The Backwoods of Canada written by Catharine Parr Traill
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Catharine Parr Traill >> The Backwoods of Canada
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[Illustration: Snow-Bunting]
The blackbird is perhaps our best songster, according to my taste; full
as fine as our English blackbird, and much handsomer in its plumage,
which is a glossy, changeable, greenish black. The upper part of the
wing of the male bird of full growth is of a lively orange; this is not
apparent in the younger birds, nor in the female, which is slightly
speckled.
Towards the middle of the summer, when the grain begins to ripen, these
birds assemble in large flocks: the management of their marauding
parties appears to be superintended by the elders of the family. When
they are about to descend upon a field of oats or wheat, two or three
mount guard as sentinels, and on the approach of danger, cry _Geck-geck-
geck_; this precaution seems a work of supererogation, as they are so
saucy that they will hardly be frightened away; and if they rise it is
only to alight on the same field at a little distance, or fly up to the
trees, where their look-out posts are.
They have a peculiarly melancholy call-note at times, which sounds
exactly like the sudden twang of a harp-string, vibrating for a second
or two on the ear. This, I am inclined to think, they use to collect
their distant comrades, as I have never observed it when they were all
in full assembly, but when a few were sitting in some tree near the
lake's edge. I have called them the "_harpers_" from this peculiar note.
I shall tire you with my ornithological sketches, but must enumerate two
or three more birds.
The bald eagle frequently flies over our clearing; it has a dark body,
and snow-white head. It is sometimes troublesome to the poultry-yards:
those we have seen have disdained such low game, and soared majestically
away across the lake.
The fish-hawk we occasionally see skimming the surface of the water, and
it is regarded as an enemy by those who take delight in spearing fish
upon the lakes.
Then we have the night or mosquito-hawk, which may be seen in the air
pursuing the insect tribe in the higher regions, whilst hundreds of
great dragonflies pursue them below; notwithstanding their assistance,
we are bitten mercilessly by those summer pests the mosquitoes and black
flies.
The red-headed woodpecker is very splendid; the head and neck being of a
rich crimson; the back, wings, and breast are divided between the most
snowy white and jetty black. The incessant tapping of the woodpeckers,
and the discordant shriek of the blue jay, are heard from sunrise to
sunset, as soon as the spring is fairly set in.
I found a little family of woodpeckers last spring comfortably nested in
an old pine, between the bark and the trunk of the tree, where the
former had started away, and left a hollow space, in which the old birds
had built a soft but careless sort of nest; the little creatures seemed
very happy, poking their funny bare heads out to greet the old ones, who
were knocking away at the old stumps in their neighbourhood to supply
their cravings, as busy as so many carpenters at work.
[Illustration: Baltimore Oriole defending her Nest against the Black
Snake.]
A very curious bird's-nest was given me by one of our choppers; it was
woven over a forked spray, so that it had all the appearance of having
been sewn to the bough with grey thread. The nest was only secured at
the two sides that formed the angle, but so strong was it fastened that
it seemed to resist any weight or pressure of a moderate kind; it was
composed of the fibres of the bass-wood bark; which are very thready,
and may be drawn to great fineness: on the whole it was a curious
specimen of the ingenuity of these admirable little architects. I could
not discover the builder; but rather suspect the nest to have belonged
to my protege, the little winter titmouse that I told you of.
The nest of the Canadian robin, which I discovered while seeking for a
hen's nest in a bush-heap, just at the further edge of the clearing, is
very much like our home-robin's, allowing something for difference of
size in the bird, and in the material; the eggs, five in number, were
deep blue.
Before I quit the subject of birds, I must recall to your remembrance
the little houses that the Americans build for the swallow; I have since
found out one of their great reasons for cherishing this useful bird. It
appears that a most rooted antipathy exists between this species and the
hawk tribe, and no hawk will abide their neighbourhood; as they pursue
them for miles, annoying them in every possible way, haunting the hawk
like its evil genius: it is most singular that so small a creature
should thus overcome one that is the formidable enemy of so many of the
feathered race. I should have been somewhat sceptical on the subject,
had I not myself been an eyewitness to the fact. I was looking out of my
window one bright summer-day, when I noticed a hawk of a large
description flying heavily along the lake, uttering cries of distress;
within a yard or two of it was a small--in the distance it appeared to
me a very small--bird pursuing it closely, and also screaming. I watched
this strange pair till the pine-wood hid them from my sight; and I often
marvelled at the circumstance, till a very intelligent French Canadian
traveller happened to name the fact, and said so great was the value
placed on these birds, that they had been sold at high prices to be sent
to different parts of the province. They never forsake their old haunts
when once naturalized, the same pairs constantly returning year after
year, to their old house.
The singular fact of these swallows driving the hawk from his haunts is
worthy of attention; as it is well authenticated, and adds one more to
the many interesting and surprising anecdotes recorded by naturalists of
the sagacity and instinct of these birds.
I have, however, scribbled so many sheets, that I fear my long letter
must weary you.
Adieu.
LETTER XIV.
Utility of Botanical Knowledge.--The Fire-Weed.--Sarsaparilla Plants.--
Magnificent Water-Lily.--Rice Beds.--Indian Strawberry.--Scarlet
Columbine.--Ferns.--Grasses.
July 13, 1834
OUR winter broke up unusually early this year: by the end of February
the ground was quite free from snow, and the weather continued all
through March mild and pleasant, though not so warm as the preceding
year, and certainly more variable. By the last week in April and the
beginning of May, the forest-trees had all burst into leaf, with a
brilliancy of green that was exquisitely lovely.
On the 14th, 15th, and 16th of May, the air became suddenly cold, with
sharp winds from the north-west, and heavy storms of snow that nipped
the young buds, and destroyed many of the early-sown vegetable seeds;
fortunately for us we were behindhand with ours, which was very well, as
it happened.
Our woods and clearings are now full of beautiful flowers. You will be
able to form some idea of them from the dried specimens that I send you.
You will recognize among them many of the cherished pets of our gardens
and green-houses, which are here flung carelessly from Nature's lavish
hand among our woods and wilds.
How often do I wish you were beside me in my rambles among the woods and
clearings: you would be so delighted in searching out the floral
treasures of the place.
Deeply do I now regret having so idly neglected your kind offers while
at home of instructing me in flower-painting; you often told me the time
would come when I should have cause to regret neglecting the golden
opportunity before me.
You proved a true prophetess; for I daily lament that I cannot make
faithful representations of the flowers of my adopted country, or
understand as you would do their botanical arrangement. With some few I
have made myself acquainted, but have hardly confidence in my scanty
stock of knowledge to venture on scientific descriptions, when I feel
conscious that a blunder would be easily detected, and expose me to
ridicule and contempt, for an assumption of knowledge that I did not
possess. The only botanical work I have at my command is Pursh's North
American Flora, from which I have obtained some information; but must
confess it is tiresome blundering out Latin descriptions to one who
knows nothing of Latin beyond what she derives through a knowledge of
Italian.
I have made out a list of the plants most worthy of attention near us;
there are many others in the township that I am a stranger to; some
there are with whose names I am unacquainted. I subjoin a slight sketch,
not with my pencil but my pen, of those flowers that pleased me
particularly, or that possessed any remarkable qualities.
The same plants do not grow on cleared land that formerly occupied the
same spot when it was covered with forest-trees. A distinct class of
vegetation makes its appearance as soon as the fire has passed over the
ground.
The same thing may be remarked with regard to the change that takes
place among our forests. As one generation falls and decays, new ones of
a different character spring up in their places. This is illustrated in
the circumstance of the resinous substance called fat-pine being usually
found in places where the living pine is least abundant, and where the
ground is occupied by oak, ash, buck, maple, and bass-wood.
The fire-weed, a species of tall thistle of rank and unpleasant scent,
is the first plant that appears when the ground has been freed from
timbers by fire: if a piece of land lies untilled the first summer after
its being chopped, the following spring shows you a smothering crop of
this vile weed. The next plant you notice is the sumach, with its downy
stalks, and head of deep crimson velvety flowers, forming an upright
obtuse bunch at the extremity of the branches: the leaves turn scarlet
towards the latter end of the summer. This shrub, though really very
ornamental, is regarded as a great pest in old clearings, where the
roots run and send up suckers in abundance. The raspberry and wild
gooseberry are next seen, and thousands of strawberry plants of
different varieties carpet the ground, and mingle with the grasses of
the pastures. I have been obliged this spring to root out with
remorseless hand hundreds of sarsaparilla plants, and also the
celebrated gingseng, which grows abundantly in our woods: it used
formerly to be an article of export to China from the States, the root
being held in high estimation by the Chinese.
Last week I noticed a succulent plant that made its appearance on a dry
sandy path in my garden; it seems to me a variety of the hour-blowing
mesembryanthium. It has increased so rapidly that it already covers a
large space; the branches converging from the centre of the plant; and
sending forth shoots from every joint. The leaves are rather small,
three-sided and pointed, thick and juicy, yielding a green liquor when
bruised like the common sedums. The stalks are thick and round, of a
bright red, and trail along the ground; the leaves spring from each
joint, and with them a constant succession of yellow starry flowers,
that close in an hour or so from the time they first unfold. I shall
send you some of the seed of this plant, as I perceived a number of
little green pods that looked like the buds, but which, on opening,
proved to be the seed-vessels. This plant covers the earth like a thick
mat, and, I am told, is rather troublesome where it likes the soil.
I regret that among my dried plants I could not preserve some specimens
of our superb water-lilies and irises; but they were too large and too
juicy to dry well. As I cannot send you my favourites, I must describe
them to you.
The first, then, is a magnificent water-lily, that I have called by way
of distinction the "queen of the lakes," for she sits a crown upon the
waters. This magnificent flower is about the size of a moderately large
dahlia; it is double to the heart; every row of petals diminishing by
degrees in size, and gradually deepening in tint from the purest white
to the brightest lemon colour. The buds are very lovely, and may be seen
below the surface of the water, in different stages of forwardness from
the closely-folded bud, wrapped in its olive-green calix, to the half-
blown flower, ready to emerge from its watery prison, and in all its
virgin beauty expand its snowy bosom to the sun and genial air. Nor is
the beauty of the flower its sole attraction: when unfolded it gives out
a rich perfume not unlike the smell of fresh lemons. The leaves are also
worthy of attention: at first they are of a fine dark green, but as the
flower decays, the leaf changes its hue to a vivid crimson. Where a
large bed of these lilies grow closely together, they give quite a
sanguine appearance to the waters, that is distinguishable at some
distance.
The yellow species of this plant is also very handsome, though it wants
the silken texture and delicate colour of the former; I call this the
"water-king." The flower presents a deep golden-coloured cup, the
concave petals of which are clouded in the centre with a dark reddish-
brown, that forms a striking contrast to the gay anthers, which are very
numerous, and turn back from the centre of the flower, falling like
fringes of gold one over the other, in successive rows, till they fill
up the hollow flower-cup.
The shallows of our lakes abound with a variety of elegant aquatic
plants: I know not a more lovely sight than one of these floating
gardens. Here you shall behold near the shore a bed of azure fleur-de-
lis, from the palest pearl colour varying to the darkest purple. Nearer
in shore, in the shallowest water, the rose-coloured persecaria sends up
its beautiful spikes trailing below the surface; you see the red stalks
and smooth dark green leaves veined underneath with rosy red: it is a
very charming variety of this beautiful species of plants. Then a bed of
my favourite white lilies, all in full bloom, floating on the water,
with their double flowers expanding to the sun; near these, and rising
in stately pride, a tall plant, with dark green spear-shaped leaves, and
thick spike of bright blue flowers, is seen. I cannot discover the name
of this very grand-looking flower, and I neglected to examine its
botanical construction; so can give you no clue by which to discover its
name or species.
Our rice-beds are far from being unworthy of admiration; seen from a
distance they look like low green islands on the lakes: on passing
through one of these rice-beds when the rice is in flower, it has a
beautiful appearance with its broad grassy leaves and light waving
spikes, garnished with pale yellow green blossoms, delicately shaded
with reddish purple, from beneath which fall three elegant straw-
coloured anthers, which move with every breath of air or slightest
motion of the waters. I gathered several spikes when only just opened,
but the tiresome things fell to pieces directly they became dry. Next
summer I will make another attempt at preserving them, and it may be
with better success.
The low shore of the lake is a complete shrubbery. We have a very pretty
St. John's-wort, with handsome yellow flowers. The white and pink spiral
frutex also abounds with some exquisite upright honeysuckles, shrubby
plants about three feet in height; the blossoms grow in pairs or by
fours, and hang beneath the light green leaves; elegant trumpet-shaped
flowers of a delicate greenish white, which are succeeded by ruby-
coloured berries. On gathering a branch of this plant, you cannot but be
struck with the elegant arrangement of the flowers along the under part
of the stalks. The two blossoms are connected at the nectary of each in
a singular manner. The Americans call this honeysuckle "twinflower." I
have seen some of the flowers of this plant pale pink: on the whole it
is one of the most ornamental shrubs we have. I transplanted some young
trees into my garden last spring; they promise to live and do well. I do
not find any description of this shrub in Pursh's Flora, but know it to
be a species of honeysuckle, from the class and order, the shape and
colour of the leaves, the stalks, the trumpet-shaped blossom and the
fruit; all bearing a resemblance to our honeysuckles in some degree.
There is a tall upright bush, bearing large yellow trumpet-shaped
flowers, springing from the extremities of the branches; the involucrum
forms a boat-shaped cup that encircles the flowers from which they seem
to spring, something after the manner of the scarlet trumpet-
honeysuckle. The leaves and blossoms of this plant are coarse, and by no
means to compare to the former.
We have a great variety of curious orchises, some brown and yellow,
others pale flesh-coloured, striped with crimson. There is one species
grows to the height of two feet, bearing long spikes of pale purple
flowers; a white one with most fragrant smell, and a delicate pink one
with round head of blossoms, finely fringed like the water-pinks that
grow in our marshes; this is a very pretty flower, and grows in the
beaver meadows.
Last autumn I observed in the pine-wood near us a very curious plant; it
came up with naked brown stems, branching off like some miniature tree;
the stalks of this plant were brown, slightly freckled and beset with
little knobs. I watched the progress of maturity in this strange plant
with some degree of interest, towards the latter end of October; the
little knobs, which consisted of two angular hard cases, not unlike,
when fully opened, to a boat in shape, burst asunder and displayed a
pale straw-coloured chaffy substance that resembled fine saw-dust: these
must have been the anthers, but they bore more resemblance to seeds;
this singular flower would have borne examination with a microscope. One
peculiarity that I observed, was, that on pulling up a plant with its
roots, I found the blossoms open under ground, springing up from the
lowest part of the flower-stems, and just as far advanced to maturity as
those that grew on the upper stalks, excepting that they were somewhat
blanched, from being covered up from the air. I can find no description
of this plant, nor any person but myself seems to have taken notice of
it. The specimen I had on being dried became so brittle that it fell to
pieces.
I have promised to collect some of the most singular of our native
flowers for one of the Professors of Botany in the Edinburgh University.
We have a very handsome plant that bears the closest affinity to our
potatoe in its floral construction; it grows to the height of two or
three feet in favourable situations, and sends up many branches; the
blossoms are large, purely white, freckled near the bottom of the
corolla with brownish yellow spots; the corolla is undivided: this is
evidently the same plant as the cultivated potatoe, though it does not
appear to form apples at the root. The fruit is very handsome,
eggshaped, of a beautiful apricot colour when ripe, and of a shining
tempting appearance; the smell, however, betrays its poisonous nature:
on opening one of the fruits you find it consists of a soft pulp filled
with shining black seeds. The plant continues in blossom from June till
the first frosts wither the leaves; it is far less coarse than the
potatoe; the flower, when full blown, is about the size of a half crown,
and quite flat; I think it is what you call salver-shaped: it delights
in light loamy soil, growing on the upturned roots of fallen trees,
where the ground is inclined to be sandy. I have never seen this plant
elsewhere than on our own fallow.
The hepatica is the first flower of the Canadian spring: it gladdens us
with its tints of azure, pink, and white, early in April, soon after the
snows have melted from the earth. The Canadians can it snow-flower, from
its coming so soon after the snow disappears. We see its gay tufts of
flowers in the open clearings and the deep recesses of the forests; its
leaves are also an enduring ornament through the open months of the
year; you see them on every grassy mound and mossy root: the shades of
blue are very various and delicate, the white anthers forming a lovely
contrast with the blue petals.
The wood-cress, or as it is called by some, ginger-cress, is a pretty
white cruciform flower; it is highly aromatic in flavour; the root is
white and fleshy, having the pungency of horseradish. The leaves are of
a sad green, sharply notched, and divided in three lobes; the leaves of
some of them are slightly variegated; the plant delights in rich moist
vegetable mould, especially on low and slightly swampy ground; the
flower-stalk is sometimes naked, sometimes leafed, and is crowned with a
loose spike of whitish cruciform flowers.
There is a cress that grows in pretty green tufts at the bottom of the
waters in the creeks and small rivulets: it is more delicate and
agreeable in flavour than any of the land-cresses; the leaves are of a
pale tender green, winged and slender; the plant looks like a green
cushion at the bottom of the water. The flowers are yellow, cruciform,
and insignificant; it makes a very acceptable salad in the early spring,
and at the fall of the year. There are also several species of land-
cress, and plants resembling some of the cabbage tribes, that might be
used as spring vegetables. There are several species of spinach, one
known here by the name of lamb's quarter, that grows in great profusion
about our garden, and in rich soil rises to two feet, and is very
luxuriant in its foliage; the leaves are covered with a white rough
powder. The top shoots and tender parts of this vegetable are boiled
with pork, and, in place of a more delicate pot-herb, is very useful.
Then we have the Indian turnip; this is a very handsome arum, the root
of which resembles the capava, I am told, when boiled: the leaves of
this arum are handsome, slightly tinged with purple. The spathe is of a
lively green, striped with purple: the Indians use the root as a
medicine, and also as an esculent; it is often eaten by the settlers as
a vegetable, but I never tasted it myself. Pursh calls this species
_Arum atropurpureum_.
I must not pass over one of our greatest ornaments, the strawberry
blite, strawberry-bearing spinach, or Indian strawberry, as it is
variously named. This singular plant throws out many branches from one
stem, these are garnished with handsome leaves, resembling in appearance
our long-leaved garden spinach; the finest of this plant is of a bright
crimson, pulpy like the strawberry, and containing a number of purple
seeds, partially embedded in the surface, after the same manner as the
strawberry. The fruit grows close to the stalk, completely surrounding
it, and forming a long spike of the richest crimson berries. I have
gathered branches a foot in length, closely covered with the beautiful
looking fruit, and have regretted that it was so insipid in its flavour
as to make it uneatable. On the banks of creeks and in rich ground, it
grows most luxuriantly, one root sending up twenty or thirty branches,
drooping with the weight of their magnificent burden. As the middle and
superior stems ripen and decay, the lateral ones come on, presenting a
constant succession of fruit from July till the frosts nip them off in
September.
The Indians use the juice of this plant as a dye, and are said to eat
the berries: it is often made use of as a substitute for red ink, but it
is liable to fade unless mingled with alum. A friend of mine told me she
had been induced to cross a letter she was sending to a relative in
England with this strawberry ink, but not having taken the precaution to
fix the colour, when the anxiously expected epistle arrived, one-half of
it proved quite unintelligible, the colours having faded nearly to
white; so that instead of affording satisfaction, it proved only a
source of vexation and embarrassment to the reader, and of mortification
to the writer.
The blood-root, sanguinaria, or puccoon, as it is termed by some of the
native tribes, is worthy of attention from the root to the flower. As
soon as the sun of April has warmed the earth and loosened it from its
frozen bonds, you may distinguish a number of purely white buds,
elevated on a naked footstalk, and partially enfolded in a handsome
vine-shaped leaf, of a pale bluish green, curiously veined on the under
side with pale orange. The leaf springs singly from a thick juicy
fibrous root, which, on being broken, emits a quantity of liquor from
its pores of a bright orange scarlet colour: this juice is used by the
Indians as a dye, and also in the cure of rheumatic, and cutaneous
complaints. The flowers of the sanguinaria resemble the white crocus
very closely: when it first comes up the bud is supported by the leaf,
and is folded together with it; the flower, however, soon elevates
itself above its protector, while the leaf having performed its duty of
guardian to the tender bud, expands to its full size. A rich black
vegetable mould at the edges of the clearings seems the favourite soil
for this plant.
The scarlet columbine is another of my favourite flowers; it is bright
red, with yellow linings to the tubes. The nectaries are more elongated
than the garden columbines, and form a sort of mural crown, surmounted
with little balls at the tips. A tall graceful plant, with its brilliant
waving blossoms, is this columbine; it grows both in the sunshine and
the shade, not perhaps in deep shady woods, but where the under brush
has been removed by the running of the fire or the axe of the chopper;
it seems even to flourish in poor stony soils, and may be found near
every dwelling. The feathered columbine delights in moist open swamps,
and the banks of rivulets; it grows to the height of three, and even
four and five feet, and is very ornamental.
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