58 IN BERKSHIRE FIELDS 



his black cap conspicuous in the whiteness, his 

 feathers fluffed into a fat ball by the wind, goes buf- 

 feting through the driving snow, just as cheerful 

 as ever, a five-inch-long epitome of indomitable good 

 nature. He sings when all else in nature is silent. 

 And he sings when all the woods are musical — and 

 holds his own! He is the bird of the summer pine 

 woods, and the snow-covered window-ledge in win- 

 ter, of our forests and our dwellings. One chickadee 

 is worth a gallon of kerosene emulsion, considered 

 utilitarianly. Spiritually, he is a tonic that makes 

 for cheerfulness, and there are no standards of value 

 for that. 



I have observed the chickadee for many years. 

 Indeed, during our Berkshire winters it is impos- 

 sible not to observe him; he attends to that! Nor 

 has it been necessary much of the time to stir out 

 of the house. We welcome the first good snowfall 

 for many reasons, but not the least of them is be- 

 cause the first heavy snow brings our little black- 

 capped, acrobatic friends into the pine hedge thirty 

 feet from the kitchen door, and the process of form- 

 ing familiar acquaintance begins. Food, of course, 

 is the lure which attracts and holds them. Almost 

 overarching the kitchen door-steps and one of the 

 dining-room windows is an apple-tree. Between 

 this tree and the pine hedge is a drive. The birds 

 make their winter roost in the thick protection of 

 the pines, but they use the bare twigs of the apple- 

 tree for a daytime perch, and from this tree they 

 descend to pick up food. Outside both the kitchen 

 and dining-room windows we have built flat ledges ' 

 eight or ten inches wide, which are kept free from 



