The Gray Kingbird at Home 



By HENRY THURSTON, Flor.il Park. N. Y. 

 With photographs by the author 



I AST year, on a small "bile" or salt marsh near Tampa Bay, I made my 

 first acquaintance with the Gray Kingbird. This bird reminds one of, 

 and has many things in common with, our northern Kingbird, but its 

 call is sharper and more penetrating. The note uttered on the wing, on the 

 other hand, though of a slightly different key, is nearly identical with that 

 heard from the northern bird when one approaches its nest and it hovers 

 overhead protesting against intrusion. The nest of the Gray Kingbird is 

 utterly unlike the bulky assortment of material that the "Bee Martin" brings 

 together in the old trees of the orchard, being a very slight and frail-looking 

 structure. The owner is as fond as its northern relative of perching on dead 

 limbs near home, darting out to catch passing insects and, as the bird returns 

 calmly folding its wings, the greater size is apparent, especially of the bill, 

 which is strikingly larger. 



Being a West Indian species, the Gray Kingbird is found in but few of our 

 southern states; in fact, it has been recorded only from Georgia, Florida and 

 southeastern South Carolina, in which regions it breeds locally. On the 

 west coast of Florida, near Seven Oaks, I found what might be called a small 

 colony of these tyrants. They arrive here about the middle of April and 

 start nesting immediately along the banks of the salt marshes, amid the 

 mangroves. 



'Tis true our bird of this genus also loves to build near the water, but 

 dominicensis is even more fond of it than is his northern cousin. For a month 

 during the height of the breeding season it was my good fortune to be daily 

 with this gray tyrant. During this time, I examined fifteen nests in all stages 

 of development, and only one of those observed was over four feet above the 

 brackish waters. This exception was also over an inlet, but about ten feet 

 up in a sapling. 



The haunt of these birds at Seven Oaks is a strip of land a mile or more 

 from the plantations, — just a nice uphill ride on the pony through the pines 

 that fairly teem with animal life. Upon reaching the crest, the haunt of 

 the Kingbirds becomes visible, a long, narrow, low-lying peninsula, fringed 

 with a dense growth of mangroves that dip their many tendrils in the sparkling 

 blue water, here and there a wooded patch of mingled pines and palmettos, 

 occasional flats covered with rank growth of marsh grass through which 

 winding creeks can be seen glistening under the bright light of the noonday 

 sun. Gracefully sailing above are Ospreys and Pelicans, wheeling over the 

 flats soldierly flocks of Ibis, also a few Spoonbills. A pair of Kingbirds are 

 even now "driving" a Hawk that unthinkingly has entered their domain. 



I lost no time in getting my canoe started and soon was skirting the bushes. 



(i6s) 



