The Brown Creeper should inherit the earth, for he is one of the most perfect examples of meekness that may be found. Small, slight, self-effacing, untiring in his work, he reminds one of a quiet industrious person who performs unremittingly small tasks that amount to a large total. He is a searcher for insect-eggs, and for insects so small that they might escape the notice of eyes not peculiarly fitted to espy them. His long bill is slender enough to slip into crevices which neither nuthatches nor woodpeckers investigate. Possibly it is because he selects such tiny particles of food that he must work so industriously in order to get enough to eat. He seems always in a hurry. Mr. Frank Chapman has humorously described the brown creeper as follows: “After watching him for several minutes, one becomes impressed with the fact that he has lost the only thing in the world he ever cared for, and that his one object in life is to find it. Ignoring you completely, with scarcely a pause, he winds his way in a preoccupied, near-sighted manner up a tree-trunk. Having finally reached the top of his spiral staircase, one might suppose he would rest long enough to survey his surroundings, but like a bit of loosened bark he drops off to the base of the nearest tree and resumes his never-ending task.” The creeper is not easy to find. He is so wonderfully protected by his dull brown feathers that he looks more like an animated lichen than a bird. His nest is a cleverly camouflaged affair, tucked behind loose bark and often containing eight whitish eggs about the size of beans. We are surprised to learn that this patient, hard-working little creature has the soul of a poet. His sweet nesting song, reserved for his mate brooding in the woods, breathes exquisite tenderness and beauty. |