Our Bird ComradesKeyser, Leander S. (Leander Sylvester)
History
Our Bird Comrades
Keyser, Leander S. (Leander Sylvester)
Birds
At the beginning of my studies in the Sunflower state the song sparrows
proposed an enigma for my solution, whether wittingly or unwittingly, I
know not. In Ohio they were the most lavish singers in the outdoor
chorus, chanting their sweet lays every month in the year, summer or
winter; indeed, their most vigorous recitals were often given in
February and March, when there was dearth of other bird music.
But what about the song sparrows of Kansas? The first winter and
spring passed, and yet my numerous rambles in their haunts did not
bring to my waiting ear one first-class song sparrow concert. A few
feeble, half-hearted wisps of melody on days that were especially mild
were the only vocal performances they vouchsafed. To put it bluntly
and truthfully, I never, during my residence of five and a half years
in Kansas, heard a first-rate song sparrow trill. Nor is that all. In
the Buckeye state these birds were disposed to be sociable, often
selecting their dwellings near our suburban homes, visiting our
dooryards, singing their blithe roundels on the ridge of the barn roof
or a post of the garden fence. Not only so, but their songs were often
heard in some of the principal streets of towns where trees were
abundant.
[Illustration: Song Sparrow]
Quite otherwise was the conduct of their western cousins, which seldom
came to town or even near a human residence in the country, but kept
themselves ensconced in the matted copses in the banks of the Missouri
River or in the deep hollows running back from the broad valley. In
these sequestered haunts they were quite wary, usually scuttling out of
sight at my approach. True, in Ohio many individuals also chose
out-of-the-way places for habitats, but even then they were not timid,
for often they would mount to the top of a bush or a sapling in plain
sight and trill sweetly by the hour, with never a quaver of fear. At
rare intervals a Kansas sparrow would visit the thicket on the vacant
lot near my house, but, my! how shy he was! And as for singing, he
would only squeak a little score.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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