Flowers are the sweetest things G.o.d ever made and forgot to put a soul into.

--_Beecher._

The best verses I have printed are the trees I have planted.

--_Holmes._

There was never mystery But 'tis figured in the flowers; Was never secret history But birds tell it in the bowers.

--_Emerson._

[Ill.u.s.tration: OUR SHY NEIGHBOR.]

THE WISEACRES OF THE FOREST.

_From Nature and Culture._

So many have an idea that bird-life does not blossom out until the flowers do, and that our shy neighbors do not wake to life and joy and song until the warm breezes of spring have chased to the realm of memory winter's cold and snow. Several weeks of wandering through the woods during the months of January and February taught me that to him who has time to devote, and that amount of patience which enables a hunter to rise at three in the morning, crawl through wet, tangled swamp-gra.s.s in the cold and snow, and then sit shivering for hours in a "hide" awaiting the ducks, there will be shots, camera shots, replete with interest and full of instruction; revelations of a world's population little known because of their un.o.btrusive life. They who lead the "simple life" may not make as much stir in the world as some others we know: but never make the mistake of thinking the life one lacking in interest. These "little journeys" of mine were for the purpose of prying into the secrets of our friends "the owls." As far back as the uncovered picture-writing of the ancients, Mr. Owl has been the synonym for wisdom. Does he deserve the t.i.tle?

As company lends interest, I was accompanied by a friend who took equal delight in these jaunts; and off we started one fourteenth of January.

For some six miles we tramped along the Kaw Valley, in Kansas, ever on the lookout for trees with large hollow trunks or broken limbs. Now, if any one believes an owl is entirely a night-bird, let him follow in my footsteps, and he will learn a thing or two. These are some of the mysteries of "the wild." Entering a spot of the forest where the banks of the stream were lined thickly on both sides with trees, both large and small, we seated ourselves for a time to rest and to watch. Like Egyptian darkness, the quiet was of a kind to be felt, but it did not long remain this way. Suddenly the strange quiet was broken by a fierce, angry call of a crow. Now, where did he come from, and why this display of anger? Possibly at our intrusion; yet this could hardly be, as it was far too early in the season for the crow to be nesting.

Before we had time to settle our question the stillness was further broken by several shrill answers, and into the branchy arena came other crows. These were followed by others, and still others. Surely we were not the cause of all this disturbance. Finally there were no less than two dozen crows flying around a large tree with a broken top, and making a clatter that would have put a boiler factory to shame. One could easily imagine it to be a congress of crows exorcised over an insurgency move and demanding the previous question. Then came the solution of the mystery. In dignified yet rapid flight a huge owl dropped from a limb on the other side of the stump, and with a flight as silent as the grave winged her way into the deeper woods followed by that rabble of noisy, cawing crows. It seemed strange that the owl did not turn upon her tormentors; she who had talons long, strong, and sharp; a beak that could easily make its impression upon a pine stick; but her reputed wisdom here led her to know that safety lay in flight, as her size would be her undoing; that the crow would find many points of attack ere she could turn around. Safety lay in flight and shelter where the crows could not reach her, and would finally caw themselves hoa.r.s.e and tired, and at last depart. Many times have I watched these actions on the part of the owls and crows, and always with the same results. Not alone the larger, but also the smaller owls adopt the same course of action to escape their tormentors. This leads me to believe that this partly accounts for their foraging at night.

[Ill.u.s.tration: NEST OF BARRED OWL.]

We now turned our attention to the tree--truly a monarch of the "forest primeval"--a huge sycamore, about five feet in diameter at the base, with few limbs to aid in climbing. But we simply must get up to that hollow, and after much effort success was ours; and there, deep down in the hole, on a bed of warm chips and half-rotted punky wood, all nicely cuddled up, lay two little fluffy white baby owls--young hoot owls. As it takes about four weeks for incubation, and these babies were fully a week old, nesting must have begun at least in the middle of December.

Much depends on the winter; this one having been very mild. In fact, I have noticed that birds are quite accurate weather prophets, were we only skilled enough to read their predictions. But it is always safe, I find, to be early in the field. And now came our first disappointment.

It was impossible to secure a picture of the nest and baby owls, owing to the unfavorable position of the tree and nest; so, taking a farewell look at the place, we returned, hoping for better luck next time.

[Ill.u.s.tration: NEST AND EGGS OF SCREECH OWL.]

The following week we were out and at it again, and were more fortunate in that we discovered the home of another owl, similar in shape, but smaller, and differently marked. This was the barred owl, so called because of its markings. Here, again, the nest was up quite a ways, and difficult to get to. After much trouble we cut down a small tree and hoisted it into the larger tree so that it came near the hole where the nest was. This enabled me to get above the nest, so that I could swing down to the hole by a rope and get a view of the nest and contents.

After many attempts I succeeded in snapping two or three negatives, one of which turned out fairly good and accompanies this article. Every move I made while taking the pictures was punctuated by hoots of anger and disgust by the mother owl, who had flown to a nearby tree, until she aroused the attention of some ever-observant crows; then she had all she could do taking care of herself and getting rid of her tormentors. If ever a free matinee in birdland was billed, it occurred that afternoon.

The weeks now slowly pa.s.sed without further success. One must have patience, much patience, in birdland. It may take years to secure what will prove satisfactory views of some species. Many snaps, when taken, prove undesirable after development, and each week adds to the uncertainty of finding anything "at home" when next you come. While the percentage of successful incubation is fairly large, yet the numerous enemies of the feathered tribe make the uncertainty of life in birdland quite noticeable.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BABY SCREECH OWLS.]

The time was now ripe for us to turn our attention to the little screech owls; a small but interesting and valuable species. Here I found a marked difference. Any small hole or cavity suits their fancy.

Generally speaking, it must be small enough to exclude larger birds or animals that might prey upon them; but at times their boasted wisdom seemingly forsakes them, and they take up with any habitation. I have known them to nest in boxes in shade-trees and in bird-houses under the eaves of the barn. On this trip I found a fresh set of eggs in an old hollow stump formerly made by and used as the nesting-place of the yellow-shafted woodp.e.c.k.e.r. Mrs. Owl was at home, and very much disliked being disturbed. Unlike the larger owls, she refused to fly away, and I had to lift her repeatedly from the eggs that I might take the picture.

As sometimes happens, the negative was a failure; and returning the next week to try for better luck, I found safely curled up within the cavity an opossum. The eggs and mother bird were not in evidence, and the "possum" told no tales. Similar experiences have often occurred to me when I have returned for better views or to follow up a certain line of study.

The next nest of this species I found in a large hollow limb, which in falling had lodged crosswise in a tree. It was rather a queer place for a screech owl, but, I presume, suited her fancy. However, it was favorably located, and if successful I could at least follow up the process of nature; and this is just what I did. The only change made was in bringing the eggs, and later the young, forward from the recess of the cavity to insure better light. I wished to also take the parent bird upon the nest; but in this case they were perverse, and refused to be taken. One of the birds decided that he did not wish to be taken, and after repeated trials I concluded he knew best, and gave over the attempt. I also took the most courageous one and posed him on the stump of the tree. The result is not altogether satisfactory, but is interesting.

[Ill.u.s.tration: NEST AND EGGS OF LONG-EARED OWL.]

My next acquisition was the long-eared owl. With camera and tripod strapped upon the bicycle I started upon a ride of some fifteen miles, which brought me to an old nursery, abandoned, overgrown, and wild.

Here, in a much-neglected fir grove I found the nests and eggs of this variety. The first taken was in a pine. Climbing an adjacent tree, I located myself about five feet from the nest, and after carefully securing and focussing the camera, secured the view. My second I found later in the day in an apple tree. The tree was in bloom, but not leaved out, and offered but scant hide or protection for the nest.

Indeed I, at first, took it for an old crow's nest, and was about to pa.s.s on, when up over the rim of the nest bobbed two long ear-like tufts--whence the bird gets its name. Approaching the tree, the mother quietly left, and as long as I was in that vicinity I saw nothing further of her. The long-eared owl is not very particular in the choice of her nesting-place. They will often build in a communal manner, several pairs selecting a fir grove or other suitable place; and here you will find the nests quite near together. Again, they will be isolated in location; one here, and another quite a distance away, as the notion strikes them. The nest also seems to vary with their state of mind. At times they will build a very elaborate structure of their own; then, again, they take up with an old crow's nest or the summer nest of a squirrel, and with very little patching up make this answer their purpose. Because of this variability on their part, it is not an easy matter to locate an occupied nest.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ELABORATE NEST OF LONG-EARED OWL.]

One more, and I am done with the owls. The securing of this was of great interest to me, not alone for the sake of the picture, but because it settled two questions on which I had long been in doubt. At the time of which I now write I was living in an Indian school, and previous to this all my ideas of Indians and Indian life had been gathered from Cooper. Near the school was a large village of prairie dogs covering something like ten acres of ground. One day I saw a small species of owl flying around and lighting on the different mounds. I immediately knew it to be the burrowing owl; but where among all those thousand and more holes to dig for her was a question I could not answer. To a.s.sist me, I brought the supposed craft of the red man's children to bear; but of no avail. Not one of over two hundred could give me the least ray of light. Then I got down to principles and discovered that there were some mounds around which were scattered b.u.t.terflies' and gra.s.shoppers' legs and wings, parts of frogs and toads, and the little pellets usually ejected by owls in the process of digestion. I also found that these mounds were invariably covered by an animal compost gathered from the surrounding prairie. I resolved to put my theory to the test by digging into one of these holes. Here the Indian boy was a great help, as he thoroughly knew his verb "to dig." I followed the hole down through hardpan to a depth of three feet, and back for over ten feet, where at last I found Mrs. Owl sitting on her nest of fresh eggs. Here I took her picture while her large round eyes followed my every move as I focused and snapped her. It was while investigating this subject that I also exploded a somewhat common belief that prairie dogs, owls, and rattlesnakes live together in the same quarters in perfect amity. This is not the case. If they are ever found together it is either an accident unknown to one or the other party, or one of three has purposely crawled into the other's home for deeds dark and evil.

Altogether the experiences gained amply repaid me for the effort spent.

These visits to the silent ones were payments ample enough in themselves, but my closer acquaintance with a very interesting family made them doubly so. I find that the owl is one of our best and most valuable friends, destroying during a season much of the troublesome animal population that injures the agricultural interests of the land.

If careless boys and indifferent "others" could get this fact well grounded and use some other mark in target practice, all parties would be better off and much good gained. To take any life is ill, but to take good life is crime.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BURROWING OWL AND HER EGGS.]

THE JAYS.

"I know an old man, His name is Jay, He wears a blue coat, And a hat of gray.

He has a nice nest High up in a tree, Where sits his dear mate Content as can be.

There are four blue eggs In the little brown nest, Which will soon be baby birds Blue, like the rest."

ADDRESS OF THE BIRDS.

AN EXERCISE FOR FIVE PUPILS.

_The Robin_--

"I am a robin, very brown And big and plump and smooth and round.

My breast is pretty, bright and red And see this top-knot on my head!

I heard the boys awhile ago Shooting robins o'er the snow, And flew away in trembling fear And thought I'd hide from them in here.

_The Blue Bird_--