Impromptu To a Bluebird

Impromptu. — To a Blue Bird,
Singing on a cold frosty morning, — after several warm days.

Come hither, sweet bird, the cold wind hath harmed thee,

Come warm they chill'd limbs, and partake my repast;

A few sunny days from the covert have charmed thee,

As hope told thee, falsely, the winter was past.

 

Thy song of the spring a sweet foretaste has given,

Of delights ever new, ever smiling and gay,

Of young buds, and fresh flowers, and the soft blue of Heaven,

The rich verdure of earth, and the warm airs of May.

 

In thy fate, hapless bird, O! 'tis plain to discover

An emblem of life in its early spring morn,

When the young heart comes forth with hope glowing all over,

And shrinks at the touch of the cold world's chill scorn.

Myra. February 19, 1824.

March 12, 1825. Cincinnati Literary Gazette 3(11): 88.

Reed Bird, Rice Bird, or Ortolan

(From the American Turf Register and Sporting Magazine, No. 2.)

Philadelphia, Sept 7, 1829.

Mr. Editor. — These delicious visitors are now congregating in great numbers on the marshes of the Delaware and Schuylkill, and in a few days they will have arrived at that point of pinguidity, which gives them their deserved reputation among the delicacies of the table. They arrive in Pennsylvania in the month of April, and after a short sojourn in the grass field, steer their way to the north, where they breed.

On their arrival at this season they are sometimes quite fat, but on their return, which is the beginning of August, they are remarkably lean and indifferent. They remain in the stubble fields in small flocks, feeding upon the seeds of arsemart and ragweed, until the reed begins to ripen, and then it is they acquire that plumpness for which they are so remarkable. When they come on from the south, the male wears his winter plumage, which is black, with a white spot on the head, a stripe of white on the back of the neck and back; the female retains the autumnal colour. At this season, the amateur of nature's melodies, can be as much gratified with their delightful notes, as the gourmand will be with their flesh in the Autumn. Their notes are few, but the intonation is more distinct that that of any other bird; it resembles the tones produced by a musical box more than any other thing to which I can compare it. But, after all, the music produced by the knives, forks and plates at a table, honored by the presence of these little gentlemen, is incomparably superior to any other we have ever heard; nay the very sight of them, strung up in dozens on the stalls of the Jersey market, early in a September morning is delightful. To see their little yellow rumps (ready picked for inspection) protruding between their wings, like lumps of amber, is indeed a great temptation, but when we come to the eating of them, then it is that we need not much wonder at the extravagance of the poet (I forget his name,) who paid a guinea which had been given him in charity, for one of them. In short, no man can say he has tasted of the best things which a kind Providence has bestowed upon us, until he has eaten a dozen or two of these little birds nicely dressed. I am sure that if they had abounded in Greece, some of their poets would have told us that they were a standing dish at Jupiter's table. I was about to say something about cooking them, but I do not know how a cook can go very wrong, unless she would do as the Irish woman with the watermelon — boil them. However, that part of the subject I would refer to Mrs. Rubican of Mrs. Inslee, not doubting but that they would give quite a scientific account of it (as Dr. Kitchener says.) But where am I going to? I intended to give you some account of the history of the bird, but in fact have got to eating him, which I have no doubt you can do as well as myself. Well, then to my first intention. They leave Pennsylvania and New Jersey at the latter end of September and the beginning of October, if the weather becomes cold and stormy; but when it is mild, they remain for a considerable time in the latter month. They take their departure, like most other birds, towards the night of a clear day. Almost all the birds which frequent the marsh having congregated into an immense flock a little after sunset, a few at first start up in the air, and in a few moments the whole flock will follow them by degrees, in a kind of spiral column, until they have all left the place.

This bird is one of the few that afford any profit to the shooter, inasmuch as they are shot for the pot and for the pot alone. No gentleman sportsman would think of wading through mud up to his knees; and mostly, above them, sneaking and creeping for two or three hours to get a shot at a flock of them; and after they are killed, it requires an experienced eye to find them, their color so much resembles the reed in which they are found. The best shot I know of is a twenty-five cent piece, which will purchase a dozen of them from those people who make it a business to kill them for the market.

Yours respectfully, C.

N.B. These birds are remarkably fond of millet, and some of our farmers along the Delaware sow a small strip of that grain near the water, for the purpose of shooting them conveniently.

(The interesting bird above alluded to, is the rice bunting (emberiza orizovora) of Wilson, and is represented in the second volume of his splendid work, plate xii, figure one and two. It is the ortolan de ris, of Busson, rice-bird of Catesby; boblink, of the eastern and northern states, and the rice and reed-bird, of Pennsylvania and the southern states. In Jamaica, it is known by the name of Butter-bird.)

October 17, 1829. The Register of Philadelphia 4(16): 253.

Poetry - the Snow Bird

The Swallow and the Blue Bird, the Couriers of Spring

Receive at their coming, the welcome of friends;

Yet 'tis pleasant to see, too, the fluttering wing

Of the bird that arrives when the snow flake descends.

 

Though dull in his plumage, and small is his form,

And sunless the day is, and cheerless the night —

He comes like the bow — "in the van of the storm,"

To show us how beauty and horror unite.

 

When the red-breast returns in the Spring of the year

The Snow Bird has gone to his region of snow,

And builds him a nest underneath a glacier

Where icicles hang o'er a cavern below.

 

For he comes but in winter, and stays but a day,

As to breathe above zero, for him is too warm, —

So he spreads his light pinion and hastens away,

And goes as he came, in advance of the storm.

B.

March 31, 1830. Youth's Companion 3(45): 180. From the Boston Courier.

The Blue Bird and Songsters of Spring

By P. Williamson.

Welcome, sweet bird, whose cheering note shall bring

The first "glad tidings" of approaching spring;

Welcome to this thy long deserted home,

From whence rude winter forced thee far to roam.

 

Thou com'st again the lovely grove to cheer,

And in they train the warbling choir appear;

Thy absence left the vernal woods in gloom,

At thy return the hills and valleys bloom.

 

Thy cheering note, ere twilight spring shall dawn,

Break on the ear sweet as the distant horn,

Thy presence make the verdant fields look gay,

Ere yet bright Phoebus' tinge the flowers of May.

 

The robbin red-breast, skipping o'er the lawn,

Waked into raptures, hails the rising morn,

And at the evening sun's departing beam,

Repeats new homage in his closing theme.

 

* Returning spring the swallow brings apace,

And the house-martin, both of kindred race;

But where they rest, or to what clime they go,

Is more perhaps than mortals here can know.

 

** Then comes the mock-bird, noblest of the throng!

Columbia's native bird and prince of song,

Melodious bird! mimic of all that sing,

So merrily chaunting, spreads thy silvery wing;

 

And o'er the smiling landscape tireless play,

From morn till night pour thy enchanting lay;

The whining cat-bird comes with sportive glee,

Who in his song is but the clown to thee.

 

And crow's fierce voice shall echo loud and shrill,

And every night the restless whip-poor-will;

The social wren, your house its place of rest,

And in the porch or window builds its nest,

Whose merry song is heard at dawning light,

And every ear will greet it with delight.

 

The sparrow, lone, unnotic'd, ne'er shall fall,

For he who made thee is the God of all;

Thy feeble voice as soon his ear shall meet,

As seraphs bright, who worship at his feet.

 

Haste, then, all songsters of the feathered throng;

To you these animating strains belong:

Creation haste! let one grand chorus ring,

From earth to heaven, the jubilee of spring.

* The place of migration of these birds is not known even to naturalists.

** Turdus poliglalus of America, falsely called English mocking-bird.

January 3, 1846. The Subterranean 3(32): 0 [4].

Reed-bird Shooting

By H.P. Leland.

Three men and bull-dog ugly,

two guns, and a terrier lame:

They'd better set themselves up for game!

But no! I see, by the cocking

Of that red-haired Paddy's eye,

He's been 'reeding' to much for you, Sir,

Any such game to try!

 

'Whist, Jamey, me boy! kape dark there,

Who hould the big bull-dog in:

There's a bloody big cloud of rade-birds

That nade a peppering'!'

'Chip-bang!' speaks the single-barrel;

'Flip-booong!' roars the old 'Queen-Anne'

There's a Paddy stretched out in the mud-hole,

A kicked over, knocked-down man!

 

the big-bluu-dog's eyes stick out,

And the terrier's barks begin;

The Paddy digs out of the deep mud,

And then the 'discoursin'' comes in:

'Oh Jamey, ye pricious young blag-guard,

I know ye're the divil's son!

How many fingers' load, thin,

Did ye put in this damned old gun?'

 

'How many fingers? Be jabers!

I nivir put in a one!

D'ye think I'd be afther ramming

Me fingers into the gun?'

'Well give me the powdher, Jamey!'

'The powdher! as sure as I'm born,

I put it all in yer muskit,

As I had ne'er a powdher-horn!'

Philadelphia, August, 1853.

December 1853. The Knickerbocker, or New York Monthly Magazine 42(6): 613.

Sandhill Assets Being Altered for Industrial Development

The Sand Hills and its naturalistic setting have been recently recognized as top assets by visitors to Nebraska.

Two of the top five descriptions appreciated were wide-open spaces and beautiful nature and scenery, according to a survey conducted by the Nebraska Tourism Commission. The Sand Hills were one of the most frequently mentioned attributes for the state.

Cattle country of the hills and its unique refuges and other settings are obviously appreciated not only by its residents, but also by visitors that come to the state to enjoy its attractions.

This setting — an unique asset — will be damaged by pending industrial development.

The R-Project being promoted by the Nebraska Public Power District will place a huge power-transmission line across a great swath of the hills. One claim is that it will improve reliability of their service. They service is reliable now, so why is more than $300 million dollars being spent for a "so-called" improvement.

To make an analogy, most people that own a car have just one. Its kept in working condition and repaired when necessary. Personally, my only bicycle has seen so many repairs that the only original part is the decades old frame.

NPPD will destroy prairie, construct a powerline hazardous to birds and ruin scenic vistas. They will not, and cannot mitigate for the ruination of vistas by placement of hundreds of steel towers upon the land.

Once the R-Project is completed, there will be cascading impacts since one purpose of this endeavor is to allow local development of wind-turbine facilities.

One place in particular readily indicates the potential for damaging changes. Just drive north of Thedford on Highway 83. A short distance into Cherry County, slow down and look to the west to appreciate a grand vista which is a wide-open space, and a beautiful setting that truly represents what the sandhills are about. A big extent of this vista is public property, owned by the Educational Lands and Funds. It's leased school land. A few months ago, it looked the same as it has for decades.

The setting has being altered for money. There will be a meteorological tower to evaluate this land's suitability for wind turbines, based upon a decision made by agency staff, without any public discussion. They say it is being done to maximize income for schools. They have apparently not considered that when it comes to assets, some children might prefer a prairie, not an industrial wind turbine facility.

Turbine facilities also have another requirement. They have to be connected to the regional power-grid, which will require the construction of additional power lines.

There is a triple threat to the unique setting of the sandhills, and the proponents for these projects are focused on making a change that will severely ravage what many people deem to be valuable in its current condition. Consider also, the ongoing placement of cellular towers which also impact any local vista, and mar the dark skies by their incessant blinking lights at night.

NPPD will not stop its effort to build the R-Project. Cherry county residents will not stop their effort to bring industrial wind-turbine facilities into the region.

An asset is something valuable and appreciated. There are efforts underway to lessen the distinctive aspects of the Sandhills, with its unique setting and unsurpassed heritage.

Enjoy the wide open spaces now, because they are continually being altered and their value lessened if not destroyed.

When is it Time to Give-up on a Bicycle?

My main ride was not working so well, so it was taken to the local bicycle shop for repairs. It had been there earlier for an evaluation, so the extent of needed fixes was obvious and indicated as being significant.

When it was brought into the shop on March 7th, the prominent perspective from the shop staff was that the money that would be spent on repairs could buy a new bike. They did not, however, have one that could be purchased for less than $200, suggesting that a this price point might be found in some department store.

Fix this aged Giant bicycle was the reply and request. It has been ridden for decades and now is not the time to ignore it. The subsequent work done by the bicycle repair man included replacing the chain, getting rid of the old worn-out seat, replacing the front tire, improving the brakes, and adjusting the gears. When they got paid, my change was two cents.

It was quite nice to leave the shop at 40th and Hamilton Street — with the repair done in a day — and go along without unwanted noises when the essential brakes were used. The ugly seat was gone. The replaced parts were left at the shop, since maybe someone else might use them for some alternative purpose, since apparently some people utilize them for artistic endeavors, according to the guy there in the store.

A well-filled bag of aluminum cans was gathered during the walk to the store, and along the route back to the neighborhood. Its been a long winter and there were lots of discards along the way to gather.

Most importantly, the bicycle is repaired and working well. With spring soon to occur, the getting along will be much nicer. The ride on this aged bike will be well appreciated, time and again, as it has already been.