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such force and looked so menacing with its fierce yellow eye that I backed out of the shrub and retreated.
I have a photograph of a brown thrasher brooding her young in the nest, protecting them from the direct rays of a summer sun. She looks fierce and ready to go to any lengths to protect her featherless nestlings. Her yellow eye says, “Don’t mess around with me.”
One ornithologist, quoted in Bent’s Life History, states that he is convinced the word “thrasher” means exactly that. He felt thoroughly thrashed by an attack of both birds when he attempted to determine the age of the young in the nest. He wrote: “... Both birds flew at me and attacked me savagely; they flew at my face, once striking a stinging blow to my eye and drawing blood; with in a few seconds I was struck on the side of my head. I decided to withdraw from the scene of the battle, leaving the brave birds masters of the situation.”
It’s the distinct and emphatic cadence of the song that has drawn vivid writing from past ornithologists. To Thoreau in the 19th century, the bird seemed to be giving gardening instruction. To him, the bird seemed to be saying: “drop it, drop it — cover it up, cover it up —pull it up, pull it up. ” Putting bird song into words helps me remember. For some birds it is easy; the Carolina Wren does say sce-ner-y, sce-ner-y and the Cardinal, pretty-pretty.
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