Part 1

Chapter 13,756 wordsPublic domain

HOW TO HAVE BIRD NEIGHBORS

BY S. LOUISE PATTESON AUTHOR OF “PUSSY MEOW, THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A CAT” AND “KITTY-KAT KIMMIE, A CAT’S TALE”

PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR COVER BY HELEN BABBITT AND ETHEL BLOSSOM

D. C. HEATH AND COMPANY BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO

DEDICATED TO BOYS AND GIRLS

FOREWORD

This narrative of neighborship with birds is suggestive rather than exhaustive. It aims not so much to inform the reader, as to instill in him the desire to learn from the outdoors itself, to know _at first hand_ about the charms and the benefactions of birdlife. The observing reader will supply what has been left unsaid, and so experience the zest of initiative, the joy of discovery, in our mysterious and manifold bird-world.

S. L. P.

Waldheim, East Cleveland, Ohio, October, 1917.

CONTENTS

PAGE List of Illustrations vii I. My First Bird Neighbors 1 II. New Adventures in Birdland 11 III. Real Troubles in Birdland 21 IV. The Bluebirds’ Bungalow 28 V. The Wrens’ Apartment House 36 VI. The Boy 44 VII. The Chimney Swifts 62 VIII. Birds Not of a Feather 68 IX. The Martins’ Aircastle 78 X. More about the Boy 92 XI. The Cardinals 102 XII. My Bird Family 110 Glossary 123 Directions for Making Bird Houses 127 Index 130

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Strings and cotton and chicken feathers for the birds’ nestings _Frontis_ PAGE Suet and doughnuts for downy, corn for the cardinal, cereal for the song sparrow v Goldfinch feeding babies vi “Oh, where is Mother?” viii The basin on the porch railing 1 They were making that can into a bird home 4 The baby robins 9 One winter day a pigeon came in at an open window 10 Vacant lots attract birds 11 The winter birds like peanuts and suet 13 When I did not have peanuts I gave the nuthatch doughnuts 14 The dear happy chickadee 17 The selfish nuthatch 20 Cats belong on their own premises 21 The basin was Bunny’s looking glass 22 The genial gray squirrel 27 The return of the bluebird 28 Sometimes she was just gliding through the entrance as he alighted on the housetop with a choice morsel for her 31 Bluebird babies to feed and care for 33 The bluebirds moved into the pretty double house 34 Rented for the summer 36 The small wren house in the pear tree 39 A baby wren on the window sill 43 Bluebirds are great helpers in a garden 44 Baby flicker peeps at the outside world 49 Mrs. Wood Thrush on her nest 51 A killdeer’s nest in a potato field 53 The bluebirds in their primitive home 55 Every little while a goldfinch came to the “store” tree and got some string 57 The chimney swifts’ temporary home 60 The flicker is also called golden-winged woodpecker 61 Chimney swifts’ nest 62 One of these Swift babies was put to rest in the nest, but he did not stay there long 63 A robin’s nest 68 Near the nest tree was a big stone which the redheaded woodpecker used as a perch 74 Each little goldfinch called as loud as he could 76 A young goldfinch alighted on the clothes line 77 This martin scout brought a lady with him 78 The martins’ aircastle 81 The home-coming of the martins 87 A great gathering in mid-air 91 A bath for birds and a lunch beside it 92 The crested flycatcher and a Berlepsch house 95 Kitty watching for mice 98 The new food house was visited by bluejays 100 A feedery much liked by downy 101 A tree trimmed with peanuts for the birds 102 The cardinal’s favorite feedery 105 Always Mr. Cardinal came first and ate a while; then she would follow 109 Song sparrow 110 Mother Oriole in the bath 113 So made that they can be easily opened after use and cleaned 116 Food house, made out of waste materials 118 Maybe they will fly to us, instead of away from us 121 The birdies’ policeman 122 The finished martin house 128 Raising the martin house 128

HOW TO HAVE BIRD NEIGHBORS

I MY FIRST BIRD NEIGHBORS

The birds that live in my yard are the loveliest of all my neighbors. During the springtime and summer they awaken me every morning with their sweet songs. Then all the day long their pretty ways make me wish I had nothing to do but to watch them.

Now I can imagine someone saying, “If I had a yard, I, too, would try to have bird neighbors.” Listen! Before I had a yard I had bird neighbors on my porch.

How did I get them?

In summer, a basin of water on the porch railing, and in winter, the basin filled with table scraps—this is what did it. On the porch of that apartment house I learned how to neighbor with birds.

A kind lady in the next house tied suet and strings of peanuts to one of her trees. During winter and spring the woodpeckers enjoyed the treat, while we enjoyed the woodpeckers! Pigeons and bluejays came too, and, yes, English sparrows, those birds that are nowhere welcome. But they didn’t have it all their own way there, as they do where nothing is done to attract other birds.

One winter day a beautiful blue and white pigeon with rose-colored neck came in at an open window. The streets were covered with snow. It was hard for birds to find anything to eat. This pigeon ate some rolled oats that I scattered before it, drank some water, and walked into a corner. After a nap it ate some more; then took another nap. When it awoke again I set it in a waste-paper basket by the open window, so it could go away when it pleased. It took several more helpings of oats. Toward evening it flew away.

Among the pigeons that used to come often to my porch was my little guest of a day. As the pigeons ate they always cooed. Perhaps they were remarking how good it tasted.

In early spring the robins came. They liked little scraps of meat. Chopped raw beef was to them the greatest treat. At the basin they not only drank, but spread their wings over it and splashed the water all around, trying to bathe in that shallow dish. It was only a big flower-pot saucer. While the weather was still cold, they began to sing mornings before daylight. It was like listening to Christmas carols to hear them.

On mild and thawing days they could be seen hopping over my neighbor’s lawn. Most cunningly they would turn their heads to one side, then to the other. It is said that they do this so they can hear the worms and insects move about in the ground. I believe it; for often I have seen a robin, after listening intently at some spot, stop to scratch and dig, then pull out a worm.

The robins often pulled and jerked at the morning-glory vines on our porch. Whenever they got one loose they would gather it up in loops with the bill and carry it away. They also tore strings off our mop and flew away with them.

On a pillar of our porch there hung a can in which we sometimes put flowers. One rainy April day a little wren alighted on the edge of that can and looked in. The can was empty at the time, so the bird went inside, but came out again quickly and flew away.

Pretty soon two wrens came, and both went inside. Then for several days they made frequent visits to that can, and there was almost constant trilling of the merriest bubbling songs. Sometimes there was just a chatter back and forth, as if they were talking or arguing. These wrens were so much together that I concluded they were mates.

They fetched little twigs of all kinds and dropped them into that can. They also fetched bits of cloth and chicken feathers, as if they actually intended to make a feather bed. Mr. Wren could carry things in his bill and sing at the same time. Once in a while, when he brought something, Mrs. Wren chattered louder than usual. It sounded as though she wasn’t pleased with what he had brought. Sometimes she wouldn’t even let him in, and, after carrying his burden around for a while, he would drop it. But he sang on just as happily, and entertained her while she did most of the work. This went on for several days. At last they fetched grasses, too. It was a joy to see how happy they were at their work. They were making that can into a bird home.

When the little home was finished, Mrs. Wren loved it so well that for about two weeks she stayed in it nearly all the time. Mr. Wren brought her many kinds of bugs and worms to eat, and sang to her all the day long.

Soon there were some baby wrens in that little home. Again Father and Mother Wren worked hard from daylight until dark, fetching worms and bugs for their babies to eat. Whenever one came home with a bill full, he glided right in among those thorny twigs. How they could do it without getting pricked was a wonder!

One day all this was changed. Instead of going into their little home with provisions, both Father and Mother Wren stayed out on the edge, and held a worm or a bug where the little ones could see it. After a while, one of the baby birds came up a little way to receive a helping of the food. But the big outdoors must have frightened him; for he ducked right down again. The next one that came out had more courage, or else he was more hungry. He received a helping; then gazed about him a little. Evidently the world looked pleasant to him. He shook his feathers, flapped his wings, and didn’t go back into the little home at all. This was just what Father and Mother wanted him to do, and each gave him a whole worm, although the birdies inside were calling for some too.

The day was fine. It was still early. The babies would have all day in which to get used to the outdoors if they would come out now. To-morrow it might rain, and the next day, and the next. The babies were quite old enough to live outside of that stuffy can. They must come out to-day,—so Father and Mother Wren had decided.

After the little venturer had received several helpings, another birdling came scrambling up. He got all of the next helping. Mother Wren was among the porch vines, chirping. Every little while she flew to the little ones, fluttered her wings before them, and then flew back to the vines. In this way she was coaxing them to follow her.

Before Number Three came out, the mother had Numbers One and Two safely among the vines. Number Four came close behind Number Three. It wasn’t very pleasant to stay down in the can all alone. The mother kept up her coaxing until she managed to get them all in nice, shady places.

It was now about nine o’clock. The rest of the day was spent quietly among the vines. After they had rested a little from the excitement of their first flight, Mother tried to keep them moving from vine to vine. One was more clever than the others. He learned everything quickly.

The Wren family lived in the vines all the next day. On the third day Mother Wren began to coax them farther away. Back and forth she flew between the porch and my neighbor’s tree, and around in circles, to show the babies how to do it. Father Wren coaxed them on with a white worm in his bill. He was not singing much now, because these growing birds needed more and more food. Also, father-wisdom bade him keep quiet lest his babies be discovered and come to harm.

The cleverest of the four was also the biggest; so it was easy to tell him from the rest. Again, he was always the first to venture. But as he neared the tree, when he had almost reached his goal, he began to drop; and he fell to the ground. Fearing some harm might come to him, I went down quickly with the long-handled dust mop. It was fuzzy, and soft for him to rest on. With it I hoisted him to a low branch. Mother and Father Wren scolded, but went to the young bird as soon as my back was turned. Birds do not like to have people meddle with their affairs; but sometimes when they are in trouble we can help them.

Maybe this little mishap showed Mother Wren that her babies were not yet strong enough to fly so far. Anyway, she waited until the next day before she urged the others to go. Even then she was not quite decided. At dinner time the three were still on the porch. They had reached the highest rung of the trellis. In the afternoon, when I returned from school, they were gone. Father Wren was again singing his cheery songs. He had kept pretty quiet while the little ones were learning to fly. Why? Because he did not want anyone to find out where they were.

My robins, meanwhile, had made themselves a nest on a high window sill at the far end of the porch; but not until the wrens began nesting did I discover it. Already there were three blue eggs in it. The robins seemed so distressed at being found out that we kept away from that end of the porch until they got well used to us. The wrens didn’t fear us at all. They came to their nest no matter how many people were on the porch.

I had now learned what the wrens and the robins like for their nestings; so I fastened strings, shreds of cloth, some cotton, and small chicken feathers to the low branches of my neighbor’s trees, and also on my porch. I had read somewhere that some birds will pull feathers out of their own bodies, if they can find none elsewhere, with which to line their nests. After the wrens had cleaned out the can, they helped themselves to cotton and feathers, and made ready for their second nesting.

Father and Mother Robin were such devoted parents, it seemed as if they couldn’t do enough. Their babies always craned their necks and opened their bills wide as soon as they heard anyone near. As they grew older they also chattered and flapped their wings. Sometimes they fluttered over the sides of the nest so far that I feared they would fall off the high window sill.

One morning the robins’ nest was empty, and the young were over on my neighbor’s lawn. For convenience I will call this neighbor Mrs. Daily. She lived on our right. The neighbor to our left was Mrs. Cotton.

A birds’ bath at Mrs. Daily’s and the tree with nesting materials on it showed the birds that they were welcome there. So the parents coaxed their young in that direction.

Mrs. Cotton also tried to attract birds. But her basin sometimes went dry for days. Also, she had a big, beautiful cat that was usually somewhere in the yard. It was not so inviting there, according to birds’ ways of thinking, nor so safe for their young, as over at Mrs. Daily’s, where the cat was kept in.

I kept our kitty locked up night and day, and asked my neighbors to keep their cats in, too, until these young robins could fly up into trees. At first they could only fly sideways. It is more than just a kind act to save young robins from harm: it is saving birds who will be useful and pleasing all their lives, and who will spread happiness wherever they go.

When I saw how my birds left me as soon as their young could fly, I began to wish that I, too, had a yard and trees, like my neighbors. I longed to have more birds, and birds of different kinds.

II NEW ADVENTURES IN BIRDLAND

I got my wish: Our present home is a whole house, with a yard. We have big trees and little ones, and on one side there is a grape arbor. All around us are vacant lots, where thornapple bushes, dogwood trees, and tall sunflowers grow. These attract birds. Behind the vacant lots there is a ravine with wild cherry trees, elder bushes, wild grape tangles, and other attractions for birds.

The wrens and the robins had gone to their winter homes when we moved, and the woodpeckers had come. I had bought a bird guide with colored pictures, and a pair of field glasses which brought those black and white birds very near to me. Some had red on the back of the head. They were the downy woodpeckers. A bird very much like the downy, but larger, was the hairy woodpecker. And there were birds just like the downy and hairy but without the red patch on the head. They were the mates of the downy and the hairy.

Whenever I heard a brisk “chsip,” I could see downy approach in graceful, curving flight toward some tree. Usually he perched near the bottom and climbed up, pecking and scratching as he went. Sometimes he alighted higher up and came down cat-fashion, but always busily pecking at the bark. The hairy did the same. This must be why these birds are called woodpeckers.

Knowing how well the winter birds like peanuts and suet, I fastened strings of peanuts across a bird table that I had made, and in the tray below I kept suet. I also scattered chickfeed on the ground beside a tree, and added to it buckwheat and sunflower seeds. But I soon learned better than to put anything for birds near a tree behind which a cat could hide!

It was great fun to watch the different birds select their favorite food. The woodpeckers liked the suet so well that, while it was on hand, they hardly ever touched the peanuts. Downy also liked the chickfeed; but he did not like to step down to the ground. In trying to get it, he would back down the tree until his tail touched the ground. Then, without leaving the tree and while propped on his tail, he reached over to the right or left and picked up kernels. In this way he could eat without stepping on the ground.

And downy had good eating manners. He never hurried, never fidgeted. Sometimes he stayed twenty minutes at a meal and ate slowly and quietly, like a well-bred person.

Another bird that came to my place in winter had a light blue back and a white front. His wings and tail were dark blue, and so was the top of his head. I always knew he was near when I heard a sound like “gack” or “yack.” He liked the peanuts better than anything else. With his sharp bill he would punch a nut, then hold down the shell while he pulled out the kernel. Maybe this is why he is called the nuthatch. Sometimes, when I did not have peanuts, I gave him doughnuts. He liked them just as well. He would nibble at a doughnut until it dropped from the nail, then go to the ground and forage there. He liked cheese also.

I soon found that somebody else, too, liked suet and peanuts. This was the red squirrel, and when he was on the table the birds would not come near. However, it was birds I wanted and not squirrels,—especially not the red squirrel, who is said to bother birds in many ways. To keep him away I nailed tin sheeting around the post of the bird table.

I am sorry to say that the nuthatch was not at all polite to other birds. He always wanted all the food himself, no matter how much there was on hand. He would flit from one feeding place to another and chase the other birds away. I stopped putting peanuts on the table, so that he would have no excuse to go there and the birds who liked the suet might eat in peace. I put all the peanuts on the tree farthest back in the vacant lot and made the selfish nuthatch eat there by himself.

Another thing that was not nice about the nuthatch was his way of eating. He was always in a hurry. He would take the kernel out of a nut, walk up the tree with it, and fly away. Then he would come back quickly and do the same thing again, as if afraid another bird might get something. Sometimes he kept this up for an hour or more. Even after all the peanuts were moved to his tree, he would bluster around at the other feeding places and try to drive those peaceable birds away.

The dearest of all my winter birds were some that came singing in all sorts of weather. I called them my little minstrels.

“Chicaday, chicaday, chicaday-day-day-day,” was their song. Somebody has named them chickadees, and the name just fits. If you should see a little gray bird with a black cap and bib, who comes singing that song, you may know that you have seen a chickadee.

The chickadees were not at all particular what they ate. They sang just as cheerily when they had only breadcrumbs as they did when they found suet and peanuts and sunflower seeds. They never wasted their food. If any fell to the ground they picked it up. They were the politest of birds and, like the downy and the hairy, they worked at the trees most of the time.

These winter birds are some of nature’s best house-cleaners. They work all through the cold and stormy season when the other birds are away in their sunny winter homes. Should we not remember to give them a treat once in a while, and so brighten the cold days with good cheer?