122 
E 0 RE ST AND STREAM 
March, 1920 
A TRAGEDY OF THE ADIRONDACKS 
AN INTIMATE STUDY OF A FAMILY OF WAX-WINGS WHICH WAS 
UNEXPECTEDLY DISCOVERED AND CARED FOR AT A SUMMER CAMP 
By MINNIE MOORE WILLSON 
I N a wilderness of wooded beauty, 
overlooking the mirror-like and placid, 
island-dotted Beaver River, one would 
scarcely expect to find tragedy. 
Certainly a combat among the little 
forest people of the feathered tribe took 
place early one July morning during the 
past summer. 
In the Wila-wa-na camp, with its big 
house and small, rustic cottages for the 
summer tourist, everything was quiet, 
save the chirping of many, many small 
birds and the patter of squirrels’ feet 
on our roof. 
Suddenly the bark of the one small 
dog of the camp was heard and, going 
to his quarry, we found a tiny birdling, 
scarcely feathered. A .search in birdology 
revealed the name of the helpless nest- 
ling, and proud indeed were we to dis- 
cover we had rescued a wee cedar wax- 
wing, its tiny fringe of yellow tail being 
the only means of indentification. 
Within an hour another bark of Fido 
was heard, and following his call we 
found another baby on the ground and 
lying beside it was the lifeless body of 
the parent bird, a beautiful wax-wing. 
A broken beak, one tiny leg fractured, 
a toe gone and a pierced back told the 
story of the battle royal that must have 
taken place as this parent bird defended 
his nestlings. What enemy had wrought 
this havoc, still remans a mystery. The 
disturbance must have begun at the nest, 
for hanging to a lower branch of the 
tree was a portion of the gras.s-made 
nest. Certainly some -feathered crea- 
ture was the aggressor. 
With two baby wax-wings, who kept 
little, red mouths open for worms and 
berries, we were kept busy for several 
hours, until a tiny aristocrat with a 
golden brown dress, a beautiful crest, 
bright eyes encircled by black bands, 
and a yellow fringed tail, came flitting 
by our cottage, keeping high in the trees 
— restless and nervous, but giving a lit- 
tle “chip, chip,” of a call, and we were 
satisfied it was the mother bird. 
Placing the two youngsters on a low 
limb, the little widowed parent soon 
came down and fed her birdlings. Not 
once did these wise little birds attempt 
to move, but clung to the small limb, 
where the mother, during the remainder 
of the day, continued to feed them — wild 
cherries being the food that predomi- 
nated. Closer and closer we drew our 
chairs to the balsam tree; the startled 
look left the eyes of the little mother, 
Courtesy of American Museum of Natural History. 
Cedar Wax-wing 
her crest stood erect and she sat calmly 
above her birdlings allowing us to both 
feed and to caress them. 
At night we took the babies into our 
cottage, it being very cool in these 
North woods, where they slept like two 
downy chickens with heads under the 
half-grown wings. These little aristo- 
crats seemed to like civilization and slept 
late into the morning. Outside the cot- 
tage sat the brave little mother, and, 
again placing our charges on the low 
limb, she immediately flew to them with 
a mouthful of wild - cherries, feeding 
alternate^ until the little gourmands 
could eat no more. 
All day long the feeding process went 
on and another night in the house. The 
next morning found them vigorous, hun- 
gry and the little fringe-tails were deep- 
ening with yellow, and they were devel- 
oping decided individuality; the tiny fe- 
male showed the curiosity of her sex, 
refused to sit on the twig and insisted 
upon being on the top of the chair; the 
male, with the vanity of his dignified 
ancestors, showed a continuous tendency 
to plume and beautify himself and was 
satisfied with the comforts that had been 
provided for him. 
P LACING our little visitors on the 
balsam tree again, we went to 
breakfast. Returning within an 
hour, we .saw, sitting far out on tb* 
limb of the same tree, a little mite of a 
bird, looking just like our twin wax- 
wings. From whence did he come? He 
could not fly and our proteges were still 
at the coddling age, where they dared 
not move without falling. Within a few 
minutes, the question was answered. 
Mother wax-wing came with her quan- 
tity of cherries for the three fatherless 
birds, and each received its share. 
The new fledgling by night was get- 
ting bold, yet not able to fly, so we cap- 
tured him and with our two dainty pets 
placed him in the house. Outside we 
found the mother sitting close to the 
cottage, her little head filled with grief 
and anxiety; a consultation resulted in 
giving back her wild bird and risking 
her protecting him as she had been doing 
since the tragedy. 
The fourth day was one of constant 
vigil to us, for these three flitting beings 
had commenced to use their wings. 
Many times they fell to the ground and 
the tiger-striped cat of the camp was 
a constant reminder that only good 
watching would save the nestlings. But 
flying time had arrived and mother wax- 
wing, in that voice known only to our 
pets, sat in a nearby tree, encouraging 
them in their flights. With satisfaction 
she looked upon their exhibitions in 
aeroplane evolution, as each little bird 
would take turns in flying from its perch 
and back again, until by nightfall she 
had persuaded them to fly higher and 
higher, when the three baby wax-wings 
sat close together on a high limb. As 
this was our night for leaving this ro- 
mantic and entrancing Adirondack re- 
gion, we felt a thrill of satisfaction that 
they were safe and that in some way 
these wax-wings had settled their own 
destiny, for the temptation to take back 
to Florida the two pets, who knew no fear 
as they sat contentedly on our fingers, 
eating red raspberries galore, was very 
great. But forty feet above us, on a 
limb, close to the trunk of a balsam tree, 
these little brown babies, with the crested 
heads and yellow fringe tails, were safe, 
and calling “au revoir,” but not “good- 
bye,” we left invitations for them to. come 
to Florida for the winter. 
The close study of the fledgling wax- 
wings and their petite and dainty mother 
in the Alpine woods of New York will 
cause us to look forward with ardent 
anticipation to the return of their rela- 
tives, the cedar wax-wings, on their 
imirney toward the North again. 
