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GARDENERS' CHRONICLE 



January Birds 



PAUL B. RlIS 



JANUARIUS, the child, symboHzes the birth and dawn 

 of the new year. But, this child possesses the grip of 

 the mature man and the force of a giant. No feeble, 

 groping efforts, nor indecision mark its steps, nor does 

 sympathy disrupt its energy. Relentlessly it rules with an 

 iron hand, sweeping the dormant fields with fury, and 

 disdaining to temporize its force. Life is at a low ebb. 

 The birds are more nearly stationary now than any other 

 time of the year. Yet, one may take a ramble out of 

 doors through the frozen fields and meadows, the silent 

 woodlands, and wrest from the bleak landscape delight- 

 ful hours. 



We select a charming valley of woodlands and mead- 

 ows, where once a cardinal and evening grosbeak, and a 

 little later a flock of purple finches, rewarded our efiforts. 

 Here the Sumach bobs, the Nanny berry, wild grape, bit- 

 tersweet, acorns and wild hemp grew abundantly : a par- 

 adise for feathered friends. 



The opalescent sky contrasts strangely with the white 

 mantle of Mother Earth and the sting of the North wind 

 challenges our mettle. The silvery covering of snow 

 faultlessly stretching away in the distance, truthfully 

 records the coming and going of our wild life. 



Empty hangs the seed-pod of the milkweed and the 

 dried florets of heath aster and wild sunflower blow vio- 

 lently in the wind. Here in a patch of waving ragweeds, 

 we examine the delicate tracks of tiny feet of field mice. 

 The tracks become variable and countless as of great 

 numbers and on a nearby willow, we spy their eternal 

 Nemesis, the northern shrike. The few juncos flitting 

 away through the underbrush seem oblivious to the dan- 

 ger above them, and continue their ranging unharmed. 



Purposely we follow the winding course of the creek 

 closely. Its barely audible murmuring beneath th€ ice 

 grows in volume as it regains an opening where its rapid 

 descent hinders the formation of icy prison walls. The 

 silvery ripples are rendered musical for joy of its mo- 

 mentary freedom. 



The noisy remonstration by a red-headed woodpecker 

 at our intrusion into its sanctuary arrests our attention 

 and we note with interest that the black and white of the 

 immature bird is undergoing a change ; its crown dis- 

 tinctly tinged by the dawn of fiery red. Dumbfounded 

 by a familiar rattle, inseparable from open water and 

 seasons and yet sure of our grounds, we single out its 

 author, a belted king-fisher. Its familiar form and antics 

 belie the severity of the season, and yet its measure of 

 prosperity is running over. The minnows basking in the 

 open stretches, furnish an easy living for the delinquent 

 migrant. A little further up the stream, we note the en- 

 trance to its nest in an overhanging gravelly clay bank, 

 now serving as a shelter for the Winter, and close by a 

 second one partly caved in, revealing the chamber with- 

 in littered with bones and refuse. 



The grasses and what were but a short time since, 

 beautiful flowers, now brown and dead, are nodding in 

 the free wind sweeping up the valley, but the cheery note 

 of the chickadee, engaged in cracking the seeds of wild 

 hemp, softens the sting of the elements. At other and 

 difterent times during this month, we have encountered 

 here song-sparrows, goldfinches and redpolls, partaking 

 of this delectable seed, while the adjacent field harbored 

 the snow buntings, horned larks and prairie horned larks. 

 Once a Cooper's hawk, angered or confused by our per- 

 sistent calling, gave us a violent start. 



We discovered beautiful examples of bird architecture, 

 cleverly concealed nests of phcebe, finely fashioned strawy 

 nests of the song sparrow, pendant structures of 

 the oriole, goldfinch and vireo. The secret of the wily 

 indigo bunting at the edge of the meadow is ours, though 

 it led us a merry chase some months previous. Here 

 where the embankments are steep and overhanging, we 

 hear a familiar scolding as of a wren, but in a higher key. 

 It betrays that invincible busybody, the Winter wren, 

 prying into windfalls, rotten logs and caved in embank- 

 ment for the life sustaining insects and larvae. The bitter 

 temperature is no deterrent in curtailing shortcuts 

 through the shallowest of water. Persistent wren energy 

 alone could wrest a meat diet now from the solidly frozen 

 earth, but this hardy Northerner simply laughs at hard- 

 ships and occasionally refreshes itself with an icy bath, 

 clearly denoting its aqtiatic ancestry. Erom yonder grove 

 comes the persistent tapping of the hairy woodpecker or 

 its smaller relative, the downy and lusty "Yank! Yank!" 

 of the white-breasted nuthatch assures us of their fateful 

 life's work. 



Other signs of life claim our interest also. Here the 

 blackened snow confirms the unerring scent of the squir- 

 rels for their hoarded nuts ; there a rabbit, rudely alarmed 

 in its shelter of grasses, bounds away over the frozen 

 ground. Another trail with broad toes spread, well 

 clawed, the miniature human heel, records a midwinter 

 forage of a coon during a lull in the weather, and its 

 successful search for acorns under an accustomed 

 tree, and a little later on, we follow the unmistakable 

 tracks of skunk to its den under a cliff, whither a farm- 

 er's dog had followed it, and learned a lesson. 



We quit the course of the interesting stream and follow 

 the fortunes of another, not so turbulent and less fre- 

 quented. Alas, to our sorrow, we note that the slender 

 ribbon is frozen for unbroken miles. Wild life is sadly 

 lacking. The temper of the valley portrays truly the 

 temper of the season. But, the strident note of the blue 

 jay and the derisive cawing of the crows in the distance, 

 strive vainly to dampen our ardor for Nature in its Jan- 

 uary mood. 



Listening pays. Listening broadens. Listening edu- 

 cates. It is human to prefer a listener to a talker. 



To grow, to advance, to gain friends, learn how to 

 listen. It has been said that even a fool can pass for a 

 wise man if he will but hold his tongue. 



It was Disraeli (who knew how to talk) who once re- 

 marked : "There is some silent people who are more in- 

 teresting than the best talkers." He also said: "Silence 

 is the mother of truth." 



Carlvle, who wrote more about silence than he prac- 

 ticed it, nevertheless enunciated a worthwhile truth when 

 he said: "Under all speech that is good for anything 

 there lies a silence that is better. Silence is deep as Eter- 

 nity : speech is shallow as Time." 



Silence is essential to contemplation and reflection. 

 .\nd only through contemplation and reflection can we 

 come to know wisdom. 



Even if your ambition be to become a good talker, an 

 important preparation is to be a good listener. 



You will never make enemies and rarely will make 

 mistakes by listening. You are in danger of making wth 

 by careless talking. 



Learn to listen. — Forbes. 



