Young Woodpeckers Foraging
Now the birds were busy gathering insects to feed their progeny. A short distance from their home was an abandoned tennis-court, grown up with grass. This seemed to be the favorite feeding-ground of the male parent. For hours we watched him coming and going, always alighting on the net-post where he kept a lookout for insects. Every few minutes he would take a rapid flight to the ground and again return to the post with food, then by an easy course to the young. To follow him with the eye in flight conveyed the idea of one continuous line of red, white, and blue. One day while we were watching the tree stump a flicker alighted on it near the hole. Like a flash came the parent bird from some place nearby, made a dart at the flicker, and soon put him to rout.
Nest and Eggs of the Thrasher
Photo by E. W. Arthur
The brown thrasher (Harporhynchus rufus) is an interesting member of the feathery tribe who dwells in the solitude of some thicket, where he is at home among the underbrush. In order to see the inhabitants of the woods, one should avoid light or conspicuous clothing, dress as nearly as may be in harmony with the surroundings, and step about as gently as possible. You may go through a clump of woods talking with a companion and rarely see much that is happening; but go alone, gently, with eyes and ears open, and Nature begins to unfold some of her secrets. In the early morn the thrashers delight in perching on a tree-top and filling the surrounding glen with delightful melodies. In nesting-time they become very seclusive, and an occasional glimpse is all that we can get of this handsome bird as he flits from limb to limb, jerking and wagging his tail. Sometimes they build their nest on the ground, but more frequently on some bush or small tree. It is characteristic of the female when incubating to let you get very close before she will leave the nest. On one occasion while walking through an open woods I became conscious of a bright eye fixed upon me. The gleam of an orange iris accentuated its size, and in a second it dawned upon me that a thrasher sitting on its nest in a brush heap was the owner of the eye. I proceeded to arrange my tripod for a picture, but before I secured it she left the nest with a graceful flight. She flew around and around, making an angry noise, and continued her scolding for some time.
On Night Turn
(Note the protective obliteration.)