YELLOW-BELLIED SAPSUCKER 



By T. GILBERT PEARSON 



ZUt Rational association of Hububon jS»onc tir s 



EDUCATIONAL LEAFLET NO. 102 



When the autumn days descend upon the Northland, a great change comes 

 over the bird population. The Swallows and the Swifts have already gone, 

 and bird-music becomes very rare — even the Red-eyed Vireo ceases to siiiL, r 

 and turns his wing-beats toward the South. Crackles and Robins are hurry- 

 ing about the country in flocks as though uneasy in their minds. The still 

 nights are filled with strange bird-calls and anxious whisperings as the feathered 

 hosts pass overhead. The groves are alive with a variety of Warblers that are 

 with us only a short time before journeying on to the land where frost is 

 unknown. 



It is at this season, when summer is gone and winter is fast approaching, 

 that the Sapsucker makes his appearance. For a few weeks he or some of his 

 friends will stay with us, but look sharp or you may never know that he is 

 here. He is of a very retiring nature, and not given to flying about the country 

 and shouting at the top of his lungs like the Flicker, to whom he is closely 

 related. Look for him in a grove or the woods. Most of his time is passed on 

 trees, often well up among the branches. 



The color of the Sapsucker harmonizes so splendidly with the bark that in 

 order to hide when danger appears he has only to remain perfectly still. Cling- 

 ing there, Woodpecker fashion, head up and braced below by his stiff tail- 

 feathers, he seems to be a part of the tree itself, and sharp indeed is the eye 

 that can detect him. 



From the latitude of Ohio southward to Central America, this bird passes 

 the winter, and is always the same, quiet little fellow that we found him to 

 be when we first discovered him in autumn on some shade tree, perhaps in 

 Lincoln Park, Chicago, or Central Park, New York City. 



When the snows depart in March the Sapsucker again turns toward the 

 North. Traveling leisurely, and often pausing to pass many days in some 

 chosen spot, he journeys onward, and then one day we hear his plaintive cry 

 in the grove and know that again he is in our midst. 



One Sunday morning in the spring of 1918 I took my accustomed walk in 

 a little patch of primitive woods that still remains within the boundaries of 

 New York City. While passing a large tree I noticed several mourning cloaked 

 butterflies clinging to the bark about three feet from the ground. A closer 

 inspection revealed the fact that from a score of small punctures the sap was 

 oozing out and thai the butterflies were feeding on this sweetish fluid. Presently 

 one of them flew away in a helpless kind of way and alighted flat on the ground 



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