I suppose my taste must be "savage or wild," for I do appreciate wild apples. I don't know the wild apple that Thoreau describes, but those that grow lavishly in the woods of Cape Ann are not to be despised. I think I am safe in claiming that one-half of the wild trees bear sweet fruit. Many of the other half bear cooking-apples as good, or better, than can be found in most cultivated orchards. I know of several trees that bear fruit resembling the Baldwin in color and taste, and not much inferior in size. In a secluded spot, where a ledge on one side and a dense mass of catbrier on all other sides hides it from prying eyes, stands a wild apple-tree. Its fruit has no peer in woods or orchard. It is large, with a thin skin greenish-yellow in color. To the taste it is slightly acid, with a rich spicy flavor. Only three wood-folk know the secret of this wild apple-tree. A grouse, a rabbit, and a hermit. The grouse nests just over the ledge, the rabbit has a burrow underneath the mass of catbrier, and the hermit nests in the open air, and lives close to Nature, too.
Sometimes farmers with orchards offer to load me with windfalls, and are incredulous when I tell them that I have an abundant supply of apples, as good as those on their best trees. I am the proud owner of an orchard as well as the farmer, and my orchard gives greater enjoyment. The farmer visits his orchard to see how the fruit is setting. It is a humdrum affair. He walks down this row and up that, so the inspection is soon over. It takes me several days to inspect my orchard, while each night I return loaded with wild flowers and experience. There are no stiff rows to follow. My orchard is laid out without regard to quadrangles or triangles. It is Nature's plan, engineered on a grand scale, to supply the wants of the greatest number of her wild children, the mice, rabbits, grouse, robins, quail, squirrels, and woodchucks.
Where cattle are pastured in the woods, the evolution of an apple-tree, as described by Thoreau, is going on now as it did in his day. During the eighteen years of my hermit life some of the trees have emancipated themselves, and now toss their branches above their old enemies. The cattle, however, coolly appropriate the fruit of the trees they had so persistently tried to browse to death.
X.
MR. AND MRS. CHEWINK
It was a May morning, clear and warm, the time was half-past five. It was my breakfast-hour and a pert chickadee had just whistled "Tea's ready," to the other birds, when I heard in the bushes near by a bird voice call out "Chewink," in answer to the chickadee. My breakfast-table was a dry-goods box and this morning it was under a pine-tree. A newspaper served for a table-cloth. Breakfast under the pines was a grand affair, and I was sorry when a year later I had dropped the custom for a breakfast in the city. When I sat down to breakfast my woodland orchestra was in full swing. The musicians numbered one song sparrow, one robin, one chewink, or towhee-bunting, one catbird, three veeries, two wood-thrushes, and a chestnut-sided warbler. While I was sipping my coffee, and reading in Thoreau's "Maine Woods" how to make tea from wild stuff, I again heard the bird voice call out "Chewink." I looked up and saw a female chewink on the end of the plank seat, not ten feet away. She had hopped into sight and had introduced herself by announcing her name.
In some way, this little wild bird had discovered that I supplied free food to the wild things, and she had called on me to establish friendly relations. I threw a bit of cookie to her and it rolled to the ground. She hopped down, found the food, and ate it on the spot, then looked up for more. I gave her another piece which she carried to the bushes.
My dinner hour was three o'clock P. M., two meals instead of the usual three. Miss Chewink was on hand and she was not alone. She had brought along two young gentlemen, who cared more about showing their fine clothes than they did about eating. They strutted around with their tails spread out like fans, and I was soon convinced that they were rivals. The little lady ignored them completely, while she dined with me as freely as if she was not a self-invited guest.
I suppose it would be the proper thing to describe my guests. The chewink, or towhee-bunting is nearly two-thirds the size of a robin. The male has a coal-black head, black wings and tail. Below he is white with orange sides. His eyes are red like the dove's. The tail when spread is bordered with white. The female is a warm brown where the male is black, otherwise the sexes are alike.