Egg-laying may begin as soon as the nest is decently framed, or again, it may be deferred for a week or ten days after the structure is practically complete. But, however that may be, the birds never rest from their labors. A Bush-Tit’s nest is like the Jamestown Fair, never finished. The nest must be ornamented with lichens, petals, spider-egg cases, bits of tissue paper,—in short, whatever takes the fancy of the birds in the course of their restless forays. The interior furnishings, likewise, must be continually augmented. If the bottom of the nest was only an inch thick at the outset, it is built up from within until it attains a thickness of two or three inches. Even tho the eggs be near to hatching, the thrifty housewife, as she returns from an airing, must needs lug in a beakful of feathers, which it would have been a shame to waste, you know. Besides this, the male bird has two or three shanties under construction in the neighborhood, upon which he can profitably put in those tedious hours between three a. m. and sunset.
Taken in Oregon. Photo by Bohlman and Finley.
BUSH-TIT.
The mother Tit lays six or eight pearly white eggs, and these the Steller Jay counts quite the daintiest item on his bill of fare. Hence, of all the Bush-Tits’ nests one sees in a season, fully half have been slit open and robbed by the blue-coated thug. One such tragedy, with its human interest, is reported for us by Miss Adelaide L. Pollock, the well-known bird-lover of Seattle, as follows:
“We found the long purse-shaped nest swinging from the lower branches of a giant red fir July 8th, and every day thereafter for two weeks some member of our class in ornithology visited the castle in the air. It was woven with a silken foundation gleaned in the cobwebs of the forest, lined with the pappus of the willow and the thistle, and chinked with moss, lichen, and faded hazel blossoms. With an eye to man-fashion, the architects had papered the home, but only in spots on the outside. What a delight it was to watch the parent birds light on the doorstep with a worm and plunge inside. By the wriggling and swaying of the nest we knew there was something doing there, but we had to guess at the gaping mouths. July 17th was a dreadful day for the nestlings. We heard the pitiful notes of birds in distress as we approached and found the nest was gone. Searching the ground it appeared with a great gaping hole in one side, which told of the work of jay, crow, or chipmunk. On investigation a tiny dead bunch of feathers was drawn out; and then something moved. The nest was tied to a hazel branch and quick as a thought the parents went in at the front and out at the new back door. Gaining courage they tried again, this time with food, and within the hour had apparently forgotten their tragedy and settled down with the one wee chick. While the parents were foraging we opened the slit and the way that baby bird turned tail-up and buried its head in the lining of the nest reminded us of the ostrich.
“July 20th we saw the youngster scramble up the sides of his home to the doorway, where he perched blinking his round brown eyes at us. He seemed to enjoy having his throat and back scratched and did not resent our presence, but his parents did, for the nest was deserted at sundown of July 22d after a long visit from the class in the afternoon. Yet the tiny fledgling could scarcely leap from twig to twig of the tangled undergrowth into which he disappeared. Two days later we fancied we recognized the same family by a peculiar white iris of one parent bird, as they flitted from branch to branch of an alder forty feet above the ground.”
Sittidæ—The Nuthatches
No. 111.
SLENDER-BILLED NUTHATCH.
A. O. U. No. 727 a. Sitta carolinensis aculeata (Cassin).
Description.—Adult male: Top of head, nape and upper boundary of back shining black, with a slight greenish reflection; remaining upperparts ashy blue; outer wing-quills fuscous, the second and three or four succeeding primaries narrowly touched with white on outer web in retreating order; inner quills and coverts with much black centering; tail feathers, except upper pair, black, the outer pairs squarely blotched with white in subterminal to terminal order; sides of head, and neck well up, and underparts white with a faint bluish tinge; distinctly marked, or washed more or less, on flanks and crissum with rusty brown; bill stout, subulate, the under mandible slightly recurved,—blackish plumbeous above, lighter at base of lower mandible; feet dark brown; iris brown. Adult female: similar to male, but black of head and back more or less veiled by color of back. Length 5.50-6.10 (139.7-154.9); wing 3.43 (87); tail 1.81 (46); bill .77 (19.5); tarsus .72 (18.2).
Recognition Marks.—Warbler to Sparrow size; tree-creeping habits; black and ashy blue above; white below.
Nesting.—Nest: a deserted Woodpecker hole, or newly-made cavity in stump or tree, usually at a considerable distance from the ground, and lined with leaves, feathers, or hair. Eggs: 5-8, sometimes 9 or even 10, white, thickly speckled and spotted with reddish brown and lavender. Av. size, .76 × .56 (19.3 × 14.2). Season: April, May; one brood.
General Range.—Pacific Coast states and British Columbia (to Ashcroft), in the northern portion of its range east of the Cascades. Non-migratory.
Range in Washington.—Resident, of regular occurrence in pine timber east of Cascades; rare and local in Puget Sound region.
Authorities.—? Townsend, Journ. Ac. Nat. Sci. Phila. VIII. 1839, 155 (Columbia River). Sitta aculeata, Cassin, Cooper and Suckley, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv. XII. pt. II. 1860, p. 193. (T.) C&S. Rh. D¹. Ra. J. B.
Specimens.—(U. of W.) Prov. C.
Who-ew’ o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o goes the Macfarlane Screech Owl in broad daylight. There is an instant hush on the pine-clad hillside—a hush followed by an excited murmur of inquiry among the scattered members of a winter bird-troop. If you happen to be the Screech Owl, seated motionless at the base of some large tree and half obscured in its shadows, perhaps the first intimation you will have that the search party is on your trail will be the click, click, click, of tiny claws on the tree-bole above your head, followed by a quank of interrogation, almost comical for its mixture of baffled anxiety and dawning suspicion of the truth. He is an inquisitive fellow, this Nuthatch, for, you see, prying is his business; but he is brave as well. The chances are that he will venture down within a foot or two of your face before he flutters off with a loud outcry of alarm. When excited, as when regarding a suspicious object, he has an odd fashion of rapidly right-and-left facing on a horizontal bough, as tho to try both eyes on you and lose no time between.