The average groundwork, however, is soiled blue or greenish, waved, streaked,
or clouded with brown. These are laid in a nest made of miscellaneous sticks
and grasses, rather carefully constructed, and lined with mud. Another
peculiarity is the bird's method of steering itself by its tail when it wishes
to turn its direction or alight.
Peering at you from the top of a dark pine tree with its staring yellow eye,
the grackle is certainly uncanny. There, very early in the spring, you may
hear its cracked and wheezy whistle, for, being aware that however much it may
look like a crow it belongs to another family, it makes a ridiculous attempt
to sing. When a number of grackles lift up their voices at once, some one has
aptly likened the result to a "good wheel-barrow chorus!" The grackle's mate
alone appreciates his efforts as, standing on tiptoe, with half-spread wings
and tail, he pours forth his craven soul to her through a disjointed larynx.
With all their faults, and they are numerous, let it be recorded of both crows
and grackles that they are as devoted lovers as turtle-doves. Lowell
characterizes them in these four lines:
"Fust come the black birds, clatt'rin' in tall trees,
And settlin' things in windy Congresses;
Queer politicians, though, for I'll be skinned
If all on 'em don't head against the wind.
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