Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1913-10-29
DEPARTURE OF BIRDS.
Fan Migration Swifter and More ST.
lent Than That OF spring.

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In September, the season Of chill nights
and heavy dews, the great, almost silent
soutnward migration OF the birds Is under
way. 1t is the gold and purple time OF
the yeas--the gold OF the leaves, the corn
and the aster hosts, as well IS patches
and streakings in the naples foliage.
weed-seeds are ripening, apples are fall
ing, the oppression Of dog-days is past.
and the birds are on the wing.
During the August moult, the woods
and thicl<ets have been silent, apparently
deserted. Even the red-eyed vireo in the
naples has ceased his tireless twittering,
and in the evening the whip-poor- has
given only two or three repetitiops OF his
elastic cry.
But go out these brisk September morn
ings and observe the change. There IL a
"reminiscences Of spring in the glad voices
OF robins, fiickers and Grant blue
birds. Swallows and swifts course about
in the sky, and the downy drums in the
orchard. Chippies in endless numbers are
feeding by the roadside, aud scatter like
leaves in wind before the approaching
team. Where, in August, sil seemed lie
less, now abound the activity of newly
feathered wings and the calls Of gay
foragers.
The juncos have returned to the
meadow border or to the back yard, where
they will linger until snow fies, and
later still, IL seeds hold out, and there is a
dense copse to retreat to in storm. know
of no pleasanter winter friends to bsye
about. Before my barn is shut for the
winter, gay companies of them pick over
the chaff on the floor, or fash back and
forth on the rafters with twinkling music.
The pine groves at this time are filled
with fally, transparent GOODNESS, with an
occasional leaf sitting down before the
wind The trees are hronzed lightly with
dead needles which hall in sprays beneath
the touch OF furtive warbIers. Jays scream
noisily as they troop through the nut
trees, while crows answer back from high
in-air expeditions. September Is the
month of jays and crows.
The migration is on in full swing, but
switter, more furtive, more silent than in
spring. There are occasional bursts OF
song, but no continuous music; and the
bright plnraage OF spring has in NEST
cases been exchanged for a somber
autumnal gerb. The gay warbler legions
that filled the May woods with singing
and color are now hurryiag, almost ual-
seen, through the groves, nttering only
faint calls to one another, and in scarce
distinguish nle raiment. Identifying them
at this season is a task reserved for the ex-
perienced only, and even then with some
uncertainty.
The lisp OF the chieksdee is to be heard
everyw here now; and he plays an import
ant role in respect to the bands Of small
birds. He seems to have become a kind
of pilot, nlsrshslling his careless warblers
and kinglets through the wood, inspect
ing intruders with his swapping black eye,
always fearless, always resoureetnl.
After the warblers have departed from
the North the chickadee (wno is himself
northerner) still assumes this part with
the small winter birds. Indeed, one of
the prominent characters Of the winter
forest is what might be called Islands OF !
winter friends, consisting of several
chickadees, with kinglets, brown creepers,
nuthatehes and a dowuy woodpeeker or
two, in tow.
You are standing in silent woodland.
when suddenly You catch the note of a
chickadee or the high drawl of the
Canadian nuthatch, then another, now
sounding nearer, sAd before you know ii,
one of these bands goes darting, fitting,
swinging, ever exploring and peering for
food, through the trees over your head.
As if by magic the cold woods are made
gay with happy activity and fine, merry
notes. One OF the ehiekadees flashes up
to You, looks in the face as il to question
your intent, s'dee- dees" some observa-
ton, and in another moment the troop
has passed on, and quiet remains, as before
II you wish to remark the sutumnsi
migration in IT'S swiftest progress, go out
OF doors clear September night, take
your stand in quiet spot, and you will
hear the voices OF the multitudes passing
overhead. You must not expect some
thing loud and spectacular; but (far more
impressively) you will catch the hurried
calls of the small flyers, keeping account
of one another in their swift night
course. A faint tsip now here, now yon-
der, or now a longer, slightly louder note,
dropping from the apparently empty sky,
will give you a clue to what is going on.
You may have heard these fine, frequent |
sounds of September evening without |
knowing whence they came or what they |
we're. But imagine to yourself stream |
OF warblers, wrens, vireos and other small |
birds, flowing, as it were, along invisible |
pathways of the sky throughout the night |
Ia stream miles upon miles in length, |
taking its course, 1t may be, from rivers,
coast lines or mountain chains-a course |
that is as inevitable as the tides. And il
is stream into which plunge young |
birds OF the year as readily as the old and |
accustomed - trail, short winged sprites /
that dare not leave their thicket of a sum
mer, ss well as big strong-winged fiers- |
oft oh