The Log of the Sun: a Chronicle of Nature's Year

Part 1

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Frontispiece by Walter King Stone

THE LOG OF THE SUN A Chronicle of Nature's Year

By WILLIAM BEEBE

Garden City Publishing Co., Inc. Garden City, New York

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COPYRIGHT, 1906,

BY HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

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TO MY Mother and Father WHOSE ENCOURAGEMENT AND SYMPATHY GAVE IMPETUS AND PURPOSE TO A BOY'S LOVE OF NATURE

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PREFACE

In the fifty-two short essays of this volume I have presented familiar objects from unusual points of view. Bird's-eye glances and insect's-eye glances, at the nature of our woods and fields, will reveal beauties which are wholly invisible from the usual human view-point, five feet or more above the ground.

Who follows the lines must expect to find moods as varying as the seasons; to face storm and night and cold, and all other delights of what wildness still remains to us upon the earth.

Emphasis has been laid upon the weak points in our knowledge of things about us, and the principal desire of the author is to inspire enthusiasm in those whose eyes are just opening to the wild beauties of God's out-of-doors, to gather up and follow to the end some of these frayed-out threads of mystery.

Portions of the text have been published at various times in the pages of "Outing," "Recreation," "The Golden Age," "The New York Evening Post," and "The New York Tribune."

C. W. B.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

PAGE JANUARY Birds of the Snow 3 Winter Marvels 10 Cedar Birds and Berries 16 The Dark Days of Insect Life 20 Chameleons in Fur and Feather 25

FEBRUARY February Feathers 31 Fish Life 37 Tenants of Winter Birds' Nests 44 Winter Holes 48

MARCH Feathered Pioneers 55 The Ways of Meadow Mice 61 Problems of Bird Life 65 Dwellers in the Dust 71

APRIL Spring Songsters 75 The Simple Art of Sapsucking 81 Wild Wings 85 The Birds in the Moon 88

MAY The High Tide of Bird Life 91 Animal Fashions 97 Polliwog Problems 102 Insect Pirates And Submarines 105 The Victory Of The Nighthawk 109

JUNE The Gala Days Of Birds 113 Turtle Traits 118 A Half-Hour In A Marsh 124 Secrets Of The Ocean 129

Part 2

JULY Birds In A City 153 Night Music Of The Swamp 160 The Coming Of Man 167 The Silent Language Of Animals 170 Insect Music 176

AUGUST The Gray Days Of Birds 181 Lives Of The Lantern Bearers 188 A Starfish And A Daisy 191 The Dream Of The Yellow-Throat 195

SEPTEMBER The Passing Of The Flocks 199 Ghosts Of The Earth 204 Muskrats 207 Nature's Geometricians 210

OCTOBER Autumn Hunting With A Field Glass 217 A Woodchuck And A Grebe 223 The Voice of Animals 227 The Names Of Animals, Frogs, and Fish 234 The Dying Year 246

NOVEMBER November's Birds of the Heavens 249 A Plea for the Skunk 255 The Lesson Of The Wave 258 We Go A-Sponging 262

DECEMBER New Thoughts About Nests 269 Lessons From An English Sparrow 275 The Personality Of Trees 281 An Owl Of The North 297

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A fiery mist and a planet, A crystal and a cell; A jelly fish and a saurian, And the caves where the cave men dwell; Then a sense of law and beauty And a face turned from the clod, Some call it evolution, And others call it God. W. H. Carruth.

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JANUARY

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BIRDS OF THE SNOW

No fact of natural history is more interesting, or more significant of the poetry of evolution, than the distribution of birds over the entire surface of the world. They have overcome countless obstacles, and adapted themselves to all conditions. The last faltering glance which the Arctic explorer sends toward his coveted goal, ere he admits defeat, shows flocks of snow buntings active with warm life; the storm-tossed mariner in the midst of the sea, is followed, encircled, by the steady, tireless flight of the albatross; the fever-stricken wanderer in tropical jungles listens to the sweet notes of birds amid the stagnant pools; while the thirsty traveller in the desert is ever watched by the distant buzzards. Finally when the intrepid climber, at the risk of life and limb, has painfully made his way to the summit of the most lofty peak, far, far above him, in the blue expanse of thin air, he can distinguish the form of a majestic eagle or condor.

At the approach of winter the flowers and insects about us die, but most of the birds take wing and fly to a more temperate climate, while their place is filled with others which have spent the summer farther to the north. Thus without stirring from our doorway we may become acquainted with many species whose summer homes are hundreds of miles away.

No time is more propitious or advisable for the amateur bird lover to begin his studies than the first of the year. Bird life is now reduced to its simplest terms in numbers and species, and the absence of concealing foliage, together with the usual tameness of winter birds, makes identification an easy matter.

In January and the succeeding month we have with us birds which are called permanent residents, which do not leave us throughout the entire year; and, in addition, the winter visitors which have come to us from the far north.

In the uplands we may flush ruffed grouse from their snug retreats in the snow; while in the weedy fields, many a fairy trail shows where bob-white has passed, and often he will announce his own name from the top of a rail fence. The grouse at this season have a curious outgrowth of horny scales along each side of the toes, which, acting as a tiny snowshoe, enables them to walk on soft snow with little danger of sinking through.

Few of our winter birds can boast of bright colours; their garbs are chiefly grays and browns, but all have some mark or habit or note by which they can be at once named. For example, if you see a mouse hitching spirally up a tree-trunk, a closer look will show that it is a brown creeper, seeking tiny insects and their eggs in the crevices of the trunk. He looks like a small piece of the roughened bark which has suddenly become animated. His long tail props him up and his tiny feet never fail to find a foothold. Our winter birds go in flocks, and where we see a brown creeper we are almost sure to find other birds.

Nuthatches are those blue-backed, white or rufous breasted little climbers who spend their lives defying the law of gravity. They need no supporting tail, and have only the usual number of eight toes, but they traverse the bark, up or down, head often pointing toward the ground, as if their feet were small vacuum cups. Their note is an odd nasal nyêh! nyêh!

In winter some one species of bird usually predominates, most often, perhaps, it is the black-capped chickadee. They seem to fill every grove, and, if you take your stand in the woods, flock after flock will pass in succession. What good luck must have come to the chickadee race during the preceding summer? Was some one of their enemies stricken with a plague, or did they show more than usual care in the selecting of their nesting holes? Whatever it was, during such a year, it seems certain that scores more of chickadee babies manage to live to grow up than is usually the case. These little fluffs are, in their way, as remarkable acrobats as are the nuthatches, and it is a marvel how the very thin legs, with their tiny sliver of bone and thread of tendon, can hold the body of the bird in almost any position, while the vainly hidden clusters of insect eggs are pried into. Without ceasing a moment in their busy search for food, the fluffy feathered members of the flock call to each other, "Chick-a-chick-a-dee-dee!" but now and then the heart of some little fellow bubbles over, and he rests an instant, sending out a sweet, tender, high call, a "Phoe-be!" love note, which warms our ears in the frosty air and makes us feel a real affection for the brave little mites.

Our song sparrow is, like the poor, always with us, at least near the coast, but we think none the less of him for that, and besides, that fact is true in only one sense. A ripple in a stream may be seen day after day, and yet the water forming it is never the same, it is continually flowing onward. This is usually the case with song sparrows and with most other birds which are present summer and winter. The individual sparrows which flit from bush to bush, or slip in and out of the brush piles in January, have doubtless come from some point north of us, while the song sparrows of our summer walks are now miles to the southward. Few birds remain the entire year in the locality in which they breed, although the southward movement may be a very limited one. When birds migrate so short a distance, they are liable to be affected in colour and size by the temperature and dampness of their respective areas; and so we find that in North America there are as many as twenty-two races of song sparrows, to each of which has been given a scientific name. When you wish to speak of our northeastern song sparrow in the latest scientific way, you must say Melospiza cinerea melodia, which tells us that it is a melodious song finch, ashy or brown in colour.

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