Bird studies with a camera

by Frank M. Chapman

At the end of several minutes the male, with food in his bill, advanced cautiously, and clinging to the rim of the nest opening, hung there a moment and departed minus the food. This was surprising. Could there be young in the nest? or was the bird, in imitation of the Hornbill, feeding his imprisoned mate? I rapped again, and this time, perhaps taken unawares, the female answered my question by appearing.

On June 3d a family arrived in the Chickadee villa, and both birds were found actively engaged in administering to its wants.

As a return for the inconvenience to which they had been subjected, a perch was erected by way of a step at their door. The female was appreciative and at once availed herself of this means of entering her home.^[28] The male, however, as before, was more wary. He had braved the camera to bring food to his mate, but his offspring had apparently not so strong a claim upon him. He would fly off in search of food and shortly return with a caterpillar, then perch quietly for several minutes a few yards from the nest, when, repelled by the camera and attracted by the food in his bill, he yielded to temptation, devoured the caterpillar, vigorously wiped his bill, at once started to forage for more food, and returned with it only to repeat his previous performance.

Occasionally he uttered a low whistle, addressed presumably to the female, and at times a chickadee-dee-dee, which I interpreted as a protest to me, and both notes were also uttered by the female.

The latter took so kindly to the doorstep that it was determined to give her a door, and to this end a leaf was pinned over the entrance to her home in such a manner that it swung to and fro, like the latch to a keyhole. This clearly did not meet with her approval, and at first she seemed puzzled to account for the apparent disappearance of the nest opening. But in less than a minute she solved the mystery, pushed the leaf to one side, and disappeared within.

Returning to the nest on June 12th, nothing was to be seen of either parent, and I feared that they or their offspring had fallen victims to the countless dangers which beset nesting birds and their young. Looking about for some clew to their fate, I found on the ground, near the nest stub, the worn tail-feathers of the female bird. The molting season had not yet arrived, nor would she have shed all these feathers at the same moment. There could therefore be only one interpretation of their presence. Some foe—probably a Sharp-shinned or Cooper’s Hawk, since the predaceous mammals for the most part hunt at night, when the Chickadee would be snugly sleeping in her nest—had made a dash and grasped her by the tail, which she had sacrificed in escaping. A moment later the theory was supported by the appearance of a subdued-looking Chickadee, sans tail, and I congratulated her on her fortunate exchange of life for a member which of late had not been very decorative, and of which, in any event, Nature would have soon deprived her.

The young proved to be nearly ready to fly, and, carefully removing the front of their log cabin, a sight was disclosed such as mortal probably never beheld before and Chickadee but rarely.

Six black-and-white heads were raised and six yellow-lined mouths opened in expressive appeal for food. But this was not all; there was another layer of Chickadees below—how many it was impossible to say without disentangling a wad of birds so compact that the outlines of no one bird could be distinguished. A piazza, as it were, was built at the Chickadees’ threshold in the shape of a perch of proper size, and beneath, as a life net, was spread a piece of mosquito bar. Then I proceeded to individualize the ball of feathers; one, two, three, to seven were counted without undue surprise, but when an eighth and ninth were added, I marveled at the energy which had supplied so many mouths with food, and at the same time wondered how many caterpillars had been devoured by this one family of birds.

Not less remarkable than the number of young—and no book that I have consulted records so large a brood—was their condition. Not only did they all appear lusty, but they seemed to be about equally developed, the slight difference in strength and size which existed being easily attributable to a difference in age, some interval doubtless having elapsed between the hatching of the first and last egg.