Bad Weather for Martins over 100 years ago

[John Balga]

Here are some more accounts of bad weather in April and August.

Houses Nos. 1 and 3 as they appeared
covered with a heavy, slushy snow, April 9, 1902.
It had snowed during the night to a depth of eleven inches, upon
unfrozen ground. The morning dawned with a softening temperature
which soon caused the snow to melt, starting slushy torrents
and rivulets in street and field.
Six Martins were quartered in each of Nos. 2 and 3 boxes,
and these would thrust their heads out of the little room entrances
and twitter.
Sometimes these early April "cold waves" are attended with
a steadily decreasing temperature, which often continues for days,
causing the Martins to die of starvation and exhaustion.
The other picture is from a photograph taken June 15, 1903,
and shows what sometimes happens to the Martins in mid-summer
during a cold wet period.
Only one brood of nestlings survived a three days cold, wet
spell of weather. The groups of dead birds were taken out of
their respective nest rooms in houses Nos. 2 and 3. Three adults
and eighty newly hatched young ones are shown in the picture.
Four other small young, taken from under one of the dead adults
succumbed after a few hours.
Where the parents themselves survived this unfortunate period
they rebuilt their nests and brought out late broods.
All the colonies in and about the town suffered the same fate,
their keepers reporting many dead adults and scores of young.

Pontiac, Michigan, August 5, 1909.

Dear Sir:
Early in the Spring about fifty martins came to the old house of
ten rooms. The house was placed on a dead hickory tree, cut down
to. about nineteen feet in height.
Fearing that some of the birds would locate elsewhere, we were
very anxious to get the house ordered from you. It came promptly.
It is prettier, and made more substantial and at less cost than a carpenter
would make it here. For appearance, convenience and safety
the iron-hinged pole is also of greater advantage.
The martins took possession immediately. Then followed three
weeks of cold stormy weather.
One night we saw them huddled together against the doorways.
The next morning only seven were in sight. These seven would circle
and flutter around the house, in a distressed sort of way.
We placed food on high poles and scattered bits of suet on a pan
of water, hoping they could skim over it and get enough to sustain life,
but it was probably of no use. Five died. Two—apparently strong,
beautiful birds—we found on the ground. We took them into the
house, opened their bills and fed them warm milk and a little prepared
food. They seemed to brighten up for two days, but they were too
chilled and exhausted to survive.
When mild weather returned a flock of martins came and filled
twenty-five rooms.