Gray Lady and the Birds: Stories of the Bird Year for Home and School

by Mabel Osgood Wright

Desire unspeakably to be a bird?

—Edgar Fawcett.

“The Baltimore Oriole should be first mentioned, for his voice is that of the bugler that heralds actual spring, the long-expected, long-delayed mellow period, distinct from the almanac spring, that, when it once comes to us of the middle and north country, is quickly absorbed by the ardour of summer herself. Also is this Oriole the gloriously illuminated initial letter wrought in ruddy gold and black pigments heading the chapter that records the season; and when we see him high in a tree against a light tracery of fresh foliage, we know in very truth that not only is winter over, that the treacherous snow-squalls of April are past, but that May is working day and night to complete the task allotted.

“For as the Indian waited for the blooming of the dogwood, Cornus florida, before planting his maize, so does the prudent gardener wait for the first call of the Oriole before she trusts her cellar-wintered geraniums and lemon balms once more to the care of Mother Earth.

“This Oriole has history blended with his name; for it is said that George Calvert, the first Lord Baltimore, tired and discouraged by many of the troubles of his Newfoundland colony, in visiting the Virginia settlement in 1628, explored the waters of the Chesapeake, where he found the shores and woods alive with birds, and conspicuous among them, vast flocks of Orioles. These so pleased him that he took their colours for his own and they ever afterward bore his name—a fair exchange.

“The Baltimore Oriole comes of a party-coloured American family—Icteridæ—that to the eye of the uninitiated at least would appear to be a hybrid clan drawn from all quarters of the bird world. Yet it is typically American, even in this variety; for what other race would have the temerity to harbour the Bobolink, Orchard and Baltimore Orioles, Red-wing, Meadowlark, various Grackles, together with the vagrant Cowbird, in the branches of the same family tree?

“One of the many welcome facts concerning the Oriole is the ease with which he is identified; and I say he advisedly, for his more industrious half, who is the expert weaver of the pair, is much the more sombre of hue. In early May, or even as late as the middle of the month in backward seasons, you will hear a half-militant, half-complaining note from the high tree branches. As you go out to find its origin, it will be repeated, and then a flash of flame and black will shoot across the range of vision toward another tree, and the bird, chiding and complaining, begins a minute search along the smaller twigs for insects. This is the Oriole, Icterus galbula, as he first appears in full spring array,—his head, throat, and top of back and wings black, except a few margins and quills that are white edged. The breast and underparts, lower part of back, and lesser wing-coverts are orange flame, while his tail is partly black and partly orange.

“Two other tree-top birds that arrive at about the same time, one to remain and one to pass on, wear somewhat the same combination of red and black,—the Redstart and the Blackburnian Warbler. But, besides being much smaller birds, they both belong to the pretty tribe of Warblers that, with a few notable exceptions, such as the Chat and Water-thrushes, should be more properly called ‘lispers’ and not be confused with the clear-toned Oriole.

“Once the female Oriole arrives, usually several days after the male, his complaining call, ‘Will you? Will you really, truly?’ gradually lessens: and after a few weeks, when nest-building begins, it quite disappears, or rather, is appropriated by the songless female, who, while she weaves the nest, is encouraged by the clarion song of her mate. The plumage of the female is brown and gray blended with orange above, the head, back, and throat being mottled with black, while the underparts are a dull orange, with little of the flaming tints of the male.

“Though the Oriole exposes himself more freely to view than most of our highly coloured birds and in fact seems to regard his gift of beauty anything but seriously, he takes no chances, however, in the locating of his nest, which is not only from twenty feet above the ground upward, but is suspended from a forked branch that is at once tough yet so slender that no marauding cat would dare venture to it. This pensile nest is diligently woven of grasses, twine, vegetable fibres, horsehair, bits of worsted, or anything manageable and varies much in size and shape, as if the matter of individual taste entered somewhat into the matter. It has been fairly well proven that location enters largely into this matter, and that nests in wild regions, where birds of prey, etc., abound, are smaller at the top and have a more decided neck than those in the trees of home lawns and orchard. Of the many nests that I have found and handled or else observed closely with a glass, the majority have been quite open at the top like the one pictured, and the only one with a narrow and funnel-like opening came from a wayside elm on the edge of a dense wood.