732 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[May 7, 1910. 
Some Winter Friends. 
Delanson, N. Y., April 28 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: My house is situated near the head 
of a narrow valley between high hills. Although 
of a different geological formation, the hills are 
a spur, or rather an extension of the Helder- 
bergs. The valley, originally furrowed by glaciers 
and deepened by the Bozenkill, is too high and 
cold to tempt the half-migratory birds that some¬ 
times winter in this latitude, and yet too shel¬ 
tered for Northern birds like the snow buntings. 
Even the shore larks, our earliest migrant song¬ 
sters, keep to the surrounding hills which the 
winds have swept bare. 
The first snow of the season fell on Ihanks- 
giving day, but winter was not fully inaugurated 
until Christmas. Then came a series of storms 
that laid an embargo on all across-lot routes. 
There were no shrikes, which denoted a milder 
winter than that of 1908-9 in the far North. I 
saw no goldfinches about the house and only a 
few small flocks afield. Owing to my restricted 
walks I could not be sj.ire when the first shore 
lark arrived. Bird life was scarce. I envied Mr. 
Smithson his list of “Missouri Winter Birds,’’ 
published in Forest and Stream of Feb. 5. 
Early in the winter I learned that four ruffed 
grouse had survived the open season in a large 
tract of woodland and wild pasture that slopes 
down to the railroad near my home. One after¬ 
noon while my oldest boy was on his way home 
from the station, he picked up a grouse beside 
the track. The bird was dead, but still warm. 
It had undoubtedly struck one of the telegraph 
wires. Its crop, filled with buds just gathered 
among the birches and wild apples, had burst 
with the impact. During the previous winter I 
had found two grouse* within one hundred yards 
of this spot; one with a deep cut across its 
breast lay at the end of a long furrow in the 
loose snow beyond the railroad fence, the other 
had fallen near the track. Both birds I imagine 
were killed in the same way. The fatalities in 
this particular place are easily accounted for. 
There is a narrow strip of low swampy land 
along the railway covered with willows, alders 
and stunted ash. The birds in crossing the 
swamp fly just above this growth and are pretty 
sure to come in contact with the wires. Mr. 
Reeder witnessed a similar mishap which he re¬ 
corded in “A Gunless Partridge Hunt,’’ but Mr. 
Reeder’s bird collided with a barbed wire. 
Later in the season I found a fragment of a 
newly-killed grouse in the barn. The fate of 
this bird was more mysterious. One of the boys 
partly solved the mystery on going to look at 
a mink trap, locating the scene of the killing by 
the blood stains and feathers on the snow some 
200 yards away, but too remote from the rail¬ 
road to account for the bird’s death in the usual 
way. The crusted snow gave no further clue, 
but there was already enough circumstantial evi¬ 
dence to convict the cat. 
About the house the prevailing birds were the 
tree sparrows. It was out of the question to 
keep a spot of earth swept bare, so I scattered 
their lunch on the snow during and after every 
storm. I used to hear their fine reedy note 
mornings before it was fairly light. Early in 
February we had other callers. Glimpsed through 
the windows we thought at first they were red¬ 
polls, but they proved to be purple finches. 
There were only four of them, two males and 
two females. Their stay was short; we had 
only three or four calls from them. The tree 
sparrows were with us until March 3, the day 
the bluebirds came. 
When thd children’s Christmas tree had out¬ 
lived its usefulness we utilized it for a wind¬ 
break and white-breasted nuthatches made merry 
over the meat and nuts. The jays were envious, 
but suspicious, and never came quite up to the 
house, preferring to take whatever we offered 
them in the dooryard trees. 
A male downy woodpecker spent the winter 
almost at our door, dining with his smaller 
woodland cousins on the veranda, and sleeping 
in one of the many burrows which I had pro¬ 
vided. He was a bird of austere and medita¬ 
tive ways and yet as full of mischief as an idle 
boy. I have good evidence that he slyly scuttled 
some of the burrows where the nuthatches and 
chickadees slept. Although his handsome cassock 
*md red cap were of the approved style, he did 
not seem to care much for society. When a 
hungry female appeared on the scene he drove 
her away. We imagined that she led a very 
forlorn and wretched life, sleeping in the coal 
bin perhaps, her suit was so dingy and soiled. 
Downy was a coward at heart. His meals and 
his meditations were frequently interrupted when 
the bluebirds came and he fled before their 
wrath, but the bluebirds were solicitous only of 
one of the burrows for a summer home. 
The chickadees furnished the children amuse¬ 
ment when the roads were lost in the drifts and 
there was no school. 
“Here was this atom in full breath, 
Hurling defiance at vast death. 
This scrap of valor, just for play, 
Fronts the north wind in waistcoat gray,” 
sings Emerson. But it was not all play for. the 
chickadees as we knew by their congratulatory 
lispings when they came trooping in at breakfast 
time. Sometimes our little girl played the hostess 
and received them, always one at a time, each 
bird waiting its turn. A pretty picture they 
made, lit by the forenoon sun with the Christ¬ 
mas tree and the buried fields for a background. 
It will soon be summer again. At twilight in 
the swamp the rhythmic din of the hylas is like 
the sound of innumerable sleigh bells—to go 
back to winter for a simile. The sandpiper 
whistles of nights up and down the creek, like a 
boy to keep up his courage. At sunrise a soli¬ 
tary grouse beats the reveille. The bluebirds 
have been housekeeping in the woodpecker’s bur¬ 
row for some time. Spring came so suddenly 
that the white-throated sparrow hurried silently 
by. The swallows are here. I expect the bobo¬ 
links and orioles a week or ten days earlier than 
usual. In like manner at the beginning of the 
season of snow and sleet I look almost as 
eagerly for the visits of the winter birds. 
Will W. Christman. 
Alabama Bird Day Book. 
This handsome pamphlet prepared by Com¬ 
missioner John H. Wallace, Jr., of the Depart¬ 
ment of Fish and Game of Alabama, has just been 
sent out by Superintendent of Education Harry 
C. Gunnels to all the teachers of the State. 
May 4 is the birthday of Audubon the natu¬ 
ralist, and Alabama has chosen this date as her 
bird day. The booklet is illustrated by many 
drawings of useful birds from the pencil of 
Louis Agassiz Fuertes, our best bird painter. 
and by a number of colored plates of familiar 
and useful species. 
Mr. Wallace wisely believes that to make the 
enforcement of the game and bird laws of Ala¬ 
bama easy, it is necessary to instruct the chil¬ 
dren of the State on the economic value of the 
birds and game. In his contribution to this bird 
day book he tells us that public sentiment is 
strongly favorable to protection, that the bag 
limit on game is restraining the hands of the 
killers, that the old-fashioned barbaric slaughter 
of doves has been stopped in Alabama and that 
game birds and animals are increasing there. 
Under the hunters’ license system more than 
$15,000 is annually paid into the game and fish 
protection fund. Wardens are active, public sen¬ 
timent demands the conviction of those who 
transgress the law, and hundreds of convictions 
are had. 
From the Far North. 
News comes from the far North that near 
Fort Resolution, Great Slave Lake, the Chippe- 
wyan Indians of that region were starving in 
February. Government supplies sent up there 
for the destitute Indians had long ago been used 
up. The Indians were grumbling against the 
Dominion Government because it had issued one 
or more permits to white men to kill wood buf¬ 
falo. They spoke to this effect: “The white 
man obtained an order, and is allowed to come 
and kill the buffalo, yet we, who are starving in 
our own land, are punished if we kill buffalo.” 
In March the weather at Fort Resolution be¬ 
came much more springlike and the temperature 
rose to four degrees below zero! A spring bird 
or two appeared. Food was still scarce there. 
Immediately about the fort the suffering is not 
so great as it is off in the bush, yet a few ani¬ 
mals are being killed. 
At Fort Rae, in February, where there had 
been much suffering from lack of food earlier 
in the season, caribou at last made their appear¬ 
ance near Marten Lake, about four days’ jour¬ 
ney—120 miles—from the fort. This relieved 
the suffering, and although the caribou are far 
from plenty, their coming has prevented abso¬ 
lute starvation^ The Indians are now able to 
live. 
Better news comes from the Great Bear Lake 
district, where in March food was plentiful and 
the Indians seemed to be fairly well off. The 
same report comes from Fort Simpson, on the* 
Mackenzie River, and from Hay River, on Great 
Slave Lake. 
Glacier National Park. 
Blackfoot, Mont., April 26. —Editor Forest and 
Stream: I see your pet measure, the Glacier 
National Park bill, lacks only the President’s 
signature to become law. 
Shake. Posterity will appreciate, though it can 
never repay the time and work spent on such 
good work. J. B. M. 
Bird Day in Australia. 
The Directors of Education in South Australia 
and Victoria have set aside a “bird day” in their 
schools. The first of these bird days in Victoria 
was held in all the schools on Oct. 29, 1909. It 
created great enthusiasm among teachers, parents 
and children. 
