Great Nebraska

Frank H. Shoemaker

Childs’ Point

May 26, 1901

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In the woodland at Childs Point today I noticed a hole in a small dead tree, evidently
the work of a downy woodpecker in some other season. The hole was about four feet
from the ground. It chances often that a gentle tapping, or scratching or stroking
the bark, will disclose whether such as hole is occupied; a bird or a mouse will stick
out its head to see who is visiting.

So I tapped warily; not a crude summons, but a polite tattoo with one finger-nail.
And it got results.

From within, there came the most peculiar sound; a tapping, much stronger than my
own, and with it a hissing sound.

I was completely at a loss to understand what it would be. Surely not a downy woodpecker, for the cavity was old and there were no fresh chips. It might be a chickadee; but no chickadee of my acquaintance had ever acted in that way.

These conjectures were passing through my mind while

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I was digging out of my kit a means of solving the problem; two tiny strips of mirror,
one inch wide and two inches long. To explore a dark hole – like this one – hold one
mirror in the opening, face down, at a 45-degree angle; with the other mirror, held
close, reflect the light of the sky, or better the sun, into the sloped glass.

So I assembled my machinery. The sun was shining at a convenient angle, and the illumination
of the cavity was excellent.

I was looking down upon the back of a chickadee, the cavity being about six inches
deep. But what of those funny noises I had heard? Perhaps the lady would show off
again! So, holding the angled glass in position, I used the other hand to hap as I
had before; and again the mysterious sounds came forth. Hastily reflecting the light
into the sloping mirror, I could see the whole show.

The chickadee was peeking rhythmically, about twice

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to the second, at the wood in front of it, and producing, of course vocally, the hissing
sound which I had heard…. I wish that I might find a better word than “hissing,”
which does not adequately describe the sound, there being a bit more “voice” in it;
and it was well outside the range of anything which I had every heard a chickadee
say. Obviously it was a defensive device of the bird to discourage intrusion; and
I should say that, in general, it might prove very effective.

I stayed by in the most unmannerly way, and by occasional tapping stimulated the bird
time and again to repeat its funny little show. I must have spent twenty minutes at
the nest. Then I went to the shelter of bushes near by, and watched; for I wished
to see that chickadee in the open. And after about five minutes it came our – just an ordinary little chickadee, not in the least vainglorious. So I emerged from my concealment. Dear, Dear; the
things that bird said to me, and about me! – all of which I deserved.

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Within the next three days I took separately two of my ornithological friends to this
nest; and on each occasion the same performance was put on, and encored.