Long-Billed Marsh Wren

THERE IS a lure in small streams lacking in reaches of broad rivers. In one such favored creek, long since "improved," I spent many days of my youth watching the abundant bird life and "loafing." The stream was tide fed from Jamaica Bay as far as the old Vanderveer Mill. In the impounded waters above the millgate, I saw many species new to me.

In the half mile of sinuous waterway twixt mill and railroad bridge LONG-BILLED MARSH WRENS were everywhere numerous. One day in mid-May I poled the skiff into a patch of cattails, where a dozen Marsh Wren mechanics were chattering things over, and settled down to watch building operations. All objects were magnified in the early morning mist, even the bustling bunches of brown feathers nearby seemed twice normal size as they discussed the question of continuing building while that strange animal in the boat watched them.

In about a quarter of an hour the colony became accustomed to my presence and during the ensuing two hours I learned some extraordinary facts in the art of home erection and the mystery elucidated of how such tiny workers could bend the stout cattail stalks into globular form.

Observation was concentrated on a foundation of a few stalks already twisted into place three feet up in standing flags. The nearest dead "timber" was twenty feet away. One bird remained on the platform, fussily pretending work (female?), the other tackled the pile of rushes. The first piece was loose and transported with comparative ease to the base of the home site. The lady ceased talking long enuf to help lift the material across the foundation, then reassumed the bossing. One end was pushed down thru reed crevices until half woven, then they both threaded the other end around.

The next stud was fast at the base and only separated after hard work with voluble remarks from the boss who did not leave her perch on the foundation until the stalk was underneath.

"My, but you're slow! Can't you move that stuff any faster?"

"Come on down and lend a hand if you're not satisfied, or shut your bill!"

All pieces were too heavy to lift thru the air by wing power, and had to be dragged thru intervening obstacles. The birds' strength and perseverance were marvelous. When a bit jammed or came hard from the stem it was assisted by "cussin'" that had a nautical flavor.

The rafters commenced to go up in half an hour and the exhibition of muscle and mechanical ability was more than worth the mosquito discomfort.

After one end was securely anchored they both jumped on the other end, bent it down, then one stayed on while the other scrambled below, seized the point and pulled it thru opening after opening and clinched it underneath. Man killing work tho and each addition required more time.

The flood tide was creeping in around the reeds and I wondered how the builders would manage with water on the road. Settling that question was easy enuf. At six A. M. the gang quit but the bungalow was thinly outlined with the main timbers hooping the structure.

There was no sign of either bird when I returned at four P. M. The afternoon sou'wester was still blowing and kept off the buzzing devils, so I put the "flattie" in the same groove, lit the pipe and waited. About five o'clock they appeared and got down to business with less talk than they used in the morning session. Far less was accomplished tho and they knocked off for the day after adding seven sheathing cattails. Guess they are like us in doing their best work in the morning hours.

The house was finished, down lined and held one egg when I came back four days later and the industrious Captain had started another nearby!

These surplus nests are loosely built, being evidently put together entirely by the male bird and are seldom finished. Building these houses is one of the most astounding exhibitions of avian strength and cleverness in this part of the world, especially noteworthy because the birds' bills are used as hammer, saw, chisel and auger.