Surrounded by a waste of chaparral, it was a little oasis6 of great blooming live-oaks, and in their shade I used often to spend the hot afternoon hours. In the spring the water that flowed down the hills at the head of the valley formed a fresh mountain stream that ran down the Oden[160] canyon and so on through the centre of this grove7, feeding the oaks and spreading out to enrich the valley below. In summer, like the rest of the canyon streams, only its dry sandy bed remained. Then, when the meadows were oppressively hot, my leafy garden was a shady bower8 to linger in. Its long drooping9 branches hung to the ground, dainty yellow warblers flitted about the golden tassels10 of the blossoming trees, and the air was full of the happy songs of mated birds.
A SHADY BOWER A SHADY BOWER
The trail from the ranch-house to the oaks was a line through the low grass in which grew yellow fly flowers and orange poppies; and over them every spring, day after day, processions of migrating butterflies drifted slowly up the canyon. At the entrance of the garden was a sentinel oak whose dark green foliage11 contrasted well with the yellow flowers in the grass outside. It was the chosen hunting-ground of many birds. Its dead upper branches offered the bee-birds and woodpeckers an unobstructed view of passing insects, and gave the jays and flickers12 a chance to overlook the brush, and take their bearings. The lower limbs offered perches13 where doves might come to rest, finches to chatter15, and chewinks to sing; while its hanging boughs16 and elm-like feathered sides attracted wandering warblers and songful wrens17.
The happy days spent among these beautiful[161] California oaks are now far in the past, but as I sit in my study in the East and dream back over those hours my mind is filled with memory pictures. Sauntering through this oaken gallery, each tree recalls some pleasant hour—the sight of a new bird, the sound of a new song, the prolonged delight of some cozy18 home that I watched till accepted as a friend, when the little family's fears and joys were my own.
That big double oak, spreading across the middle of the garden, was the haunted tree whose blue ghost drove away the pewees and gnatcatchers after they had begun to build; though the vireos and bush-tits braved it out, and the tiny hummer and gentle dove were not afraid to perch14 there. This was hummingbird19 lane—that small oak held the nest in which the two wee nestlings sat up like Jacks-in-the-box; these blue sage20 bushes growing in the sand were the ones the honey bees and hummers used to haunt, the hummers probing each lavender lip as they circled round the whorls; in front of this bush I saw a fairy dancer perform his airy minuet,—swing back and forth21, and then sweep up in the air to dive whirring down with gorget puffed22 out and tail spread wide; and here, when watching a procession of ants, I discovered a tiny hummingbird building in a drooping branch that overhung the trail. That dead limb was the perch of a wood pewee, a silent grave bird[162] with a sad call, who flew on when he was still only a lonely stranger. That oak top was made memorable23 by the sight of a flaming oriole, though he came on a cold foggy morning and answered my calls with a broken song and a half-hearted scold as he sat with his feathers ruffled24 up about him. Under the low spreading branches of that tree the chewinks used to scratch—I can hear the brown leaves rustle25 now—the branches were so low that, if the shy birds flew up to rest from their labors26, they could quickly drop down and disappear in the brush.
On ahead, where the garden narrows to the trail between the walls of brush, when I was hidden behind a screen of branches, the timid white-crowned sparrows used to venture out, hopping27 along quietly or stopping to sing and pick up seeds on the path. Back a few steps was the tree where the bush-tits came to build their second nest after the roof of the first one fell in; the nest which hung on such a low limb that I watched it from the sand beneath, looking up through the branches at the blue sky, the canyon walls covered with sun-whitened bowlders, and the turkey buzzards circling over the mountains.
Green-tailed Chewink. (One half natural size.) Green-tailed Chewink.
(One half natural size.)
Just there, in that small open place between the trees,—how well I remember the afternoon,—I saw a new bird come out of the bushes; the green-tailed chewink he proved to be, on his[163] way back to the Rocky Mountains. He was a beautiful stranger with a soft glossy28 coat touched off with yellowish green, while his high-bred gentle manners have made me remember him with affectionate interest all these years. Across the garden I heard my first song from that unique rhapsodist, the yellow-breasted chat. The same place marks another interesting experience. While I was sitting in the crotch of an oak a thrasher came out of the brush into an open space in front of me. Her feathers were disordered and apparently29 she had come from her nest. She walked with wings tight at her sides and her tail up at an angle well out of the way of the rustling30 leaves; altogether a neat alert figure that contrasted sharply with the lazy brown chippie which appeared just then in characteristic negligée, its wings hanging and tail dragging on the ground. The thrashers of Twin Oaks have bills that are curved like a sickle31, and this bird used her tool most skillfully. Instead of scratching up the leaves and earth with her feet as chewinks and sparrows do, the thrasher used her bill almost exclusively. First she cleared a space by scraping the leaves away, moving her bill through them rapidly from side[164] to side. Then she made two holes in the ground, probing deep with her long bill. After taking what she could get from the second hole, she went back to the first again, as if to see if anything had come to the surface there. Then she lay down on the sand to sun herself and acted as though going to take a sun bath, when suddenly she discovered me and fled.
When watching the bird at work I got a pretty picture in the round disk of my opera-glass. The glass was focused on the digging thrasher, but a goldfinch came into the picture and pulled at some stems for its nest and a cottontail ran rapidly across from rim32 to rim. I lifted the glass to follow him and saw him go trotting33 down the path between the bushes.
The thrasher's curved bill gives a most ludicrous look to the bird when singing. He looks as if he were trying to turn himself inside out. I once saw an adult thrasher tease its mate for food, and wondered how it would be possible for one curved bill to feed another curved bill; but a few days later I came on a family of young, and discovered for myself that they have straight bills; a most curious and interesting instance of adaptation.
At the head of the garden stands a tree that always reminds me of the horses I rode in California. I watched my first bush-tit's nest under it, with Canello grazing near; and five years later[165] watched another bush-tit's nest there, sitting in the crotch of the oak with Mountain Billy looking over my shoulder. Although Billy was, in his prime, a bucking34 mustang, he became more of a petted companion than Canello had been; and when we were out alone together, we were a great deal of company for each other. As soon as I dismounted he would put his head down to have me slip the reins35 off over his ears, so that he could graze by himself. Sometimes, when he stood behind me he rested his bridle36 on my sun-hat, and once went so far as to take a bite out of the brim—in consideration of its being straw. If I were sitting on the ground and he was grazing near, he would at times walk up and gravely raise his face to look into mine. When he got tired, he would rub up against my arm and yawn, looking down at me with a friendly smile in his eyes.
Birding was rather dull for Billy—when there was neither grass nor poison ivy37 at hand, but he had one never-failing source of enjoyment—rolling. He tried it in the sand under the oak, one day, with the saddle on. Before I knew what he was about he was down on his knees, sitting still, with a comical, helpless look in his eyes, as if quite at a loss to know what to do next, having become conscious of the saddle. When I had gotten him on his feet and finished lecturing him I uncinched the saddle, laid it one side on the ground, took hold of the end of the long bridle,[166] and told him to roll. A droll38 abstracted look came into his eyes, he dropped on his knees and, with a sudden convulsion, threw his heels into the air and rolled back and forth, rubbing his backbone39 vigorously on the sand. After that, the first thing every morning when we got to the oaks, I unsaddled him and let him roll, and then he would stand with bare back keeping cool in the shade of the trees.
One morning as we stood under the bush-tit's tree, I discovered a pair of turtle doves looking out at me from the leaves of the small oak opposite, craning their necks and moving their heads uneasily. One of them seemed to be shaping a nest of twigs41. I drew Billy around between us, so that my staring would seem less pointed42, and when one of the pair flew to the ground to spy at me, hurriedly looked the other way to remove his anxiety. His mate soon joined him, and the two doves walked away together, fixed43 their feathers in the sun, stretched their wings, and lazily picked at the ground. When one whirred back to the nest, the other soon followed. The gentle lovers put their bills together, while, unnoticed, I stood behind Billy, looking on and thinking that it was little wonder such birds should rise from the ground with a musical whirr.
Billy's oak was the last of the high trees in the garden. Above it was a grassy44 space where bright wild flowers bloomed, and pretty cottontail[167] rabbits often went ambling45 over the soft turf. On one side of the opening was a low stocky oak, full of balls of mistletoe, and on the other a great blossoming bush buzzing with hummingbirds46. The mistletoe had begun to sap the little oak, and on one of its dead twigs a hummingbird had taken to perching. I wondered if he were the idle mate of one of my small garden builders, but he sat and sunned himself as if his conscience were quite clear.
My first experience with gnatcatchers had been here. I suspected a nest, and the ranchman's daughter went with me to hunt through the brush. She cautioned me to look out for rattlesnakes, but the brush was so dense47 and the ground so covered with crooked48 snake-like sticks that it was not an easy matter to tell what you were stepping on. Then, the poison oak was so thick that I felt like holding up my hands to avoid it. We pushed our way through the dense chaparral, and my fearless companion got down on her hands and knees to look through the tangle49 for the nest. It was hard disagreeable work, even if one did not object to snakes, and we were soon so tired that we were ready to sit down and let the birds show us to their house. We might have saved ourselves all the trouble if we had done this to begin with, for it was only a few moments before the little pair went to the mistletoe oak, out in plain sight and within easy reach—how they[168] would have laughed in their sleeves had they known what we were hunting for back in the brush! The nest was about the size of a chilicothe pod, and so covered with lichen50 that it looked just like a knot on the tree.
Around the blossoming bush the air fairly vibrated with hummers, darting51 up into the sky, shooting down and chasing each other pell mell—sometimes almost into my face. As I sat by the bush one day, a handsome male went around with upraised throat, poking52 his bill up the red fuchsia-like tubes. Another one was flying around inside the bush, and I edged nearer to see. The sun shone in, whitening the twigs, and as the bird whirred about with a soft burring sound, I caught gleams of red, gold, and green from his gorget, and could see the tiny bird rest his wee feet on a twig40 to reach up to a blossom. Then he hummed what sounded more like a love song than anything I had ever heard from a hummingbird. He seemed so much more like a real bird than any of his brothers that I felt attracted to him.
One morning a little German girl, in a red pinafore, and with hair flying, came riding down the sand stream toward my bush. Her colt reared and pranced53, but she sat as firmly as if she had been a small centaur54. It was a holiday, and she was staking out her horses to graze, making gala-day work of it. She had one horse down by the little oak already, and springing off the one she[169] had brought, changed about, jumped as lightly as a bird upon the other's back and raced home. Soon she came galloping55 back again, and so she went and came until tired out, for pure fun on her free holiday.
In looking over the bright memory pictures of my beautiful oak garden, there is one to which I always return. The spreading trunks of a great five-stemmed tree on one side of the grove made a dark oaken couch, screened by the leafy willow-like branches that hung to the ground. Here—after looking to see that there were no rattlesnakes coiled in the dead leaves—I spent many a dreamy hour, reclining idly as I listened to the free songs of the birds that could not see me behind my curtain. It was interesting to note the way certain sounds predominated; certain songs would absorb one's attention, and then pass and be replaced by others. At one time a jay's scream would jar on the ear and drown all other voices; when that had passed, the chewinks would fly up from the leaves and sing and answer each other till the air was quivering with their trills. Then came the thrashers, with their loud rollicking songs; and when they had pitched down into the brush, out rang the clear bell-like tones of the wren-tit, filling the air with sound. Afterwards the impatient whipped-out notes of the chaparral vireo were followed by the soft cooing of doves; and then, as the wind stirred the trees and sent[170] the loosened oak blossoms drifting to the ground, from high out of an oak top came a most exquisite56 song. At the first note of this grosbeak all other songs were forgotten—they were noise and chatter—this was pure music. It was like passing from the cries of the street into the hall of a symphony concert. The black-headed grosbeak has not the spirituality of the hermit57 thrush, and his ordinary song is not so remarkable58, but his love song excels that of any bird I have ever heard in finish, rich melody, and music. As I listened, my surroundings harmonized so perfectly59 with the wonderful song echoing through the great trees that the old oak garden seemed an enchanted60 bower. The drooping branches were a leafy lattice through which the afternoon sun filtered, steeping the oaks in thick still sunshine. Last year's leaves drifted slowly to the ground, while the bees droned about the yellow tassels of the blooming trees. As a violinist, lingering to perfect a note, draws his bow again and again over the strings61, so this rapt musician dwelt tenderly on his highest notes, trolling them over till each was more exquisite and tender than the last, and the ear was charmed with his love song—a song of ideal love fit to be dreamed of in this stately green oak garden filled with golden sunlight.
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1
irrigated
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| [医]冲洗的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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9
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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10
tassels
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| n.穗( tassel的名词复数 )；流苏状物；（植物的）穗；玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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11
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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flickers
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| 电影制片业； （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的名词复数 ) | |
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13
perches
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| 栖息处( perch的名词复数 )； 栖枝； 高处； 鲈鱼 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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16
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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wrens
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| n.鹪鹩( wren的名词复数 ) | |
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18
cozy
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| adj.亲如手足的，密切的，暖和舒服的 | |
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hummingbird
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| n.蜂鸟 | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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23
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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sickle
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| n.镰刀 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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bucking
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| v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的现在分词 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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41
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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42
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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45
ambling
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的现在分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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hummingbirds
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| n.蜂鸟( hummingbird的名词复数 ) | |
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47
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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48
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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49
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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50
lichen
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| n.地衣, 青苔 | |
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51
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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52
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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53
pranced
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
centaur
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| n.人首马身的怪物 | |
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55
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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56
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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57
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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58
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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60
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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61
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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