Wild Life Near Home — Reading Notes

Watching the Watchers

In 'A Study in Bird Morals,' Sharp recounts how a pair of blue jays tried to distract him from their nest. He describes their behavior with precision: they 'kept close together, and fluttered about, hanging from the twigs head down like chickadees, deliberately biting off bunches of needles'—but their picking was 'all at random.' Sharp recognizes the ruse: 'They were not hunting grubs: they were watching me; and more—they were keeping me watching them.'

This passage is a key to Sharp's method. He does not simply catalogue; he interprets. He notes the jays' 'fearless unconcern' as 'assumed' and praises their 'heroic' self-control. Yet he also admits his own limitations: 'I could not find the nest; so returning the next day, I crept under cover.' The narrative is as much about the observer's learning curve as about the birds' behavior.

The Mouse in Winter

In 'Some Snug Winter Beds,' Sharp turns to smaller, less conspicuous life. He describes a meadow mouse's tunnel under the snow, noting how the creature 'had stopped for a meal on his way out'—a detail that implies a story behind the scene. The writing is economical: 'I shivered as the icy flakes fell thicker and faster,' he says, contrasting his own discomfort with the mouse's apparent security.

Sharp avoids anthropomorphism by grounding his observations in physical evidence. He notes the mouse's 'Whitefoot' (a nickname for a deer mouse) and the 'rabbit roads' that crisscross the winter landscape. These chapters reveal his interest in the hidden lives of animals, the 'snug beds' and tunnels that escape casual notice. The reader is invited to look closer, to imagine the world beneath the snow.

Birds of the Dark and the Dawn

'A Bird of the Dark' and 'The Pine-tree Swift' examine species that challenge easy classification. The former describes a bird 'unlike any bird of the light,' likely a nightjar or owl, whose habits Sharp traces through dusk and dawn. He notes its flight: 'It caught at the insects in the air'—a simple, accurate phrase that conveys both motion and purpose.

In 'The Pine-tree Swift,' Sharp observes a bird that 'peeks around the tree-trunks' and is hunted by the sparrow hawk. The chapter is structured around a single encounter, building tension as Sharp waits for the swift to reveal itself. He uses the landscape—'the high, level farm-lands break off into sandbanks'—to set the stage, and his descriptions of light and shadow create a sense of time passing. These chapters show Sharp at his most patient, willing to wait for the animal to act.

The Art of the Essay

Sharp's prose is varied in rhythm and length. He can write a long, flowing sentence that mimics the movement of a bird in flight, or a short, punchy observation that lands like a fact. In 'Feathered Neighbors,' he describes a robin's nest as 'wedged carelessly into the lowest fork of the tree, so that the cats and roving boys could help themselves without trouble'—a wry comment on the vulnerability of urban wildlife.

He also uses dialogue sparingly, as when he quotes a local saying: 'Mus'rattin'' is the title of a chapter on muskrat hunting, and the vernacular gives the book a regional flavor. The essays are not arranged by season but by topic, allowing Sharp to move from a buzzards' banquet to a herring run without losing coherence. Each chapter stands alone, yet together they build a portrait of a place and a mind.

Sharp's essays reward a slow, attentive reading. The digital edition preserves the original illustrations and chapter breaks, making it easy to dip into a single essay or follow the sequence. Readers interested in natural history writing, American literature of the early 1900s, or the craft of observation will find much to admire. The book does not offer a systematic guide to wildlife; it offers something rarer: a record of one man's patient, curious, and often surprised encounters with the creatures near his home.

I've spent many quiet evenings with Dallas Lore Sharp's Wild Life Near Home, watching him notice the blue jay's feigned calm. It feels oddly akin to the gentle patience in The Burgess Bird Book for Children — Context and Discussion, where every creature is met with the same unhurried, wondering gaze—two old friends who simply happen to share a window.