Chickadee

WHEN history lifted a corner of the veil enshrouding man's past we found at the head of the tribes, magicians — dispensers of mystery. As humanity advanced, the sud of ignorance and superstition lightened a trifle and the path of magic separated into two roads — Science and Religion.

Wayfarers whose minds demanded facts for mental food trod the former; those still under the domination of old gods, who were satisfied with rations of superstitious miasma, traveled the latter. At first, Science Way held only a few stragglers, while on Religion Road uncounted billions swarmed and dust clouds raised by their shuffling feet obscured heaven and earth — still do.

But Science Way is no longer deserted; a thin column of cameo-minded beings is moving steadily thru a desert which is commencing to bloom. Religion Road is curving toward the straight — there are more deserters from that multitude. They are scurrying across and the distance is not as great as it was between them.

But the lure which keeps both columns moving is the same — mystery. The witchery of this world holds humanity under its spell as strongly as ever. Those who follow that old dame we call Mother Nature, hoping she will drop a key from her ring with which we can unlock one of her doors, seldom tire of the quest. Each step along a woodland path and who knows when or where a key may glint thru the grass?

We continue playing the game with rewards coming our way often enuf to hold interest at pitch and the "hoping" keeps us boys.

CHICKADEES have been intimate friends of mine for half a century and ever since I investigated the first nest, in a white birch stump, I have wondered how they collected such a quantity of fur which usually forms foundations of their homes. It did not seem possible to accumulate so much by picking bits from briars and ground.

Not until the Spring of 1926 was the mystery cleared. Some chestnut "tops" and dead trees still remained within hauling distance on the hill and the Scotch in me hated to think they would be wasted. It was too hot for vigorous ax work but the pile was slowly approaching cord size.

A Chickadee phee-beed. A patch of dead blackberry briars extended ledgeward and as I sat down a rabbit scurried thru the canes. "Blacktop" came to my answering call and the first things he spied were flecks of fur left by Cottontail. The bird gathered a billful; disappeared for a couple of minutes, returned and repeated the operation. The third trip brot the little midget right up to a rock cleft where the rabbit had "holed up." It was a blind alley for as I watched, the Chickadee went in out of sight — all but a vigorously wagging tail; then reappeared with a bundle of fur which almost obscured his head!

"And that ain't all!" He dropped his cargo outside the entrance and went back for more. "Make fur while the rabbit sets," was his sole thot and four bales were "hooked" before Bunny stamped angry hind feet, backed out and "beat it."

Instinct? My eye! Here was a cache that must be worked while the victim lay doggo (or rather, rabbo!) and Mr. Chickadee did just that. If that wasn't reason I'm the rabbit!

Old Dame Nature touched the ironic string of the harp when she fashioned the Titmouse family. In these fluffy atoms of dusk, gray and white are epitomized all the virtues man is still striving to acquire. Cheerful, valorous, healthy and loyal, they belong as Eaton says "to the limited company of immortals who are cheerful before breakfast and are still interested in life after dinner.

If you ever have had a flock come flitting toward you thru the snow in winter woods, I think you will admit all pleasant adjectives in the dictionary are theirs by right. Only facts endure, cold biologists say; but here adjectives are facts and therefore indelible.

It is rumored that the Golden Rule is inscribed over the pulpit in the Mormon Temple at Salt Lake City. Perhaps western relatives passed that sentiment to eastern Chickadees for they are all practising it. There are occasional lapses at the food tray but the scraps are harmless and brief.

To me, loyalty is their most alluring virtue. The plaintive "phee bee" is heard around our home thru every month of the year and during some winter storms they are the only birds abroad. When I come downstairs at dawn they are waiting for breakfast suet, scolding at the delay, chickadee-ee-ee-ee-ing when served.

"He knows that thru the hourglass
The frozen flakes will run
And bring the daffodils again
To dance with wind and sun.
And so upon the lilac tree
He pipes in merry minstrelsy
The optimistic Chickadee."

NEST in natural tree cavities (white birch stumps prefered), deserted Woodpecker holes or in fence posts. Constructed of leaves, moss, grass and bark strips snugly lined with hair, fur or feathers, sometimes entirely built of fur to a depth of six inches!

EGGS, 4 to 8, white quite thickly spotted with chestnut and lilac gray.