meet over the top of the head. This comb
the bird is able to enlarge or reduce at will, and while he is strutting
the expanded tail is moved from side to side. The two center feathers do
not move, but each side expands and contracts alternately with each step
the bird walks. The movement of the tail produces a peculiar rustling,
like that of silk. This attitude gives him a very dignified and even
conceited air. He tries to attract attention in every possible way, by
flying from the ground up on a perch, and back to the ground, making all
the noise he can in so doing. Then he will thump some hard substance
with his bill. I have had him fly up on my shoulder and thump my collar.
At this season he is very bold, and will scarcely keep enough out of the
way to avoid being stepped on. He will sometimes sit with his breast
almost touching the earth, his feathers erect as in strutting, and
making peculiar nodding and circular motions of the head from side to
side; he will remain in this position two or three minutes at a time. He
is a most beautiful bird, and shows by his actions that he is perfectly
aware of the fact.”
There seems to be a diversity of opinion regarding the method followed
by this grouse to produce the drumming sound. Mr. Everett Smith, as
quoted by Captain Bendire, says, “The Canada Grouse performs its
drumming upon the trunk of a standing tree of rather small size,
preferably one that is inclined from the perpendicular, and in the
following manner: Commencing near the base of the tree selected, the
bird flutters upward with somewhat slow progress, but rapidly beating
wings, which produce the drumming sound. Having thus ascended fifteen or
twenty feet it glides quietly on the wing to the ground and repeats the
maneuver.” According to this and other authorities a tree, usually
spruce, having a diameter of about six inches and inclining at an angle
of about fifteen degrees, is selected. Frequently these trees are used
so extensively and for so long a time that the bark on the upper side
will be much worn. Other authorities, and among them Indians, who live
in the regions frequented by this grouse, claim that the drumming is
produced while flying from the branches of a tree to the ground,
repeating the operation several times in succession. Another authority
describes the drumming of the male as follows, “After strutting back and
forth for a few minutes, the male flew straight up, as high as the
surrounding trees, about fourteen feet; here he remained stationary an
instant, and while on suspended wing did the drumming with the wings,
resembling distant thunder, meanwhile dropping down slowly to the spot
from where he started, to repeat the same thing over and over again.”
The Canada Grouse is easily domesticated and would make an interesting
and amiable bird pet, because of their peculiar habits.
Seth Mindwell.