Our Responsibility 9 



yeg,rs, never places food either on shelf or ground without Hanking it with a 

 shelter, wherein the small birds may dive for safety; and from these shelters 

 lead brush-covered passages, so that several ways of escape are offered. Too 

 often have his tame Chickadees been plucked almost from his hands by these 

 robbers. 



Next to the active birds of prey in The Birds' Book of Snow come the 

 Starlings to prey upon the food of the winter birds, and thus are indirect 

 destroyers of them. Hereabouts are thickets of red cedars, bay and barberry 

 bushes, masses of both the black and red choke-berry and several great pepper- 

 idge trees, all heavily laden with fruit in October. What happens? Unless the 

 warden is on the watch when fall sets in, all of a sudden, a flock of Starlings 

 one thousand strong, will settle in these trees, and in a single hour the food 

 store that would last our winter birds a month or more is gone! 



So, also, during last February, when the thaws released the ice-clad berries 

 of the species above mentioned, and the hungry Robins and Bluebirds began 

 to feed eagerly, flocks of Starlings tried the same method, and the native 

 birds, some of which had braved the winter and others the pioneers of spring, 

 were driven to come about the building and beg food from no fault of their own. 



Sentimentalists who take only the sweet spring whistle of the Starling 

 into consideration, look for yourselves at the black marks against it, not only 

 in the Snow Book but in the whole Yearbook of the birds. Beside the vor- 

 acious, quarrelsome Starling, changed in its habits by expatriation, the English 

 Sparrow is harmless as thistledown. 



A recent history of Connecticut Ijirds does not list the Black-crowned 

 Night Heron as a winter resident, yet they sign their names annually in the 

 Sanctuary Snow Book, and, after feeding along the tide marshes at low water, 

 they come back in a small flock to roost in the spruces across the road and 

 take their daily drink in the overflow at Birdcraft. The February day of zero 

 weather had no terrors for them, adding one more proof that it is lack of 

 food and water and shelter, more than cold, that scatters the winter birds 

 that might remain. 



Near the bungalow are tulip trees, and all winter the wind had chattered 

 among their dr\', cupped seed-pods. One February day flowers bloomed 

 suddenly along those bare branches, and the Snow Book boasted a picture 

 of summer colors— a great tlock of Pine Grosl)eaks, many of them adult 

 males, perched in rows, posing as by a special arrangement. (|uite putting in 

 the shade the male Purple Finches, heretofore the brightest i)ird of winter. 



In late I'ebruarw notes of music broke the monotony of the Sno^c Book, 

 just as the black and white of its binding was gently suffused by the reddening 

 of swamp mai)le twigs and tlie yellowing of willows. 



The returning Song Sparrow whispered his song liai)])il\ in the alders 

 that sui)i)lv him with food, for the Starling lia> not xcl learned to ;ulapt his 

 clumsy beak to stripping the lit lie seeds from the alder loiu's which supplx' 



