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Birds and Nature, Vol. XI, No 5, May 1902

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<h2 id="c15">APPLE BLOSSOMS AND THE WARBLERS.</h2> It was a cold, rainy day toward the last of May. The apple trees were a mass of pink and white, but the fast gathering petals on the green carpet told the story; not for long would be wafted in through each window a whiff of such perfume as only Dame Nature, May and Company can distill. Unfortunately, I was in no mood to appreciate the beauties of a spring rain, for it was a very evident fact that the bad weather would prevent our anticipated bird walk. This fact I was bewailing, looking forlornly from the window out into the dripping world, when lo, I found that, contrary to expectations, the mountain does on occasion appear unto Mahomet! On the lawn north of our house are nearly a dozen apple trees, two of which have branches overhanging the roof. I noticed that the foliage was in livelier motion than is usually caused by an easy shower, and on closer examination discovered that the trees were fairly alive with flitting forms, birds—warblers in all their glory. This was long before noon, and it was but the beginning of a state bordering on ecstasy for me which ended only when darkness fell, as it gave me the opportunity for making the acquaintance of a family, straggling members of which, only, I had met since my interest in feathered friends awakened. To my delight I immediately brought within range of my glass the little fellow which I had seen the year before in the same tree, and had described in my note-book as “wearing a sun burst of black on a yellow vest.” On this occasion he was much in evidence, and the details of his handsome coat could be plainly detected. He is mostly black, and you may distinguish him by the broad white patch on his wings and the yellow breast which is decorated by a black pendant necklace. He is the magnolia warbler. The chestnut-sided was well represented in the flock, and was an old friend. With us here in New Hampshire, he stays through the summer, but it is only 221 at this season that we are apt to meet him. One recognizes him by his clear greenish-yellow crown and by the clearly defined chestnut streak on either side of his white vest. Of course the Lord of the Manor is the Blackburnian warbler. To my great delight, he brought his wonderful flaming breast within four feet of me as I sat in one of the upper windows, watching him explore the branches. Mark him well. His upper parts are black, while his crown, throat and breast are flaming orange. He, too, wears a white vest, marked at the sides with black. So beautiful is he that words fail to describe him, while to see him flitting about among the apple blossoms was indeed “a picture no artist could paint.” The next on my list was a discovery, and one over which I was jubilant. He was an elusive little fellow, and led me out into the rain and kept me standing there with the drops trickling down my face as I searched the branches for him. He was the daintiest sprite imaginable, whose blue-gray coat was like satin and whose white breast shading from a yellow throat could not make him conspicuous. It was only when I discovered that his back was a beautiful shade of bronzy-greenish-yellow that I knew he was the parula warbler, the blue yellow back. Then I went to the authorities to learn more about my stranger. Then I read that he wears another distinguishing mark, a brown streak across the throat. Back to the garden I went. Eureka! he satisfied all conditions, and was named! During this shower of warblers the parula was the most numerous species, excepting, perhaps, the chestnut sided. A redstart came in for its share of admiration, and his beauty deserved it, but his evident appreciation of his own charms as he dashed here and there, opening and closing his fan-like tail, rather detracted from his character as he was viewed alongside his beautiful companions, who, to say the least, are modestly unaware of their charms. Later, another discovery was made, and one that puzzled us for some time. At the first glimpse of him we said, “Chickadee, of course,” for we saw his black cap and his general black and white aspect. Then as he flew to a tree near the window, and we marked every point possible, we found that his back was closely striped with black and white, that his breast and belly were white, and that his wings were tinged with olive and had two white bars. We could not name him, and to my amazement Miss Wilcox did not have such a one in her “Common Land Birds of New England.” so not until I went to “Birdcraft” did I learn that my visitor was the black poll warbler. He was always intent upon his own affairs, seemed rather superior to the common herd, and was the last one of the visitation to leave me. The Maryland yellow throat was here, too, away from his native alders, but seemingly not one bit confused to find himself an orchard bird. Perhaps he was only “going a piece” with his relatives and connections as they journeyed north. He is a beauty, and you may hear him in any alder swamp calling “witchy-titchy, witchy-titchy.” I searched and searched for the black and white creeper whom we often see, but evidently he did not like a mixed crowd, for I did not discover him until several days later, when the main flock had passed on. The rest, however, were on every side, and so tame and confiding were they that a raised sash, or an ecstatic shout to a watcher at another window did not appear to disturb them in the least. They were voiceless, though, intent upon nothing but dinner, except the redstart, who seemed to take settlement life as somewhat of a joke and, as he careered about, occasionally called to “sweet, sweeter, sweet.” So the day passed, a continual surprise party, and the next day came, and still the flock lingered. But when the rain ceased, and the sun reappeared, they lifted their wings and hastened to pastures new, leaving only a straggler here and there. Will a spring rain this year find them passing over my apple trees? So may it be. Grace E. Harlow. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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