Birds and Nature, Vol. 12 No. 1 [June 1902]

It is strange how few people understand dogs, or any other animal for that matter.

The majority seem to think that all we are good for is to be kicked and abused.

The people at both my homes are as kind to their animals as to their children, and love and care for us just as we need.

I suppose that my history is not a very important one, but it will show how a dog can love and appreciate and tell what a truly happy life I have had so far, because I have been with good-hearted people.

I am not a very old dog yet, but I hope to live many years with my kind friends in the beautiful home I now have, and wish all animals were as well off as,

    Yours truly,
    Dick.
    Katharine Watkins Lawson.

THE VIOLET-GREEN SWALLOW

(Tachycineta thalassina.)

The Violet-green Swallow is one of the most beautiful of the Hirundinidæ, or family of swallows. There are about eighty species of the family and they are world-wide in their distribution. These tireless birds seem to pass almost the entire day on the wing in pursuit of insects upon which they feed almost exclusively. They can outfly the birds of prey, and the fact that they obtain their food while flying enables them to pursue their migrations by day and to rest at night.

The Violet-green Swallow frequents the Pacific coast from British Columbia on the north, southward in the winter to Guatemala and Costa Rica. Its range extends eastward to the eastern base of the Rocky Mountains.

Its nest, which is made of dry grass and copiously lined with a mass of feathers, is variously placed. Sometimes the knot-holes of oaks and other deciduous trees are selected. They have also been known to use the deserted homes of the cliff swallow. Mr. Allen states that they “nest in abandoned woodpeckers’ holes, but at the Garden of the Gods and on the divide between Denver and Colorado City, we found them building in holes in the rocks.” This Swallow is quite common in Western Colorado, where they have been observed on the mountain sides at an altitude of eight to over ten thousand feet. In “The Birds of Colorado” Mr. W. W. Cooke says: “A few breed on the plains, but more commonly from six to ten thousand five hundred feet” above the level of the sea. He also adds that they begin laying late in June or early in July and desert the higher regions in August and the lower early in September.

The notes of this exquisite bird are described by an observer who says that they “consist of a rather faint warbling twitter, uttered as they sit on some low twig, their favorite perch; when flying about they seem to be rather silent.”

The Violet-green Swallows, like their sister species, usually nest and migrate in colonies.

Isn’t it wonderful, when you think,
How the wild bird sings his song,
Weaving melodies, link by link,
The whole sweet summer long?
Commonplace is a bird alway,
Everywhere seen and heard, —
But all the engines of earth, I say,
Working on till Judgment Day,
Never could make a bird.

    – J. S. Cutler.

A PRETTY HOUSE-FINCH

My first meeting with the blithesome house-finch of the west occurred in the city of Denver, Colo. It could not properly be called a formal introduction, but was none the less welcome on that account. I had scarcely stepped out upon the busy street before I was accosted with a kind of half twitter and half song that was new to my eastern ears. “Surely that is not the racket of the English sparrow, it is too musical,” I remarked to the friend walking by my side.

Peering among the trees and houses, caring little for the people who stopped to stare at me, I presently focused my field-glass upon a small, finch-like bird, whose body was striped with gray and brown, and whose crown, face, breast and rump were beautifully tinged or washed with crimson. What could this chipper little city chap be, with his trim form and pretty manners, in such marked contrast with those of the alien English sparrow? Afterward he was identified as the house-finch, which rejoices in the high-sounding Latin name of Carpodacus mexicanus frontalis. He is rather an exclusive little bird, his range being only from the eastern border of the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific coast, chiefly south of the fortieth degree of north latitude in the interior regions.

He is certainly an attractive little fellow, and I wish we could offer sufficient inducements to bring him east. A bird like him is a boon and an ornament to the streets and parks of any city that he graces with his presence. No selfish recluse is he – no, indeed! In no dark gulch or arid wilderness, “far from human neighborhood,” does he take up his abode. He prefers the companionship of man to the solitudes of nature. In this respect he bears likeness to the English sparrow, but be it remembered that there the resemblance stops. Even his chirruping is musical as he flies overhead or protests from a tree or a telegraph wire against your ill-bred espionage. He and his more plainly clad mate build a neat cottage for their bairns about the houses, but do not clog up the spouting and make themselves a nuisance otherwise, as is the manner of their English cousins.

This finch is a minstrel, not one of the first class perhaps, but one that merits a high place among the minor songsters. I am tempted to call him an urban Arion, for there is real melody in his swinging, galloping little aria, running up and down the chromatic scale in a remarkable way. Many times did his matin voluntaries mingle with my half-waking morning dreams, as he is an early riser. His song is quite a complicated performance, considerably prolonged, and delivered with great rapidity, as if the busy minstrel were in a hurry to have done so that he could get at something else.

In my rambles he was found, not only in the cities of the plains, including Denver, Colorado Springs and Pueblo, but also in nearly all the mountain towns visited, Leadville, over ten thousand feet skyward, being, I believe, an exception. In the villages of Red Cliff and Glenwood, both beyond the continental divide, he was the same sprightly citizen, making himself very much at home. My observation is that these finches are more plentiful on the plains than in the higher altitudes and that they seldom venture farther up into the mountains than 8,000 or 9,000 feet. To give an example, in a recent rambling trip among the Rockies a few were seen at Georgetown, which is 8,476 feet above sea level; but my notes contain no record of this species having been seen in any of the higher localities visited.

Much as this finch cherishes the society of man, he is quite wary, and does not fancy being watched. As long as you go on your way without seeming to notice him, he also goes on his way, coming into plain sight and chirping and singing; but just stop to ogle him with your glass and see how quickly he will dart away or esconce himself behind a clump of foliage, uttering a protest which seems to say, “Why doesn’t that old fellow go about his own business!”

If in some way the American house-finch could be induced to come east, and the English sparrow could be given papers of extradition, the exchange would be a relief and benefit to the whole country.

    Leander S. Keyser.

THE THRUSH’S SOLO

There’s a robin’s invitation
And a bluebird’s message sweet,
Bidding us to Forest City
With its crooked moss-grown street;

Feathered folks and folks in ermine
Own the city with its trees,
Own the brooks and own the berries,
Own the dewdrops and the breeze.

There, to-day, there was a concert
In a snowy elder bush,
Opened with a thrilling solo
By a prima-donna thrush.

When the sweet brown-breasted singer
Hushed the wonder of her song,
From her listeners rose an encore
Echoing the hills along;

Tambourines the brooks were shaking,
Clapped the palms on every oak
And from old and trained musicians
Warbled rounds of music broke.

Winds that held their breath to listen
Swept adown the vine-clad rooms,
Crowned the little prima-donna
With soft-shaken elder blooms.

    – Mrs. A. S. Hardy.

SPRINGS, GEYSERS AND ARTESIAN WELLS

If the earth were transparent as the atmosphere we should see many things of wonderful interest and beauty beneath its surface. If we could see the mineral gems that lie beneath the earth’s surface they would rival in beauty the jeweled firmament above us. We should also see rivers and rivulets of crystal clearness and lakes of broad expanse. I can almost hear my young readers saying, “I wish we could look beneath the surface of the earth and see the wonderful and beautiful things it contains, just as we look up to the stars, or out of the window upon a landscape.” But let me remind them that nature has been very generous in furnishing rare and wonderful things for them to study and admire to which they can have easy access almost every day. The longest life is too short to study and admire more than a few of the things we may see upon the surface of the earth. Nature has opened a few doors so that we may walk in, study and admire the work she is carrying on in the darkness where the light of the sun never penetrates. Nature makes a free use of sunlight to perfect her most beautiful work upon the surface of the earth, but her most delicate and beautiful work beneath the surface of the earth is wrought by other agencies. Caves have been entered and explored by natural openings, and springs and rivers gush out at the surface of the earth, telling us plainly that they are fed by subterranean fountains and lakes.

Following the order of our topic, let us see what we can find out about underground streams and lakes, and why we know they exist when we seldom see them. We know that large rivers after flowing miles upon the surface of the earth suddenly drop into subterranean channels and reappear after running miles underground. Springs which are always flowing must be constantly fed from some source beneath the surface of the earth. In boring wells the augers, after going down to various depths, suddenly drop several feet, showing that they have reached a cavity in the earth or a fountain of water; if the water gushes up it is evident a fountain has been struck.

Where does the water come from to fill the underground lakes and reservoirs and keep the rivers constantly flowing? Geologists tell us that all the land surface of the earth was for vast ages under water; that the great oceans that now roll between the continents once covered them entirely, but after long ages mighty internal forces of the earth raised them above the ocean’s level. For a long time after the hills and mountains were raised above the surface of the ocean, where the valleys and prairies now are there were lakes and inland seas. The water in these lakes and seas did not all evaporate or find its way to the ocean by the rivers that flowed from them. Deep down into the earth much of it found its way, along the fissures and porous strata, until it reached some impervious stratum, as clay or granite. But as this first underground supply would in time become exhausted, by flowing into the ocean through the rivers they fed, nature has made further provision for keeping up the supply. Everywhere upon the surface of the earth where there is water or moisture evaporation is going on. The sun raises enormous quantities of water in the form of vapor, which forms clouds and descends in rain. A part of this water is soon restored to the sea by the rivers, but by far the largest portion penetrates the earth’s surface, as water would penetrate cloth or a sponge when poured upon it. Rain penetrating the earth goes down until it comes to some substance that it cannot penetrate. Then, in trying to find its level, it will distribute itself just as it does upon the surface of the earth. It will find its way into cavities, large and small, or following some underground channel or stratum, it may burst forth a clear and sparkling spring, or it may flow on a rivulet, or river, and perhaps enter into a great subterranean lake. The underground fountain or lake that keeps an artesian well spouting from year to year may be fed by a stream or lake in the heart of some distant mountain. Some artesian wells cease to flow after a while, showing that the fountain that supplies them is at least partially exhausted. We do not know to what depth water penetrates the earth. Artesian wells have been bored in recent years to the depth of four thousand feet. The temperature of springs and artesian wells is regulated by the temperature of the strata through which the water percolates. The geysers of Iceland send up enormous jets of hot water in the midst of Arctic cold.