Birds of Peasemarsh

Front matter

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CHAPTER XIII Resident Game Birds - - - 115

CHAPTER XIY

Birds of Shore and Marsh - - 121

CHAPTER XY

Shore Birds and Waders -------- 129

CHAPTER XYI

Wild Geese, Swans and Ducks - - - - - 139 CHAPTER XYII

Migration of Birds 147

CHAPTER XYIII

Need of Protection for Birds - - - - - - 157 CHAPTER XIX

Bird Enemies - ' - - - - 169

CHAPTER XX

English Sparrow as a Nuisance

CHAPTER XXI page

Attracting Birds by Food, Drinking Fountains and Nesting Material - - - - - 189

CHAPTER XXII

How to Make and Hang Nest Boxes - - - - 197

CHAPTER XXIII

Nesting Sites 209

CHAPTER XXIV

Bird Clubs and Sanctuaries ------ 219

CHAPTER XXV

“Little Feathered Brothers” 229

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Choosing a home Frontispiece

(1) The Bluebird’s nest inside the nest box; (2) The burrows of the Bank Swallow; (3) Temporary chimney erected for the Swifts - - - - Facing page 21

(1) Flicker making an entrance; (2) A home which

affords a better view; (3) Young Flicker at entrance Facing page 43

(1) The weaving of the Oriole that has withstood the winter’s storms; (2) The Yireo’s nest: note loops of birch bark Facing page 91

The home of the Grouse Facing page 115

(1) A fox hole in the bank; (2) One red squirrel less;

(3) Indigo Bunting’s nest - - - - Facing page 169

(1) Nest box attached to board and nailed to tree; (2)

Boof, with plug to hold it in place; (3) Nest box, with straight hollow; (4) Nest box in Fig. 2, with roof adjusted Facing page 197

Photos from the Sanctuary — (1) Father Bluebird at nest box; (2) The Bittern on her nest; (3) Baby Mourning Doves; (4) Baby Bluebird the day it came out of nest box in Fig. 1 Facing page

Chapter I The Orchard In June

AT four o’clock every morning in June a glorious concert commences in the

orchard. From that early morning hour until the Vesper Sparrow sings his last good night there is scarcely a moment without

music. One of the earliest singers is the

Song Sparrow, but the most persistent is the little Wren. Beautifully these blend with other morning songs, some at our very door, some far down at the foot of the orchard. The Brown Thrasher sings his good morning from the top branch of a tall maple, the whistling note of the Oriole comes from the elms, the Meadowlark calls from the edge of the orchard and Bobolink’s silvery notes come over the meadow.

When one considers the number and variety of songs one is constantly hearing one wonders that the birds can do anything but sing. But they work while they sing. The little Wrens have hunted high and low for the right kind of sticks to carry into their nest boxes. To-day one little Jenny Wren came home with a very long hen’s feather and judging by the triumphant singing of her mate it must have been a rare treasure. Already the Flickers in the hollow tree have a young family to feed. The appetites of the young Robins are increasing every day, and to fill the little open mouths the parent birds are diligently hunting in the gardens.

The Warblers are busy going over the trees. Judging by the number of sweet warbling voices one hears the Green and Yellow Warblers are especially numerous, so they must have had a safe flight from their winter quarters far across the Gulf of Mexico. Many other members of the Warbler family have been seen. One day the Black-throated Green Warbler came to the wood-pile, a place which seems to have a great fascination for all the smaller birds.

A pair of Kingbirds have come recently to the orchard and this is well, for they will help keep off the Crows and Blackbirds. Until they decided to settle here, the Robins were the only ones plucky enough to attempt to drive out such bird-nesting marauders, which have grown too numerous of late for the welfare of the song birds. Up near the house one hears the insistent note of the Kingbird’s cousin, the Phoebe, and from the wooded bank at the foot of the orchard comes the note of the Wood Peewee. The Bank is also the home of Chickadee and Nuthatch and some of our bright plumaged birds have found it a favorite spot. A Scarlet Tanager seems to have chosen a tree there, while another is often seen in a thicket left for the birds in the centre of the orchard. The Goldfinches are now numerous and add their sweet voices to the chorus, the Purple Finch and the Indigo Bunting are heard in bush or tree and the voice of the Yellow-billed Cuckoo comes now and then from the old Spy trees that edge the hill.

The Red-headed Woodpecker, not Downy with only the red spot, but the Woodpecker which wears red feathers on his entire head, is heard near by, but his home is in the woods

B below the bank. Downy lives nearer and the sound of his tap, tap, tap reaches up to the window. From near the barn comes the liquid note of the Bluebird as he keeps watch over his nest box. He has had a trying time, for some European Sparrows have gained a foothold about the barn and have worried him incessantly.

In the late afternoon one hears the musical twitter of the Swallows and the Swifts circling about high above the tree tops. Then when night comes and the last bird song has ceased, there can be heard far in the distance the Whip-poor-will and the Night Hawk. The others had the day, to these belong the night and the night flying insects. So every hour the orchard has its bird voices. What would it be without the beautiful plumage, the sweet songs, and more than all the good deeds of the feathered creatures ?

June was by no means the beginning of their songs. They had been there for weeks, some coming before there was a sign of April foliage, before even the April showers had washed away the snow banks, and all through those discouraging days they trilled and whistled and sang that Spring was on her way. Thus they cheered the human beings who waited through snow and rain and cold for the slow coming of springtime, for birds do not forget any spot where it is possible to nest. They go where Spring comes late. Sometimes it is late in coming to Peasemarsh here on the western shore of the Georgian Bay at the foot of the Blue Mountains, but the birds do not despair; they are the same bright guests here as in all places within their range.

Always this has been a favorite spot for birds. They were here before the first white man came this way. One reads of them in the very few stories and legends that have come down to us from the Indians that once peopled this country. The Indians must have studied the habits of the birds in the very spot where they are singing in the orchard, for just under the hill was once an old Indian village, and the trail leading from it, to distant camps on the bay, crossed what is now the orchard and the meadow.

So far as we know, the Indians, going back and forth from their village, passed under the old elm where now hangs the Bluebird house.

There were Bluebirds then, as there are now, but the Indians called them “specks of sky,” and fragments of a legend have been indirectly handed down. It seems that when the birds received their clothing from the Great Spirit, the Bluebirds, having a maimed one in their family, were delayed on their way and arrived at the spot where the Great Spirit had sent the clothes just after all the feathers had been chosen by other birds. Then the Great Spirit said, because they had not deserted their weak birdling they should be clothed in fragments of the covering of his tent in the sky, and bits of the blue came down, taking the form of feathers, and sunset shades for their breasts.

The Bluebirds chose the house on the elm as their home one cold April morning, just after it was put up, and they have held it ever since, though the Sparrows tried their utmost to put them out. Judging from their apparent satisfaction at finding it, they had had a long weary search for a safe and suitable nesting place.

It was a pair of tiny Wrens that first drew our attention to the need of nest boxes for the birds. For several years these Wrens had nested just under the roof of the front verandah where the weather beaten wood, beginning to decay, left a crevice. On June mornings their singing sounded through the whole house. They never seemed to be alarmed at any noise from inside, but rather to enjoy it, and at the sound of the piano they were overwhelmed with delight. During each summer two broods were successfully hatched and added their little voices to the sweet Wren chorus.

Then it happened that early one year, before they had come back from the south, the verandah had to be repaired. New wood took the place of the old, mouldering rafter where the Wrens had nested, and this was freshly painted. Upon their return the Wrens inspected it, but alas, the little hollow and the old, mouldering wood were gone, and they were suspicious of the newness that had taken its place. They would not nest there again. They did not leave the house, however, but flitted back and forth round the back door, where there was no new wood and no fresh paint. Before long it was discovered that they were nesting in a rag bag that hung on the back of the door in the summer kitchen, and were going in and out through the open window. In that nest in the bag they hatched out their families undisturbed by the commotion of the summer cooking ; frequently they alighted on the table among the dishes. Very neat housekeepers they were. When they had gone in the fall the rag bag, except for the little nest of sticks, was as clean as before it had been occupied.

The next summer they made a nest just under the roof of the back verandah, but here they came to grief. It was a year when beechnuts were scarce and the red squirrels came to the barns and the trees about the houses for food to fill their larders. When the little Wrens were hatching their second brood a squirrel found them out. The frantic scolding of the birds brought out the occupants of the house, but it was too late to save the eggs. The squirrel had dined, and with egg smeared over his whiskers and paws had made his way off. We could only condole with the bereaved birds and promise them that if they would stay with us we would find some way of providing them a safe nesting place. The little house put up for the Wrens the next spring was but the beginning of what could be done for the safety of the feathered tenants. Three years have passed since then. Each year there has been something fresh to do for the birds. Each year has brought back their children and grand children, and now bird houses dot the grounds.

Chapter II The Value Of Birds

THE tragedy that came to the little Wrens is but the tragedy that has come to birds all over the country far and wide, wherever they have sought to make their homes. Time and again they have been forced to leave the spot they had chosen and search out distant nesting places. If people could realize the loss to garden and orchard and farm when even one pair of useful birds gives up housekeeping there, the loss to the whole country should one little family of nestlings be wiped out, men, women and children would work together to keep the feathered creatures with them.

The number of injurious insects destroyed by birds is beyond estimate. Anyone doubtful of the good they do should watch a pair of tiny house Wrens feeding their young nestlings and try to count the number of times in one hour that they come to the nest with food, sometimes not only with one insect but with a beakful. About thirty times an hour is a low average from one count made here. Multiply that by the number of hours they work; they start about four o’clock in the morning, and the babies’ supper is not over until twilight. Multiply again by the number of days they are there and add to this what the mother and father must devour. Then, later, when the babies are grown and hunting for themselves and the mother and father are raising a second family, add what the young family must catch. And if a third family be raised, as is sometimes the case, if conditions have been favorable and the nest has been safe, add what the second family must hunt for themselves wThile the old birds are feeding the third nestlings. One must not forget that a family of Wrens consists of from four to seven or eight, which makes from eight to sixteen birdlings in the two families that are hunting insects and eating as much as they possibly can, which is an astonishing amount for their size. The answer to the problem will be a long array of figures, and it indicates the number of insects less in the garden because Jenny Wren built her nest there and was left in peace to rear her family.

We had never considered diminutive Jenny a potato bug eater, but last summer a wren house was placed in a tree which grew beside a small potato patch. Until the Wrens had flown no bugs injured those potato plants. Other birds may have helped to keep them down, but one thing is certain, the Wrens appeared to be taking a great many when very small. They would not, of course, take them when full grown, but they seemed to give them little chance to grow. It is not wise to lay down rules and regulations for any species of birds. They seem to be possessed of individuality and circumstances may alter their habits. It is wonderful how far their sharp little eyes can see. That same summer a few sweet peas grew beside the kitchen door. While all went well with those sweet peas the Wrens took no interest in them, they flew in other directions for their food. But one morning little green insects appeared on the vines and directly the Wrens were there.

Some bird landlords assert that there are objections to Wren neighbors, that they prevent other birds from nesting near them, but so far we have not known them to do anything worse than monopolize more bird houses than they require. Apart from the value of the Wrens as insect destroyers they are charming neighbors. Their soft brown feathers and their sharp bright eyes make them very attractive creatures as they flit about the door and windows, and, more than all, their songs are a delight. Being of so confiding a nature they will sing very near to us. Last year a family of young Wrens hatched in a house near the wood shed, took their singing lessons on the wood pile, sending out from that dull, humble spot a chorus of sweetest song.

The Wren is but one of the many birds that would gladly come nearer if they found it safe to do so. There are birds that gather their food from the injurious grubs and insects of the ground, birds that live on the flies, midges and other pests of the air, and some, like the Barn Swallow, that devour the flies that are such a torment to horses and cattle. There are birds that work among the leaves of trees and shrubs, and birds that hammer away the loose bark of the tree trunks and branches, searching out the insects from underneath. Without birds the fruit grower and the farmer would be defeated by hordes of insect pests that would devour the trees and the crops. The cutworm alone which, by cutting the stalk at the surface of the ground, destroys every plant it attacks, if allowed to increase, would menace the production of the most fertile acres. Nature, however, has given birds that feed upon the ground some mysterious way of locating these worms hidden under the ground, and strong, sensitive beaks with which they dig them out.

The agricultural value of birds has long been recognized in England. In no country are they more carefully protected, and probably in no country has there been less destruction of crops by insect pests.

In New Zealand, where wingless birds abound, they have been given sanctuaries where they are protected. Had this not been done they would have been forced to hide away in some dense thickets, and would soon have become extinct as they could not long have escaped the wild creatures that prey upon them, or the gunner and his dog. The guardian of these sanctuaries in writing of the wingless birds as insect destroyers, remarks that, “If they were difficult to get fruit growers would be quite keen about them.”

So often the real use of wild creatures is not realized until it is too late. In understanding and protecting the birds there is no time to lose, for many have been rapidly decreasing in numbers in the very districts where they are most needed.

There is a story of a bird landlord who studied the habits of birds and endeavored so successfully to give them what they required that they came in thousands to his estate. There is also the story of the summer when an insect plague came to that country and every green thing round about was devoured, yet this estate remained as green and verdant as ever. The birds that he had attracted about him protected him from the insects that were sweeping through the land.

In Salt Lake City there is a monument, and engraven on it are the Sea Gulls coming to the rescue of a stricken people. A horde of black crickets had come down upon the land devouring every green thing, and leaving the fields of bountiful crops bare as the desert. Suddenly, from no one knew where, there came down into those fields thousands and thousands of Gulls, and the march of the devastating horde of crickets ceased. As they had devoured the crops the Gulls devoured them. Later the monument was erected to commemorate the event and as a symbol of the protection which the people would give to the Gulls that had saved them from starvation.

There are many instances where during insect plagues birds have come from all the country round and saved the infested district. If, however, the insect plague comes at the nesting season the birds do not gather in flocks and fly to distant places. The particular spot where birds are nesting has the advantage. The birds are always there.

If one had watched in the orchard as well as listened that June morning one would have seen the Vesper Sparrow, the Song Sparrow and all their cousins visiting the weed patches and devouring seeds. Just at that time they were eating dandelion seeds that would have blown in the wind and spread over the lawn. Later, as seeds ripen, they eat the seeds of more injurious weeds. One would have seen also that the Thrush, having finished his song in the tree top, descends to the ground and searches for insects. The Oriole is hunting among the branches for caterpillars, the Meadowlark and the Bobolink are hunting for worms and beetles in the meadow, the Robin is digging them up in lawn and garden, while the Cuckoo does not hesitate to pounce upon a full grown hairy caterpillar, a thing at which most birds would look askance. The Warbler, Nuthatch, and Chickadee keep innumerable insects off the trees, neglecting neither trunk, branches nor leaves. Very thorough is their work. It seems all the same to these birds whether they are clinging to the branch upside down or right side up so long as their sharp little beaks can reach insects spied out by their sharp little eyes. Each one among them is an expert in its work. The Kingbird and Phoebe and the Wood Peewee are dining on winged insects, and the members of the Finch family are helping the Sparrows with the weed seeds. The Bluebird is busy gathering his particular choice of insects. The Swallows are hunting the flies, and the little black Swifts, circling about high above the elms, are busy with the insects of the air.

The habits of one species of our insectivorous birds alone shows that, as well as being a chorus of songsters, the feathered creatures are an army of workers. The birds cannot answer in words the question, “What good are they?” which, strange to say, is still sometimes asked. But anyone who takes time to watch them for a few moments has a very forceful answer, though a silent one, “Always deeds speak louder than words.”

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[19 1

1. The Bluebird’s nest inside the nest box. (Page 174.)

2. The burrows of the Bank Swallow. (Page 35.)

3. Temporary chimney erected for the Swifts. (Page 23.)

Chapter III The Adaptability Of Birds Chimney Swift

A VISIT to any country home where trees are numerous and birds have been protected shows how wonderfully they have adapted themselves to human habitations and accepted any protection that human beings will give them. They are found nesting in the stable, in the barn, along the rafters, in the sheds, in the trees about the barn and house, in protected fence corners, in the garden, on the vines growing over the house, under the roof of the verandah and in the chimney.

At this very place less than three hundred years ago the birds had not seen a human habitation save those of the Indians, and had never been forced to leave their natural nesting places in the trees or the caves, among the wild ferns and grasses, or beside the silent streams and lakes where no gun had ever been heard.

Now, except in distant parts, the lonely woods and the caves have been taken from them and the streams and lakes are no longer safe and silent. The birds must either follow the retreating woods farther and farther back, or nest near the homes of man. Many of them did not require three hundred years to adapt themselves to the changed condition and the surroundings of the white man. They gave him their confidence when he first came among them and where that confidence has not been abused the birds have made their homes for years.

One of the first birds to leave its native haunts and come to the habitation of man was the Chimney Swift. There is great danger that it may be one of the first to disappear. For most people it has already become but a memory. For some it is not even a memory, but only a romance as unreal as the tales of elves and fairies. For some, however, it is still more than a romance and more than a the chimney as surely as the coming of spring, memory, it is a real living being that returns to Those rare ones are they who have remained in some old home, with its weather-beaten gables, its shingled roof, and its chimney that stands high above the tree-tops. Down beneath the chimney is the old wood fire-place, old wood furnace, or huge wood-stove. It is a big broad chimney with plenty of room to accommodate the Chimney Swift’s numerous family and still leave space enough for the old ones to move about and bring food to the little ones. In such a chimney live the Chimney Swifts, Chimney Swallows they are frequently called, though they do not belong to the swallow family.

All the bright, hot June days they give little evidence of their presence there, but at twilight, when the sunset sky is gold and crimson behind the elms, they dart out and circle widely round, high above the chimney and the tree-tops, sometimes darting downwards and then up again, then down the chimney, then out again, as if they were playing some absorbing bird game. In reality they are catching, on the wing, supper for all the hungry nestlings. When they dart down the chimney there can be heard in the room from which it opens the chatter of the little ones as the mouths open for the midges, mosquitoes and various other insects their mother is bringing. At intervals this chatter can be heard until late at night, for in hot weather the Chimney Swifts catch their food at night and in the early morning. In the cooler days, however, they may be seen hunting for insects during the day.

A Chimney Swift’s nest is supposed to contain four or five eggs, but on looking down our old chimney one year, no less than ten were counted. Whether they all hatched out we do not know, but one thing is certain, the nest was full to overflowing, for one wee little black Chimney Swift was crowded out and, tumbling over the edge, slipped down into the stove pipe, the accident causing such a twittering and chattering and fluttering among them all that the pipe had to be taken apart and the baby Chimney Swift restored to its family, otherwise the family of humans would have had but little sleep that night.

“Why do you let them stay?” some people ask. “Are they not a nuisance?” They are not a nuisance and why should they not stay? Is it not they who catch the mosquitoes and night insects, thus making our verandah a restful place on the hot summer evenings ?

One winter, when the Swifts were away in the south, the house was burned and only the stone wall left standing. The Swift’s chimney was gone. In the early spring when the birds were coming back we began to think about our dusty little friends and wonder where they could go. The children were in despair. They said the Swifts might think we had burned the house down on purpose so they could no longer nest with us. Such a misunderstanding with our old and valued tenants, the Chimney Swifts, would never do. Something had to be done.

Finally it was suggested that a chimney should be made of lumber and fastened up in the same place. This was done, four pieces of lumber being nailed together in the form of a square. As these boards were thirty feet long, this tall chimney, when resting on the top of the remains of the furnace in the cellar, reached up above the wall in the very place where the Swift’s chimney had been. A little fire was put in the furnace, so that the smoke, escaping through the long board chimney, would give it a blackened appearance that might make the birds feel more at home. It was not quite so roomy as the brick chimney had been, but we had faith in their adaptability and felt sure they would be satisfied and glue their little nest of sticks on the inside wall, as they had done in the old chimney.

No birds have a more remarkable way of building their nests. They break the twigs, of which they are made, from the trees, and glue^ them to the chimney with saliva from their mouths. If a hot fire should be built after the nest is finished there is danger that the glue will melt and let it down. With the memory of the Chimney Swifts comes the memory of cool June evenings when the fire was not started for fear of bringing some calamity to the nest or nestlings in the chimney above.

Poor little Chimney Swifts, they are all too few ! . Modern roofing, modern chimneys and people with most precisely modern ideas as to heating are fast forcing these innocent little creatures out from among us. And where can they go? When the land was settled by the white man they came to his chimneys from the caves and the hollow trees, where they had natural chimneys. Now the white man has disposed of those natural nesting places. If he no longer allows them a place in his chimneys he is driving them away forever.

The Chimney Swift has an undying place in story and in romance. The very mention of the name recalls the tales of childhood and brings up visions of buildings old and moss grown. To preserve a few chimneys adapted to their needs will save them for the children of the future, so that they, too, may watch at twilight for the little black creatures that dart upwards from some old chimney and circle about above the tree-tops as they catch their evening meal.

Chapter IV The Barn Swallow And Its Use Of Deserted Buildings

THE Barn Swallow is another bird that has adapted itself to human habitations. As its safe nesting places disappeared, it came to man to make its home, plastering its tiny nest on some nook or corner of his buildings. The nest of the Barn Swallow is very wonderfully made. Unfortunately the greatest builders often have the greatest difficulties. The useful, beautiful, unoffending Barn Swallows have had such a hard time among us that a lecturer on birds recently made the statement that they were becoming extinct.

Because they are beautiful birds, have a confidential nature, and build about the barns and out-houses they have been, in past days, a mark for boys who knew no better than to shoot them, proud of the number they were able to bring down. Bird-lovers have done much to lessen this evil. Children are learning the benefit of birds and are becoming interested in the protection of all wild life, so that instead of boasting of the number of birds they have shot they tell of the number of nests they are protecting. Not long ago a fine marksman was heard to say, “Just to think I used to shoot the Swallows! I did not know what a sin it was.” But he is making it up to the Swallows now, for he is protecting them from the annoyance of European Sparrows, as well as from other enemies.