The age-herald., 1901-09-27
w and SOCIETY
Birmingham's Canary Farm.

There is a little cottage on the Elyton car line that is so overgrown with vines. so concealed by the dense foliage of the trees that not one in ten persons would give 1t so much as a glance. Hundreds of people pass it daily and now and then the car stops almost in front of it to let off the one person in the world for whom the little cottage door flies open with the welcome of home. If the car stopped long enough the passengers would hear a serenade from hundreds of golden-throated warblers But the car stops there only occasionally and then only long enough for the owner of the cottage to get on or off. And then the rumble of the cars is apt to drown out the serenade, and the warblers inside are always glad when the rumbling dies away. IL is an accompaniment they are willing to dispense with.
 If any one, through curiosity asks who lives there he will be told that it is Starmont canary farm, but there are not many people who ever heard of it. There is so much written of every industry around Birmingham that unless one sees something about all the industries in the papers one cannot keep up with them.
 Who, for instance, knows that there Is a canary farm just out of Birmingham and that this bird industry mas been hourishing for nearly a dozen years. This farm is owned by James Starmont a Scotchman, who came to Birmingham many years ago and established a bird industry at Elyton. In a little three room cottage among the tangles of foliage he lives alone with his birds. These sellow- breasted beauties occupy the entire house. There are hundreds of them and to see them futtering from bough to bough and singing their little souls out in an ecstacy of music is a sight worth going far to enjoy. If you want to see the canary farm at it's best, the time to go is when the birds are taking their morning plunge. There are several miniature bath tubs. They are sparkling pools that reflect the golden glory of the birds. Dozens of them, fluttering from the tree branches look like Christmas trees placed in tne in- terior of the cottage, take a cool plunge in the water. Did you ever notice how grateful a bird is for his bath and how thoroughly he enjoys 1t? Hundreds of yellow-coated warblers fitting from their vigorous splash perch on the boughs above them and sing their hearts out. Then another great fiutter, a flash of gold, a plunge in the water.
 The windows h1ilt Uifh cages, and through them the canaries get their sun bath. They fit through the open windows and flutter their wings against the wires without. These cages built on the outside of the window can hold dozens of birds. If the people who passed by were appreciative they would hear a continuous burst of melody.
 MT. Starmont says there is no money in the bird industry. With his Scotch ac- cent he admitted there was nothing in it but misery and starvation. The birds eat up the profits, and the owner of the farm would go without food if the birds were hungry. It Is almost impossible to keep them in Sicily seed. Then they must have a diet of fresh eggs. And there are hundreds of birds to be fed daily Then the mother bird and her young ones re- ceive special care. Altogether the canary | farm Is great care and expense with | little or no profit. MT. Stormont sells his | best songsters at $3.50. He ships his birds | to foreign markets, and he also finds a ready market for them in Birmingham. The greatest remuneration he receives is | in the pleasure he derives from caring for | these golden beauties. He Is a lover of | birds, and the profit he receives in selling | them is too little to repay him for the time he devotes to raising them. One must necessarily be a great bird lover to live alone with them year after year. It is not every one who could stand to hear l the continuous warbling of hundreds of | golden-throated canaries. But MT. Stor- mont would not be contented away from his birds. Their twittering. their futter- | ing here and there, the thrills the con- | tinuous performance, is the only music he loves. The birds look at him from | their black, beady eyes very knowingly, as if he was their one friend. Then again they beat their little wings against the cruel cages. When that seems to do no good, they lift up their voices and there is million thrills scales, comic opera, and grand opera. There Is lesson to be learned in bird philosophy.
 The strangest thing about the canary farm is that the pet of the place is not a yellow breasted beauty. as you might suppose. It is a gorgeous green parrot that sits in a big cage and looks down with contempt on the world. He is the most vocferous parrot in the world. His owner puts him in his pocket when he goes to church. and Polly can repeat the sermon when he returns home. With Polly preaching from his lofty perch and the canary choir saying a high mass, there is an outward evidence of unusual piety at the canary farm.
 
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