Summerfield / or, Life on a Farm

by Day Kellogg Lee

The birds too were very troublesome. Woodpeckers pecked the trees, and robins plucked the first ripe cherries. Hawks pounced upon the chickens, and crows and blackbirds pulled the corn. What were they all made for, and poised upon wings, with an omnipresence to annoy our race? Robins were good to eat, and they were more harmless, than others; but why were blackbirds let loose on earth? and for what did crows and hawks take flight in our air? Why were the brutal beasts and troublesome fowls, saved out of the things that were drowned in Noah's flood?

Fabens confessed he could not see for what good purpose wolves and foxes were made; farther than the vagabond sort of happiness they might enjoy, and the discipline they gave to man in griefs and vexations. The predatory birds he thought were made equally in vain. He was tired all out with their felon ravages. He judged at last that wolves and foxes, and the blackbirds, and birds of prey, ought to be exterminated. Nothing now could so benefit the town, as a war of extermination, He could not raise a perfect crop of corn; he could not enjoy his ox-heart cherries; he could not raise a full brood of chickens, nor keep what were raised; he could not trust his geese from his door, nor turn his sheep and lambs into his fresh woods pasture, without suffering depredations; and something must be done to destroy the evil beasts and birds.

"We told you the first winter you was here, Fabens, that you would have to come to that," said Colwell. "It is high time a town meeting was called, and a general plan hit on to kill off the critters. I have my plan about it, and I have told it to a good many who fall in with me."

"What is your plan? The woods are alive with foxes, and there are a great many wolves yet away back in the swamps and hills, while the air is black with crows and blackbirds. How can we lessen their numbers much?"

"Club together and buy at the apothecaries a hundred dollars worth of pison; fix it in scraps of meat, and scatter it through and through the woods; and if it don't make the animals scarce, I'll quit a guessin'. Then git up a hunt for the birds—a univarsal hunt, and have judges and give premiums to them that count the most game; continue the hunt a week or fortnight for two or three years runnin', and the birds won't pester us much after that."

"The plan is a good one, and I'll do my part to carry it into execution. I am all out of patience with the creatures. If we do not kill more of them, they will get to be worse than Egypt's plagues."

A town meeting was called, and Colwell's plan was adopted. A large sum was contributed to procure poison; and bird hunts were arranged. The poison was scattered abroad, and hundreds of foxes and wolves lay dead all over the woods and swamps; while the money was returned with interest to the people, by the sale of furs gathered from their bodies. The bird hunts came off with equal success, and there followed a marked cessation of annoyance.

Only now and then a robin molested a fruit tree; and the tap of the woodpecker was seldom heard. Hawks and crows that were left, looked so wistful and lonely they were not begrudged the little they ventured at times to take. Blackbirds troubled the corn but little, and were more reserved of their mannerless clack. The fowls could repose at night without fear of foxes; and lambs might wander in the wide woods pasture, and lie down unharmed by wolves.

It could not be denied however that the fields and Woods were less cheerful, if they were more safe. Some could not sense the change, except in an increase of harvests, cattle and fowls; others again, more spiritual in feeling, hearing and sight, discerned a gloom in the air, and a gloom on every scene, that seemed ominous of woe. Fanny Fabens took all that gloom to her heart, and she seemed another being. Her nature was glad and joyous, as a grove full of robins; but now she grew sad, and wept and moaned, where once she laughed and sang. She could hardly account for all her grief; she seemed to inhale it from the air, imbibe it from the light, and taste it in the breath of the woods, and the odor of the flowers.

But the death of the birds she knew was the beginning of her sorrows. She wept the loss of her favorite robin, from the ash tree in the middle meadow; and it was no longer a bliss, but a grief, to lie in that lovely shade, and sing her jocund songs, and scent the clover blooms. She missed the little sparrow that had come three years in succession, and reared three broods in a season, from a nest in the honeysuckle that curtained her window. She missed the robins from the cherry-trees, and the cherries palled on her tongue. She missed the bluebirds from the cornfield, and the yellow-birds from the flax; she missed the meadow-larks from the lawns, and the quails from the oats and wheat; she missed the bobolinks from the hayfields, and the jays from the girdling; she missed the ground-birds from the pastures, and thrushes and sweet swamp-robins from the woods; and the poor girl wandered about for months very sad and lonely, singing no songs and sharing no delights.