Pern hee AU De BOON =beU eG ExT IN 13 
Our Bluebird Trail 
By Mrs. Harry A. SHAW 
ONE SUNDAY AFTERNOON six years ago, my husband and I stepped from 
our car into a farm yard near the little town of Elizabeth, in the north- 
western section of Illinois. A cold March wind was blowing, snow flurries 
were in the air, old man winter still lingered. Hark! We heard the sweet 
unmistakable warble of a bluebird; we saw a brilliant male inspecting a 
pipe protruding from the ground. Yes, he was hunting a nesting site even 
in mid-March. We looked around us; most fence posts were made of steel, 
there were no orchards (favorite home sites for bluebirds), there were few 
available natural nesting places. My husband and I decided, then and there, 
to start a bluebird trail. 
The following week we launched our project by nailing six boxes to the 
few wooden fence posts we could find. These homes were constructed of 
pine boards painted gray, and of course made especially for bluebirds, but 
the lids were hinged so we could view the home life of the inhabitants. That 
season every box was occupied by bluebirds and most of them sheltered 
two broods. 
In November we collected the houses, cleaned and sprayed them with 
pyrethrum, and stored them for the winter. This is our procedure every 
year. Early March found us on the trail erecting the homes again, and that 
year we put up twelve. Again we had such a successful season that in 1955 
we erected nineteen boxes. On our visit to the homes the first Sunday in 
April we found several lovely completed bluebird nests, and many more 
partially constructed. We anticipated a bountiful season. 
Disaster struck in early May. On our weekly inspection of the trail we 
found blue wing's on the ground beneath a box. We dreaded to peer inside, 
for we knew what to expect. Yes indeed, there had been a terrific struggle; 
some predator had captured the female while she protected her babes or 
eggs. We continued along the trail, and we counted eight dead females. 
We were heartsick, and even more so when we heard the plaintive cries 
of the males who still hovered near their homes. We had attracted the 
bluebirds, we must protect them! Were there any females left in that 
neighborhood? Perhaps the males could find a few spinsters. We immediate- 
ly bolted the boxes to % inch seven-foot galvanized pipes, and wired these 
to steel fence posts. As added protection a band of steel] prongs was wrapped 
around each pipe. No predator, not even a snake, could reach the homes 
now, we felt. Erecting the boxes at this height forced us to carry an 
aluminum step-ladder and a large mirror on our visits to each home in 
order to inspect the housekeeping procedures. These visits required about 
two and one-half miles of hiking — across a gully, up and down hills, over 
and under fences, through oat and hay fields, and between rows of tall 
corn. The homes were placed in the open bordering the fields, but with a 
few trees nearby. We were very careful not to place nests too close to each 
other — when at one box we could not see the next one clearly. Fortunate- 
ly, we had four pairs of bluebirds nest in the boxes that summer. 
