AMERICAN HOMES AND GARDENS April, 1907 



My Bird Family 



By Craig S. Thorns 



fEVENTEEN children are a good many for 

 a twentieth century family; yet this is the 

 number of birds that regularly come into 

 my backyard, and for whose visits I watch 

 as eagerly as ever did mother for returning 

 sons and daughters. 



In the spring the bluebirds are the first 

 to greet me; they usually come in late March to peep in at 

 last year's nest, which they built in an old flicker hole that I 

 found in a dead branch and set up in my yard for them. They 

 found their nest as they had left it in the autumn, and seemed 

 pleased. During April they are in and out every few days to 

 make friendly calls, and to see that no other birds usurp the 

 nesting place where they successfully reared last year's brood. 

 Nearly every time they come they have a passage at arms with 

 the English sparrows, just to keep them 

 well reminded of the many times they 

 were whipped last year. Although the 

 sparrows are numerous, strange to say, 

 none of them dare to build in rhe bluc- 



the sweetest notes that bird ever uttered, tell me that love 

 never changes, that it is the same in winter as in summer, and 

 as faithful in plain plumage as in gay. 



The wood-thrush calls very informally. He slips in to the 

 back fence, perches there a while, and looks at the house 

 wistfully to see if I am at home. Bless his heart! He has 

 come to invite me to the ravine grove — which is to hold his 

 nest — to hear his matin songs. And I'll go; for there are no 

 songs like his, save that of his near cousin — the hermit-thrush. 

 It is a song of the heart, and of the truest, sweetest, and most 

 innocent heart among all the feathered folk. It is an evening 

 prayer of thanksgiving — such a mingling of hope, content- 

 ment, and thankfulness as I have heard from no other voice in 

 Nature. 



One morning in May, as I look out of the window, I seem 

 to see many wood-thrushes; but upon 

 looking more closely, I observe that they 

 are a little smaller, slightly more olive- 

 colored, and not so heavily spotted upon 

 the breast. The veerys are migrating. 



The Bluejay Carries off Your Suet 

 in Winter 



Wilson's Bluebird, the First to Arrive 

 in the Spring 



The Catbird Comes from the South During 

 the Last Week in April 



bird's home, though the bluebirds are absent for days at a 

 time. The question of ownership was settled last year in 

 many encounters in which the bluebirds demonstrated their 

 powers, and now the sparrows keep at a respectful distance. 



What dear old friends the robins are ! plain, honest, soci- 

 able. How could we keep our lawns and gardens without 

 them? Their train is on time every spring, and the same ones, 

 accompanied by others, alight at the same depot. Home 

 again ! and a thousand times welcome. "Have a drink from 

 the pan at the hydrant; snatch a worm from the lawn; take a 

 bath in the wooden trough; sing from the same old tree and 

 build your nest among its shady branches; your young I'll 

 protect if I have to kill every cat in the neighborhood." 



The goldfinches peep in on me every spring just to tell me 

 that they have not been far away, but did not like to be seen 

 until the homely, work-a-day garb of winter had been dis- 

 carded for the new wedding suit of gold and black. They 

 perch upon my gate; swing upon some long spears of grass by 

 the back fence; take a sip of water from the trough; and, in 



They have dropped down out of the dark — for most birds 

 migrate at night — to rest and feed and renew old associa- 

 tions. I see them every year, whether the same ones or not, 

 I can not say. For a few days the premises are theirs; they 

 hop along the walk, perch upon the fence, rest upon the wood- 

 pile, come to the very door as though for food. Then next 

 morning, or a few mornings after, when I look for them, 

 they are gone. Farther north you will find them singing 

 love songs and building nests. 



Every spring the catbirds look in from the back fence in 

 about the same way. I see them first on the lower board. 

 Evidently they want to survey the premises without being 

 seen. When satisfied it is really the same place that they 

 left in the autumn, and that they will be as safe here this year 

 as last, they scud across my neighbor's lot to explore the 

 prospect of a nesting place in the bushes that skirt his garden. 

 Their visits become regular now, and the birds grow bolder 

 with each meal. Their favorite hopping place is the cap- 

 board of the fence at the back of the yard, where they are 



