Part 35

“Perhaps those were females,” said Sarah Barnes.

“Yes, the paler ones are the females and lack the red throat and sometimes the red head-feathers, also,” said Gray Lady, “for this bird is called the Sapsucker, Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, because it has, as Bobby has told us, the bad habit of not only boring into trees for insects, but sucking the sap as well, and when a number of them are found together, of course, they are likely to do harm. Still, to my mind, the very worst that they do is to give a bad name to the family of the most industrious insect-eating birds that we have.

“Even though this Sapsucker takes enough sap to have earned his title, he keeps up the family record as an insect eater, for he has a form of the pointed tongue with hooked bristles on the end, like all Woodpeckers, and this weapon acts both as a spear and trap to catch insects. Then, too, the Sapsucker is not a permanent resident, like many of his family, but nests early in the most northerly states and travels about during a great part of the year. As he can only suck sap during the growing season, and eats insects the year around, besides many wild berries—such as those of poison ivy, dogwood, etc.—that are of no use to us, I think he should be forgiven his sip of fresh spring sap, except where, as in the case of Bobby’s grandfather, he is caught in the act of hurting valuable trees.

THE SAPSUCKER

A bacchant for sweets is the Sapsucker free! “The spring is here, and I’m thirsty!” quoth he: “There’s good drink, and plenty stored up in this cave; ’Tis ready to broach!” quoth the Sapsucker brave.

A bacchant for sweets! “’Tis nectar I seek!” And he raps on the tree with his sharp-whetted beak; And he drinks, in the wild March wind and the sun, The coveted drops, as they start and run.

He girdles the maple round and round— ’Tis heart-blood he drinks at each sweet wound; And his bacchanal song is the tap-tap-tap, That brings from the bark the clear-flowing sap.

—Edith M. Thomas, in Bird-Lore.

“How many kinds of Woodpeckers are there around here?” asked Eliza Clausen. “I didn’t know there was but one, the great big one, thick like a Pigeon, all speckled black and brown on top, with a red spot on his head and a big white spot over his tail. We had two down at our farm this summer, and they lived in a hole in the old wild cherry, and they laid real nice white eggs, just as white as our Leghorns.”

“How’d you know they had white eggs?” asked Clary. “You can’t see into a Woodpecker’s hole.”

“No; I could reach in, though. I didn’t keep the egg, and only looked at it, and one of the old birds bit me something fierce. They’re real plucky birds, anyway, whatever they are called, for nobody seems to give them the same name. Mother says they are Pigeon Woodpeckers, and Dad calls them Yallerhammers, and both names fit pretty well.”

“There are half a dozen Woodpeckers to be found here, but the one that Eliza has described and the little black-and-white streaked Downy Woodpecker are the most familiar as well as the most useful of them all. As to Eliza’s Pigeon Woodpecker or Yellowhammer, the poor bird is weighed down by over thirty popular names,—Northern Flicker, Golden-winged Woodpecker, Wake-up, Gaffer, and Partridge Woodpecker being among them, though the Wise Men who settle these things for us have decided to call him merely ‘the Flicker.’

“In spite of the fact that, owing to his size and plumpness, the Flicker has been until recently allowed to be shot as a game-bird, he is our commonest Woodpecker, and spring would not be the same in this woodland region if we did not hear the roll of the drum, as he beats on a branch, that announces the coming of the feathered procession of migrants.

“Then, too, it is such a jolly bird, it calls out ‘wick, wick, wick,’ as soon as the ponds are free of ice, and this call he changes to ‘wicker-wicker’ as soon as the courting begins; at this time the birds show to the best advantage. The rival birds are perfectly friendly, but ‘they play curious antics, each trying to outdo the other in the display of his golden beauty, that he may thus attract and hold the attention of the female. There is no fighting, but, in its place, an exhibition of all the airs and graces that rival dandies can muster. Their extravagant, comical gestures, rapidly changing attitudes, and exuberant cries, all seem laughable to the onlooker, but evidently give pleasure to the birds.’—Forbush.

“The Flicker spends more time on the ground, itself, than the others of its family; and it has a slightly curved beak, but its tongue is very long, and the fine points on the end are set backward like the barbs of a fish-hook. Its most valuable work is as an ant-eater, and as one of the Wise Men says: ‘This bird is more of an ant-eater than a Woodpecker. It may be seen in fields and open spaces, in woods and orchards, where it strikes its long bill into ant-hills, and then thrusts out its still longer tongue coated with sticky saliva and licks up the out-rushing ants by the dozen. Many kinds of ants are decidedly harmful, as they attend, protect, and help to spread plant-root, or bark-lice, which are among the greatest enemies of garden plants, also shrubs and trees. These lice the ants keep as cows to nourish their young with green, sappy milk. Ants also infest houses and destroy timber.’

“Some people complain that the Flicker bores holes in the attics of houses, and also under eaves when searching for nesting-places, and also for winter shelter. This is true, doubtless, but as the Nuthatch told me that my cornice was decayed and needed mending, so the working of a Flicker about any building should be a warning to the owner to look and see if repairs are not needed.

“Our neighbour, Mr. Burwood, the florist, on the next hill, who, in spite of the fact that he must keep his eyes indoors on the splendid carnations and roses he grows, still has a glance or two to spare for the birds, told me, not long ago, this story of a Flicker. It was in early spring, and he was thinking of turning the water into a great covered tank, mounted on high trestles, that supplies water for the houses, that had been empty all winter; in fact, he had given the men orders so to do. Early in the morning he heard a vigorous tapping high up in the air, and tried in vain to locate it. The next morning, the same sound came, when he traced it to a Flicker, hammering away at one of the stout oaken staves of which the tank was made.

“Thinking that the bird was trying an impossible task, he continued about his work, but, after the hammering had continued for several days, his suspicions were aroused, the tank was examined, and two holes were found, drilled entirely through the stave, which, in spite of appearances, was unsound and would, probably, have given out without warning at some inconvenient season when repairs would have cut off the water supply.

“Always deal kindly with the Flicker, and never make the mistake of confusing it with the Sapsucker; look for the white spot on the rump and the yellow wing-linings, and you will know it, and, though the young of the year lack these marks at first, they have no yellow upon their breasts that can excuse you for making a mistake.

MR. FLICKER WRITES A LETTER

People:

Tell me where you scare up Names for me like “Flicker,” “Yarup,” “High-hole,” “Yucker,” “Yellowhammer”— None of these are in my grammar— “Piquebois jaune” (Woodpick yellow), So the Creoles name a fellow. Others call me “Golden-wings,” “Clape,” and twenty other things That I never half remember, Any summer till September.

Many names and frequent mention Show that I receive attention, And the honour that is due me; But if you would interview me Call me any name you please, I’m “at home” among the trees. Yet I never cease my labours To receive my nearest neighbours, And ’twill be your best enjoyment Just to view me at employment.

I’m the friend of every sower, Useful to the orchard grower, Helping many a plant and tree From its enemies to free— They are always food for me. And I like dessert in reason, Just a bit of fruit in season, But my delicacy is ants, Stump or hill inhabitants; Thrusting in my sticky tongue, So I take them, old and young.

Surely, we have found the best Place wherein to make our nest Tunnel bored within a tree, Smooth and clean as it can be, Smallest at the door, Curving wider toward the floor, Every year we make a new one, Freshly bore another true one; Other birds, you understand, Use our old ones, second-hand— Occupying free of rent, They are very well content.

To my wife I quite defer, I am most polite to her, Bowing while I say, “kee-cher.” Eggs we number five to nine, Pearly white with finish fine. On our nest we sit by turns, So each one a living earns; Though I think I sit the better, When she wishes to, I let ’er! Flicker.

—Garrett Newkirk, in Bird-Lore.

“Then, last and least in size, but chief in importance among the tree-trunk birds, come the little Downy Woodpeckers, only as big as the Tree-sparrow or Winter Chippy, as it is called, plump, all neatly patterned in black and white, a scarlet band on the back of the neck, while Mrs. Downy and the children lack even this bit of colour. You cannot mistake this Woodpecker for any other, for his big brother the Hairy Woodpecker, who has somewhat similar markings, is almost as big as a Robin, besides being a more timid bird of the woods that does not come about houses like the confiding and cheerful Downy. The Hairy Woodpecker has a more harsh and screaming call-note than the clear, sharp cry of the Downy. In watching birds, you should remember to keep the ears open and trained to hearing as well as the eye to seeing, as a bird that keeps too far away for the sight may oftentimes be recognized by its note.