At the end of the brief song period, Juncoes deploy thruout the half-open woods or prairie borders of the entire State, from sea-level to timber-line. The variety and interest of their nesting habits are scarcely exceeded by those of any other bird. In general they appear to be guided by some thought of seclusion or protection in their choice of nesting sites. Steep hillsides or little banks are, therefore, favorite places, for here the bird may excavate a cool grotto in the earth, and allow the drapery of the hillside, mosses and running vines, to festoon and guard the approaches. At Newport we found them nesting in the road-cuts. At Snoqualmie the side of a haystack sheltered a confiding pair. At Tacoma the birds nest at the base of tiny clumps of oak, or under the shelter of brush-piles. Several nests have been found in old tin cans flung down upon the prairie and only half obscured by growing grasses. Again the birds trust to the density of vegetation, and shelter in the grass of unmowed orchards, weed-lots, and meadows. One site was found in which the bird occupied a carefully chosen fern arbor in the midst of a collection of whitened bones, evidently the mortal remains of a defunct draft horse. The situation was delightfully gruesome, and, touched no doubt with vanity, the owner sat for her portrait at four feet, á la Bernhardt.
Taken in Whatcom County. Photo by the Author.
NEST AND EGGS OF SHUFELDT JUNCO.
Juncoes keep very quiet during the nesting season until disturbed, and they are very close sitters. When nearly stepped on the bird bursts off, and, if there are young, crawls and tumbles along the ground within a few feet of the intruder, displaying wings and tail in a most appealing manner. The tssiks of both birds are incessantly repeated, and the whole woodside is set agog with apprehension.
If one posts himself in a suspected locality not too near the nest, it is only a question of time till the solicitude of the nursing mother will triumph over fear. One such I traced to a charming mossy bank, overlooking a woodland pool; but on the first occasion it took the parent bird exactly half an hour to go thru all the feints and preliminaries before she ventured on the final plunge. There were half-grown babies in this nest, and since we were in summer camp (at Glacier, near the foot of Mt. Baker), I resolved to make friends of this promising family with a view to portraiture.
As I sat next day watching my Juncoes, and waiting for the sun to get around and light up the vicinity of the nest, the call to dinner sounded. The mother bird, not without much misgiving and remonstrance, had just visited her babies, so I rose to go; but as I did so, caught sight of a stout garter snake, who lay watching the scene from a distance of fully twenty feet, a wicked gleam of intelligence in his eye. With quick suspicion of his purpose, I seized stones and hurled at his retreating form; but the ground was rough and he managed to escape into a large brush-pile. At table I ate hurriedly, listening the while for the faintest note of trouble. When it came, a quick outcry from both parents, instead of premonitory notes of discovery, I sprang to my feet, clutched a stick, and rushed down to the spring. Alas for us! Satan had found our Eden! The nest was emptied and the snake lay coiled over it in the act of swallowing one of the little birds. Not daring to strike, I seized him by the throat and released the baby Junco, whose rump only had disappeared into the devouring jaws. Then with the stick I made snake’s-head jelly on a rock and flung the loathsome reptile away. But it was all too late. One young bird lay drowned upon the bottom of the pool, and the other (I think there were only two) soon died of fright and the laceration of the hinder parts attendant upon ophidian deglutition. It was all so horrible! the malignant plan, the stealthy approach, the sudden alarm, the wanton destruction of the fledglings, the grief of the agonized parents, the remorse of the helper who came too late! Is it any wonder that our forbears have pictured the arch-enemy as a serpent?
No. 49.
WESTERN TREE SPARROW.
A. O. U. No. 559 a. Spizella monticola ochracea Brewster.
Description.—Adults: Pileum, a streak behind eye and a small patch on side of chest cinnamon-rufous or light chestnut; a superciliary stripe and remaining portions of head and neck clear ashy gray; throat and chest of same shade superficially but duller by virtue of concealed dusky; an ill defined spot of dusky in center of lower chest; remaining underparts dull white washed on sides with brownish; general color of upperparts light buffy grayish brown, much outcropping black on back, scapulars and tertials; some rusty edging on back feathers, scapulars and greater wing-coverts; middle and greater wing-coverts tipped with white, forming two conspicuous bands; flight feathers and rectrices grayish dusky margined with whitish and buffy. Bill blackish above, yellow, tipped with dusky, below; legs brown, feet darker; iris brown. In winter the cinnamon-rufous of crown is slightly veiled, especially along median area, by ashy skirtings of feathers, and the buffy of upperparts inclines to strengthen. Length about 6.00 (152.4); wing 3.00 (76); tail 2.68 (68); bill .39 (10); tarsus .82 (20.8).
Recognition Marks.—Sparrow size; resembles Western Chipping Sparrow but much larger; white wing-bars with chestnut of crown distinctive.
Nesting.—Does not breed in Washington. “Nest, in low bushes or on the ground, loosely constructed of bark strips, weeds and grasses, warmly lined with feathers. Eggs, 4-6, or even 7, pale green, minutely and regularly sprinkled with reddish brown spots” (Coues). Av. size, .75 × .60 (19.1 × 15.2).
General Range.—Breeding from the valley of Anderson River, near the Arctic coast westward thru Alaska to coast of Bering Sea, and for an undetermined distance southward; in winter south thru western North America to Arizona, Texas, etc., eastward across Rocky Mts. to Great Plains (Ridgway).
Range in Washington.—Not common winter resident and migrant. Has not recently been reported west of the Cascades.
Authorities.—Brewster, Bull. Nutt. Orn. Club, VII. 1882, pp. 227, 228. (T). (C&S). Sr. D².
Specimens.—(U. of W.). P¹. Prov.
“The sight of the first Tree Sparrow in the fall serves perfectly to call up a vision of impending winter. Here are the hurrying blasts, the leaden skies, the piling snow-drifts, all ready to make the beholder shiver. But here, too, in some unburied weed patch, or thicket of rose-briars, is a company of Tree Sparrows, stout-hearted and cold-defying, setting up a merry tinkling chorus, as eloquent of good cheer as a crackling Yule-log. How many times has the bird-man hastened out after some cruel cold snap, thinking, ’Surely this will settle for my birds,’ only to have his fears rebuked by a troop of these hardy Norsemen revelling in some back pasture as if they had found their Valhalla on this side the icy gates. Ho! brothers! here is food in these capsules of mustard and cockle; here is wine distilled from the rose-hips; here is shelter in the weedy mazes, or under the soft blanket of the snow. What ho! Lift the light song! Pass round the cup again! Let mighty cheer prevail!” (Birds of Ohio).
Truth to tell, the Western Tree Sparrows are somewhat rare winter visitors, in eastern Washington only. In habits they do not appear to differ materially from the typical form, which is very abundant in winter thruout the northern tier of eastern states. In the nature of the case, while with us, their food, consisting as it does of grass- and weed-seeds and dried berries, is found near the ground; and so, for the season, the name Tree Sparrow seems inconsistent. When persistently annoyed, however, the flock will rise to the tree-tops in straggling fashion, and there either await the withdrawal of the intruder, or else make off at a good height.