From the Archives: Florence Merriam Bailey on How to Conduct Field Classes

Editor’s Note: Renowned ornithologist, conservationist, and nature writer Florence Merriam Bailey was a early contributor to Bird-Lore, as Audubon magazine was once called. She was at the forefront of shaping the modern hobby of bird watching and connecting it to conservation—and this column, published in 1900, shows how her delightful, forward-thinking advice still rings true today.

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As far back as 1886, when the Audubon movement was just beginning, the Smith College girls took to 'birding.' Before the birding began, however, behind the scenes, the two amateur ornithologists of the student body had laid deep, wily schemes. "Go to," said they; "we will start an Audubon Society. The birds must be protected; we must persuade the girls not to wear feathers on their hats." "We won't say too much about hats, though," these plotters went on. "We'll take the girls afield, and let them get acquainted with the birds. Then, of inborn necessity, they will wear feathers never more." So these guileful persons, having formally organized a Smith College Audubon Society for the Protection of Birds, put on their sunhats and called, "Come on, girls!" This they did with glee in their hearts, for it irked them to proclaim, “Behold, see, meditate upon this monster evil," while it gave them joy to say, "Come out under the sun-filled heavens and open your soul to the song of the Lark."

This, then, was the inspiration of the bird work that started up and spread so surprisingly, and was carried on with such eager enthusiasm in those early days at Smith. And this must be the inspiration of all successful field work, wherever it is done. A list of species is good to have, but without a knowledge of the birds themselves, it is like Emerson's Sparrow brought home without the river and sky. The true naturalist, like Audubon, will ever go to nature with open heart as well as mind.

Feeling this, the organizers of the Smith work persuaded John Burroughs to come to give it an impetus. When he took the girls to the woods at five o'clock in the morning, so many went that the bird had often flown before the rear guard arrived, but the fine enthusiasm of the man's spirit could not be missed. No one could come in touch with it without realizing that there was something in nature unguessed before, and worth attending to. And when the philosopher stood calmly beside a stump in the rain, naming unerringly each bird that crossed the sky, the lesson in observation, impressive as it was, was not merely one in keenness of vision. His attitude of stillness under the heavens made each one feel that by lowly listening she too might hear the right word—the message nature holds for each human heart.

This is important to emphasize now, when bird work, undertaken at first by nature lovers in a spirit of enthusiasm, is now, from its value, coming to take rank with other nature studies and be reduced to their formal basis. In learning the Latin names, let us not forget the live bird. The advance of ornithology, as well as our own good, demands this, for while the Latin names are already set down in the books, the knowledge of the life histories of even our common birds is painfully meager. Sympathetic, trustworthy observation and record of the habits of the living bird is what is most needed now.

Individual work is, of course, richest in results, but the enthusiasm roused by field classes should lead to that. In individual work the habits of the student will prevail. In field classes the plan followed will be modified by the possibilities in each case, for the classes will not always be formal ones, connected with a university course. At Smith, for instance, where the work was wholly apart from the curriculum, it was impossible for the two leaders to take out all those who wanted to go birding, so picking out the best observers, the leaders gave them special training, so that they were able to take out classes themselves. While perilous in one way—may the birds forgive the names given them!—this plan succeeded in giving a larger number an insight into nature work, and when at the end of the spring, the girls exclaimed with earnest gratitude that their eyes and ears had been unsealed, that a new world had been opened to them, it seemed that the work had not been in vain.

And since the college days I have learned that even a single walk afield may be worth while. On one such walk in New England, taken while the dew was on, at half past six by the town clock, the class included a man on a bicycle, two women in a carriage, and a blind lady. But the songs identified for the quick-eared blind lady, and the new interest put within the reach of those who could only ride to the woods, was surely worth the effort.

Regular classes are, of course, much more satisfactory in every way, for the student teacher is always haunted by the desire for results. When one can choose, field classes should begin in early spring, not too early, when the distracted leader drags her class miles over hill and dale to find one Junco, and comes home with a horrible feeling that it was all her fault the birds disregarded the calendar! Not too early, but not too late. Just early enough to find a few of the first spring birds, enough to arouse enthusiasm without giving the discouragement that comes to a beginner with the later confusion of tongues. In this event, even if the class meets but once a week, a good object lesson will be given in migration, and the excitement of the new arrivals discovered at each outing will often lead to individual migration work between the meetings of the class.

If one must begin field work after the bulk of the birds have come, concentrate attention upon those most in evidence, or upon those which will make the most distinct impression upon the beginner. If you have a Scarlet Tanager and a flock of Warblers to choose from, let the class look at the Tanager. They will in spite of you, unless forcibly removed, but it is much better that they should. The wonderful color of the Tanager, his curious call, his thrilling song, the marvelously protective leaf tints of his mate, if she be near, will make an indelible impression upon them, and by rousing interest, lead eventually to the patient study of the obscure tree-top haunting Warblers. It requires no little moral effort for a class leader to stand quietly and look at even a Tanager when the trees are alive with Warblers she is eager to study, but, as in bringing up children, the training you have to give yourself is the biggest part. You must hold in abeyance all your own student instincts, and if your class is at the Chipping Sparrow stage, be content to fix your eyes on a Chipping Sparrow in the path when a bird you have never seen before is disappearing over the tree-tops. The one vital point is to keep the class interested, and if the interest would be killed by half an hour's chase after a bird in the underbrush, you must not go. Simply devote yourself to supplying material, the plainest of everyday birds, if they are the ones best fitted to the stage of training reached by the observer at that time.

The familiar rule, "Go to a good birdy place and sit down till the birds come," is one of the best of all field rules with modifications. You cannot expect the beginner to penetrate to the heart of the woods and sit contentedly two hours gazing up at a hole in a tree trunk while the owner is brooding her eggs out of sight inside, and her mate roaming the forest; but by interspersing a judicious amount of tramping, even with the certain knowledge that unnoted birds are flying before you in all directions, your class will be well content to sit down and let the birds gather in the birdy places which you have chosen for them. And you need not begrudge the tramping, for to some classes whose acquaintance with afternoon teas is greater than with briar patches, jumping ditches and creeping under barbed-wire fences is valuable training.

The quiz method in field work, as in the class room, is the best. Stimulate thought; don't cram your pupils with statistics. But while teaching them to see for themselves, teach them to see the right things and, in obedience to the pedagogical rules, by constant comparison and repetition, and every possible device, impress the important characters of the different families and species. Compare tirelessly the red cap of the Chipping Sparrow, the spot on the breast of the Song Sparrow, the rufous back and red bill of the Field, the white throat and striped crown of the White-throat; the trill of the Chippy, the flowing song of the Song Sparrow, the characteristic whistles of the Field and White-throat; contrast the short wings, strong, conical, seed-cracking bills, and labored flight of the Sparrows with the long wings, weak, fly-catching bills, and free flight of the Swallows; calling attention to the musical songs of the Sparrows and the monosyllabic notes of the Flycatchers, and carrying out similar comparisons for each family seen in the field.

Out of doors, so many birds are of necessity seen in passing, that when field classes are not connected with house classes it is a great help to carry a box of skins as much as possible those which will probably be seen on the day's walk and before coming home review the birds seen by sitting down in the woods to examine the skins. It is also a good plan to carry a bird book afield—the pocket edition of Chapman's Handbook admirably serves this purpose—that the observer may look up doubtful points for himself while his mind is still full of questions.

Although the quiz method is the best, when the birds are flying about rapidly one cannot always wait for the untrained observer to seize upon the important characters. At such times a quick word will concentrate attention upon the salient feature, and the young observer can do his part afterwards by a note book sketch or memorandum. As a Brown Creeper rocks his way up a tree trunk in sight before passing on to one out of sight, quickly call attention to his protective tree trunk color, the adaptation of his curved bill and his long pointed tail, comparing him with the Sparrow seen before the other brown bird—brown for his life on the ground and among the weeds, comparing, also, the Creeper's long, curved, insect-extracting bill with that of the Sparrows, and his climbing tail with the steering apparatus of the Sparrow. Then, for individuality, his systematic method of hunting, with that of the Woodpeckers. A line in the note book will show the curve of the bill, a slanted arrow between two vertical lines the oblique flight from the top of one tree to the bottom of the next. A horizontal breast line and an outline tail with white outer tail feathers opposite the name Junco will suggest the marking that disguises the Snowbird's form and also his directive tail mark; a chip-churr opposite the name Tanager and the words red and green will bring to mind the characteristic call and the sexual coloration of the pair; a musical phrase opposite the name Chickadee will interest the musical student, while a rough outline sketch of the crest of the Waxwing, erect and flattened, will recall the bird's striking expression of emotion. Brief notes like these will serve to keep the observers' minds alert, and taken with their list of species seen, give something to distinguish and classify their birds by, on the return home.

Even with the superficial study of the field class, one will get hints of individual variation in song and habit. When in the field during the nesting season, the class leader should keep as large a calling list as possible, only taking care to guard the feelings of the timid householders. Nothing gives such a good idea of the bird's range of expression in movement, call, note, and song, and of its general intelligence and individuality, or awakens such sympathetic interest in bird life, as consecutive visits to a young family. These should be from the time of the building, when the happy pair are seen working together with rare skill upon their home, through the brooding, when the male feeds his mate and sings to her on the nest, or takes her place while she rests, to the days when the two are again working together caring for their hungry nestlings, and risking their lives, if need be, to guard them from harm.

I remember the delight of a class of Miss Porter's girls at Farmington over the discovery of a Kingfisher's nest in the river bank, and their enthusiasm over the pretty Redstart who would sit calmly in her nest over our heads as we looked up admiringly at her. And I also remember the satisfaction of a class of Hull House girls in their summer vacation home, over the old stub where the Red-headed Woodpeckers were feeding their young. While studying nests, a good way to rouse interest in individual work is to get the students to take photographs of the birds on their nests, for a great deal must necessarily be learned of 'bird ways,' before any good photographic results can be obtained.