Part 27
The nesting of the Varied Thrush was most fully brought to light by Mr. D. E. Brown, at Glacier, in the season of 1905. Like some tireless retriever, this ardent naturalist quartered the mazes of the dense spruce forest which covers the floor of the North Fork of the Nooksack, and in a range of some fifteen miles up and down that stream succeeded in locating forty-five nests of this, till then, little-understood species. Of these, twenty-five contained full sets of eggs, while the remainder fell before such accidents as desertion, robbing by Jays, Owls, etc. The first set taken was on May 5th, and the eggs were slightly incubated. The last, with fresh eggs, was taken June 19th,—probably the second nesting of some bird robbed earlier in the season. Among the nests examined, three contained sets of four each, and the remainder three. Of the entire number, all were placed in evergreen trees, save two. Of these last, one was set in the splinters in the broken top of a willow, about fifteen feet up; and the other was placed in an upright crotch of an elderberry bush at four feet from the ground.
Here are the woods that abound in moss-bunches,—great balls of thrifty green which grow, without apparent excuse, alike from the flimsiest and from the most substantial supports. It is in view of the abundance of these, that the Varied Thrush builds as it does, right out in the open of the underwood, near the top, or at least well up, in a small fir tree. The searcher has only the advantage of knowing that in order to secure adequate support the bird must build close up to the stem of the tree. The only exception to this rule is when branches intersect, and so offer additional strength. Owing to the fact that the large timber affords considerable protection to the younger growth below, and because of the superior construction of the nests, they prove very durable. Old nests are common; and groups of half a dozen in the space of a single acre are evidently the consecutive product of a single pair of birds.
There is a notable division of territory among these Thrushes. As a rule, they maintain a distance of half a mile or so from any other nesting pair. In two instances, however, Mr. Brown found nests within three hundred yards of neighbors.
When one approaches the center of a reserve, the brooding female slips quietly from the nest and joins her mate in denouncing the intruder. The birds flit restlessly from branch to branch, or from log to log, uttering repeatedly a stern _tsook_, which is almost their sole recourse. If the nest is discovered and examined, the birds will disappear silently; and the chances are that they will never again be seen in that locality.
A nest found on May 10th, with two eggs, was revisited on the 12th. It was saddled at a point ten feet out on a leaning hemlock, which jutted from the river bank over the roaring Nooksack. The prominence of the situation, in this instance, proved the owner’s undoing. An Owl had evidently snatched her up on the previous night, the first of her maternal duty; for the nest and the neighboring foliage were strewn with feathers. Yet so subtly had the marauder executed his first coup that not an egg was broken. The eggs were three in number, subovate, of a slightly greenish blue, beautifully and heavily spotted—one might almost say blotched—with rufous, the handsomest, Mr. Brown says, ever seen.
A more typical nest, freshly examined, is placed at a height of six feet in the top of a tiny fir sapling, which required the support of a chance armful of leaning vine-maple poles. The nest proper is an immense affair, eight and a half inches deep and twelve inches by eight in diameter outside, and two and a half in depth and four in width inside. It would weigh about three pounds, and is, therefore, quite compact, altho the moss, which is the largest element in its composition, holds a large quantity of moisture. Twigs from six inches to a foot in length enter into the exterior construction, and these are themselves moss-bearing. Stripping off the outer moss-coat, one comes to the matrix or crucible-shaped vessel of rotten wood, an inch or more in thickness thruout, and sodden with moisture. Within this receptacle, in turn, appears another cup with walls three-quarters of an inch in thickness, and composed solely of dried grasses and moss, neatly woven and turned. The innermost lining comprises the same materials, not very carefully smoothed, but amazingly dry, considering the character of their surroundings. The brim of the nest is strengthened by bark-strips, the inner fiber of cedar bark being exclusively employed for this purpose; while the finishing coat consists of moss, compacted and flawless. There are, in fact, few nests to compare with that of the Varied Thrush in strength, elaborateness, and elegance.
No. 101. WESTERN BLUEBIRD.
A. O. U. No. 767. Sialia mexicana occidentalis (Towns.).
Synonyms.—California Bluebird. Mexican Bluebird. Townsend’s Bluebird.
Description.—_Adult male_: Head and neck all around and upperparts rich smalt blue, brighter on hindneck, rump and wings, paler on sides of neck and on throat; the shafts of wing-quills and tail-feathers and the exposed tips of the former black; more or less chestnut on scapulars usually irregularly continuous across back; sides of breast and sides, continuous across breast, chestnut; belly, flanks, crissum and under tail-coverts dull grayish blue (campanula blue to pearl blue). Bill black; feet blackish; iris dark brown. _In winter_ touches of chestnut appear on crown, hindneck and sides of head and neck, and the blue of throat is slightly veiled by grayish brown skirting. _Adult female_: Somewhat like male but everywhere paler and duller; blue of upperparts clear only on rump, tail, lesser and middle wing-coverts and outer edges of primaries, there lighter than in male (campanula blue to flax-flower blue); first primary and outermost rectrices edged with white; chestnut of scapulars obsolete, merged with dingy mottled bluish or brownish-gray of remaining upperparts; exposed tips of remiges dusky; outer web of first primary whitish; blue of underparts replaced by sordid bluish gray, and chestnut of subdued tone (pale cinnamon-rufous) veiled by grayish-brown tips of feathers. _Young birds_ somewhat resemble the adult female but the blue is restricted to flight-feathers and rectrices, that of the male being brighter and bluer, that of the female duller and greener. In both sexes the back and scapular areas are brownish heavily and sharply streaked with white and the breast (jugulum, sides of breast, and sides) is dark sepia brown so heavily streaked with white as to appear “skeletonized.” Length of adults 6.50-7.00 (165-177.8); wing 4.13 (105); tail 2.80 (71); bill .49 (12.5); tarsus .85 (21.5).
Recognition Marks.—Sparrow size; rich blue and chestnut coloring of male; darker blue coloration of wings in female distinctive as compared with that of _S. currucoides_.
Nesting.—_Nest_: in cavities, natural or artificial, old woodpecker holes, hollow trees, stumps, posts, bird-boxes, etc., lined with grasses and, occasionally, string, feathers and the like. _Eggs_: 4-6, uniform pale blue. Av. size, .82 × .62 (20.8 × 15.7). _Season_: May-July; two broods.
General Range.—Pacific coast district from Los Angeles County, California, to British Columbia, extending irregularly eastward in Oregon, Washington and British Columbia, and to Idaho and western Montana; south irregularly in winter as far as San Pedro Martir Mountains, L. C.
Range in Washington.—Summer resident, of general distribution west of the Cascades, rare and local distribution (chiefly in heavily timbered sections) east of the mountains; casually resident in winter.
Migrations.—_Spring_: c. March 1; East-side: Chelan, March 9, 1896; Conconnully, March 15, 1896; West-side: Seattle, March 6, 1889; March 5, 1891; Tacoma, Feb. 25, 1905. _Fall_: October.
Authorities.—_Sialia occidentalis_, Townsend, Journ. Ac. Nat. Sci. Phila. Vol. VII. pt. II. 1837, 188. C&S. L¹. Rh. D¹. Kb. Ra. D². Kk. J. B. E.
Specimens.—U. of W. Prov. B. BN.
_Miu-Miu-Miu_—mute you are, or next thing to it, you naughty little beauties! Why don’t you sing, as do your cousins across the Rockies? You bring spring with you, but you do not come shifting your “light load of song from post to post along the cheerless fence.” Is your beauty, then, so burdensome that you find it task enough to shift that?
Alack-a-day! our Bluebird does not sing! You see, he comes from Mexican stock, _Sialia mexicana_, and since we will not let him talk Spanish, or Aztecan, or Zampeyan, he flits about silent in seven languages. Er—but—what’s this? Can we be mistaken? Here is what Dr. J. K. Townsend[38] says of the Western Bluebird: “Common on the Columbia River in the spring. It arrives from the south early in April, and about the first week in May commences building. * * * A flock of eight or ten of these birds visited the British fort on the Columbia, on a fine day in the winter of 1835. They confined themselves chiefly to the fences, occasionally flying to the ground and scratching among the snow for minute insects, the fragments of which were found in the stomachs of several which I killed. After procuring an insect the male usually returned to the fence again, and warbled for a minute most delightfully. This note altho somewhat like that of our common _Wilsonii_ [i. e., _S. sialis_], is still so different as to be easily recognized. It is equally sweet and clear but of so little compass (at this season) as to be heard only a short distance. In the spring it is louder, but it is at all times much less strong than that of the common species.”
Dr. Brewer, condensing Nuttall, says[39]: “He [Nuttall] speaks of its habits as exactly similar to those of the common Bluebird. The male is equally tuneful thruout the breeding-season, and his song is also very similar. Like the common species he is very devoted to his mate, alternately feeding and caressing her and entertaining her with his song. This is a little more _varied, tender, and sweet_ [editor’s italics] than that of the Eastern species, and differs in its expressions.”
Our own Dr. Cooper testifies:[40] “It also differs [i. e. from _S. sialis_] in its song, which is not so loud as sweet, and is curiously performed to sound as if two birds were singing at once and in different keys.” Here the tradition begins to waver. More recent writers say: “The song of the Western Bluebird is not full but is, like his manners, gentle and sweet” (Lord); and, “It has the soft warble of its kind” (Mrs. Bailey). But again Dr. Brewer writes:[41] “In regard to their song Mr. Ridgway states that he did not hear even during the pairing season, any note approaching in sweetness, or indeed similar to, the joyous spring warble which justly renders our Eastern Bluebird (_S. sialis_) so universal a favorite.” The doctors disagree. Some one has been dreaming!
All I can say is, that in an experience of some sixteen seasons in Washington, I have never heard the Bluebird sing, or utter any note more pretentious than the plaintive _miu_ already referred to. It has beside, however, a note of protest, which sounds remotely like the _kek_ of a distrustful Guinea fowl; and it indulges certain very unmusical chittering and clucking notes when endeavoring to attract the attention of its young.
No; the Western Bluebird is no musician, but he _is_ a beauty; and he does have the same gentle courtesy of bearing which has endeared the Bluebird wherever he is known. It is impossible to treat of Bluebirds’ domestic life without recourse to humanizing terms. Bluebird is a gentleman, chivalrous and brave, as he is tender and loving. Mrs. Bluebird is a lady, gentle, confiding, and most appreciative. And as for the little Bluebirdses they are as well behaved a lot of children as ever crowned an earthly affection.
Both parents are unsparing in their devotion to the rising generation, and so thoroly is this unselfish spirit reflected in the conduct of the children that it is the subject of frequent remark. Mr. Finley tells[42] of an instance in which a first brood, just out of pinafores, turned to and helped their parents provide food for another batch of babies, and this not once, nor twice, nor casually, but regularly, until the second brood were well matured. Instinct! Instinct! say you? But, wherefor? Is it not rather a foregleam of ethical life, an outcropping of that altruistic tendency which hints a deeper kinship with the birds than we have yet confessed?
And real gallantry between the sexes may not be less ethical. On a day in Ohio, I located a Bluebird’s nest in the knot-hole of an apple tree, and planted the camera in a commanding and somewhat threatening position. The cavity held callow young, but after the parents had visited their charges once and were somewhat relieved in anxiety, I saw a very pretty passage which took place between them. In a neighboring apple tree the male secured an elegant fat grub and was most devoutly thrashing it, when the female appeared upon the scene. With a coaxing twitter she approached her mate; but he backed off, as much as to say, “Wait, wait, dear, he isn’t dead yet!” But she was hungry and pressed her suit, until he in good-natured impatience flitted across to another limb. Here he whacked the worm vigorously, striking him first against one side of the limb and then against the other by a swinging motion of the head. The female followed her lord and cooed: “Oh, I know that will taste good. Um! I hav’n’t tasted one of those white grubs for a week. So good of you, dearest! Really, don’t you think he is done now?” The valiant husband gave the luckless grub just one more whack; and then, with every appearance of satisfaction, he hopped over toward his better half and placed the morsel in her waiting beak, while she received the favor with quivering wings and a soft flood of tender thanks. Altogether I think I never saw a prettier exhibition of conjugal affection, gallantry, and genuine altruism than the sight afforded. It was not only like the behavior of humans; it was like the best in human life, a pattern rather than a copy, an inspiration to nobility and gentleness of the very highest type.
Bluebirds have a decided preference for human society, or at least are very quick to appreciate the hospitality of proffered bird-boxes. Being chiefly insectivorous, their presence is a benediction to any neighborhood, and is an especial advantage in the orchard. A friend of mine in the East, who owns two young orchards and a small vineyard, maintains upon his premises upwards of fifty Bluebird boxes, each composed of a section of a hollow limb closed with a board at top and bottom, and provided with a neat augur-hole in the side. The boxes are made fast to the apple-trees or lodged at considerable intervals along the intersecting fences. The experimenter finds that more than half of the boxes are occupied each season, and he counts the birds of inestimable value in helping to save the grapes and apples from the ravages of worms.
In providing for Bluebird’s comfort, care must be taken to expel cats from the premises; or at least to place the box in an inaccessible position. English Sparrows, also, must be shot at sight, for the Bluebird, however valorous, is no match for a mob. Tree Swallows or Violet-greens may covet the nesting-box—your affections are sure to be divided when these last appear upon the scene—but the Bluebirds can take care of themselves here. For the rest, do not make the box too nice; and above all, do not make it of new lumber. Nesting birds do not care to be the observed of all observers, and the more natural their surroundings, the more at ease your tenants will be. An occasional inspection will not be resented, if the Bluebirds know their landlord well. There may be some untoward condition to correct,—an overcrowded nestling, or the like. At the end of the season the box should be emptied, cleaned, and if possible sterilized.
Two broods are raised in a season, and the species appears to be on the increase in the more thickly settled portion of the State. _Occidentalis_ avoids the dry sections, and is nowhere common on the east side of the mountains, save during migrations. It is, however, regularly found on the timbered slopes of the Cascades, the Kalispell Range, and the Blue Mountains, where its range inosculates with that of the Mountain Bluebird. There is reason to suppose that its range will extend with the increase of irrigated territory. West of the mountains, per contra, the Bluebird affects the more open country, and especially that which has been prepared by fire and the double-bitted axe.
No. 102. MOUNTAIN BLUEBIRD.
A. O. U. No. 768. Sialia currucoides (Bechstein).
Synonym.—Arctic Bluebird.
Description.—_Adult male in summer_: Above rich cerulean blue, palest (turquoise blue) on forehead, brightest on upper tail-coverts, darkest (sevres blue) on lesser wing-coverts; below pale blue (deepest turquoise) on chest, shading on sides of head and neck to color of back, paling on lower belly, crissum and under tail-coverts to whitish; exposed tips of flight feathers dusky. Bill and feet black; iris dark brown. _Adult male in winter_: Blue somewhat duller and feathers skirted more or less with brownish above and below, notably on hind-neck, upper back, breast and sides. _Adult female_: Like male but paler blue, clear on rump, tail and wings only, elsewhere quenched in gray; pileum, hindneck, back and scapulars mouse-gray tinged with greenish-blue; outer edge of first primary and outer web of outermost rectrix, basally, white; a whitish orbital ring; underparts tinged with pale brownish gray fading to white posteriorly. _Young birds_ somewhat resemble the adult female but are even duller; the blue of rump and upper tail-coverts is replaced by ashy gray; the back is streaked with white; the throat and jugulum are pale gray indistinctly streaked with whitish; chest, sides and flanks broadly streaked with drab, each feather having a white center. Length 7.00 (177.8) or over; wing 4.60 (117); tail 2.83 (72); bill .53 (13.4); tarsus .89 (22.6).
Recognition Marks.—Sparrow size; azure blue coloration of male and bluish-gray and azure of female unmistakable.
Nesting.—_Nest_: much as in preceding species. _Eggs_: usually 5, uniform pale blue sometimes very light bluish white, rarely pure white. Av. size, .80 × .60 (20.3 × 15.2). _Season_: May, June; two broods.
General Range.—Mountain districts of western North America north to the Mackenzie and Yukon Territory, breeding eastward to the Black Hills and western Texas, westward to the Cascade-Sierras, southward to the higher ranges of Arizona, New Mexico and Chihuahua, in winter irregularly eastward upon the Great plains and southward to southern California, Lower California, etc.
Range in Washington.—Summer resident in the Cascade Mountains chiefly on the eastern slopes (but west to Mt. Rainier); common during migrations and irregularly resident in summer upon lower levels east of the Cascades (Wallula, May 15, 1907, breeding).
Migrations.—_Spring_: Chelan, Feb. 24, 1896; Conconnully, March 15, 1896; Ahtanum, March 13, 1900.
Authorities.—_Sialia arctica_ Brewster, B. N. O. C. VII. Oct. 1882, p. 227. T. L¹. D¹. D². Ss¹. J.
Specimens.—P¹. Prov. C.
A bit of heaven’s blue incarnate! We shall not stop to chide this exquisite creature that he does not sing. Why should he? It is enough to inspire song.
The sky has not fallen this beautiful morn, But here is its messenger come to adorn For a moment our wayside, and bring to our sight In symbol of azure, a vision of right.
So hopeful, confiding, thou brave mountaineer, Thou bringest to April a mighty good cheer. Chill winter is vanquished, his rigors forgot, The Lord is on earth,—what else, matters not.
The Mountain Bluebird is of regular occurrence but of very irregular distribution in eastern Washington, and is scarcely known west of the Cascades. John Fannin found it in British Columbia “west occasionally, to Chilliwack, and other points on the lower Fraser; also Vancouver Island,” but we have only two records of its occurrence on the Pacific slope in Washington[43]. The bird ranges up to the highest peaks of the central divide, but it is not at all common in the mountains. It seems to prefer more open situations and, so far from being exclusively boreal in its tastes, has been found nesting at as low an altitude as Wallula, on the banks of the Columbia River.
At Chelan in a typical season (1896) the migrations opened with the appearance, on the 24th day of February, of seven males of most perfect beauty. They deployed upon the townsite in search of insects, and uttered plaintive notes of Sialian quality, varied by dainty, thrush-like _tsooks_ of alarm when too closely pressed. They did not at any time attempt song, and the entire song tradition, including the “delightful warble” of Townsend, appears to be quite without foundation, as in the case of _S. m. occidentalis_. On the 15th of March a flock of fifty Bluebirds, all males, were sighted flying in close order over the mountain-side, a vision of loveliness which was enhanced by the presence of a dozen or more Westerns. Several flocks were observed at this season in which the two species mingled freely. On the 27th of the same month the last great wave of migration was noted, and some two hundred birds, all “Arctics” now, and at least a third of them females, quartered themselves upon us for a day,—with what delighted appreciation upon our part may best be imagined. The males are practically _all_ azure; but the females have a much more modest garb of reddish gray, or stone-olive, which flashes into blue on wings and tail, only as the bird flits from post to post.
In nesting, Mountain Bluebirds sometimes display the same confidence shown by the darker species; and their adoption into urban, or at least village life, would seem to be only a matter of time. They are a gentle breed, and it is an honor of which we may well strive to prove worthy, to be chosen as hosts by these distinguished gentlefolk.
“Gentle,” as applied to Bluebirds, has always the older sense of noble,—noble because brave. My attention was first called to a nest in the timbered foothills of Yakima County, because its valiant owner furiously beset a Flicker of twice his size, a clumsy villain who had lighted by mistake on the Bluebird’s nesting stub. The gallant defender did not use these tactics on the bird-man, but his accents were sternly accusing as the man proceeded to investigate a clean-cut hole eight feet up in a pine stub four feet thru. Five dainty eggs of the palest possible blue rested at the bottom of the cavity on a soft cushion of fine grasses.