The Sunny South Oölogist. Vol. 1, No. 2

In Short

The Sunny South Oölogist (Vol. 1, No. 2) is a monthly periodical published in 1886 by Edwin C. Davis. It acts as a bulletin board for bird collectors, offering readers technical data on egg-laying seasons, detailed descriptions of nests, and anecdotes from field expeditions in states ranging from Texas to Minnesota. The journal has lasted because it provides a vivid, unvarnished look at a bygone era of natural history, capturing the specific language, values, and environmental observations of Victorian-era naturalists before the shift toward modern conservation ethics.

The Story

The journal opens with a report from A. M. Shields in Southern California, detailing the movement of migratory birds from the mountains into the orange groves during the winter months. He describes the local wetlands, specifically the "Gospel Swamp," as a paradise for waterfowl, noting the sheer volume of birds that congregate there before their nocturnal departure for the "far north." This sets the stage for the book’s central interest: the systematic cataloging of bird life and the thrill of the hunt.

The narrative shifts from observation to instruction. Edwin C. Davis presents a comprehensive list of North American thrushes, detailing their preferred nesting habitats and specific dates for egg-laying. This technical tone is immediately followed by a more adventurous account from Fred M. Dille in Colorado. Dille describes a daring trip to an island in the Platte River to secure crow and owl eggs, highlighting the physical challenges of wading through treacherous, high water to reach the nests. His narrative captures the obsessive nature of the collector, who balances the excitement of a rare find against the technical anxiety of determining if a set of eggs is fresh or incubated.

The journal continues with specialized reports, such as G. Noble’s observations in Georgia, which challenge established scientific literature regarding the nest-building habits of the brown-headed nuthatch. This sets a theme of communal peer review, where readers write in to correct or add to the collective knowledge of the group. Further entries include a humorous anecdote about a martin’s "sagacity" in reclaiming a bird box from bluebirds, and J. A. Singley’s detailed analysis of the road-runner, where he questions whether a partial clutch of eggs counts as a "full set" after he shoots the parent to verify her reproductive state.

The book concludes with a massive data table provided by Harry G. Parker, which categorizes dozens of Pennsylvania birds by their commonality and specific breeding windows. This serves as a final, encyclopedic reference for the reader. Throughout the issue, the editor, Edwin C. Davis, weaves in editorial commentary, advertising for his own upcoming books, and requests for subscribers to keep the journal financially viable. The final impression is one of a closed, passionate, and highly active community of men who view the natural world as a landscape of specimens to be mapped, identified, and preserved in cabinets.

How It Unfolds

The winter migration The journal begins by tracking how climate shifts drive birds into suburban orange groves and vineyards. It emphasizes the seasonal movement of ducks and geese as they prepare for their northward journey.

The instructional lists The editor systematically outlines the breeding habits of the thrush family to provide a baseline for collectors. These lists provide dates and locations, setting expectations for the reader's own future field trips.

The field reports Contributors share dramatic stories of wading through swamps and climbing trees to secure specific "sets." These accounts move the text from dry statistics into the tactile, physical reality of the collector’s life.

The communal debate Readers challenge the status quo by reporting their own unique findings, such as the nuthatch's nest construction or the territorial intelligence of martins. This section demonstrates how the journal functions as a collaborative scientific network.

The final data synthesis The issue culminates in a sprawling, multi-page table that categorizes the nesting behaviors of dozens of birds. It transforms the anecdotal evidence gathered in previous sections into a structured, reference-ready format for the serious amateur.

The People

The journal is populated by a network of men connected by the post. Edwin C. Davis, the editor, acts as the central hub; he is ambitious, commercially minded, and eager to foster a sense of professional legitimacy among his "club-getters." He wants to expand his publication and solidify his reputation as an authority on nests and eggs.

The contributors—such as Fred M. Dille, A. M. Shields, and Harry G. Parker—share an intense, almost competitive focus on the acquisition of specimens. They are undeterred by physical barriers like flooded rivers or dense chaparral. These men view themselves as scientists, though their methods involve constant shooting and the removal of eggs. They are driven by a desire for "rare" finds and accurate taxonomy. They view birds as objects of study and sport, largely unburdened by the modern instinct to protect the nesting sites they visit. Their shared language is one of "takes," "sets," and "incubation," revealing a group of people who find deep personal satisfaction in the mastery of their local wilderness.

In Its Own Voice

"Here all are protected from the ravages of that 'fell egg-destroyer,' the school-boy."

The author describes the inaccessible peaks of the Sierra Madre as a sanctuary where birds can escape the interference of human collectors.

"I think I will enter the lists in competition for 'earliness.'"

A contributor frames the collection of eggs not just as scientific study, but as a competitive sport, where the goal is to be the first in the season to secure a specific set.

"The smell of burnt and burning powder for four years seems to have been too much for the burr-eaters."

The author uses the Civil War as a shorthand explanation for the total disappearance of a bird species from the South.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is about the impulse to impose order upon the natural world through collection and classification. It reflects a pre-modern view of nature where the act of "taking" is equated with "knowing." The contributors are preoccupied with the mechanics of nesting—the dates, the materials, the heights—as a way of domesticating the wild. It asks the question of how much information can be extracted from a landscape before it is exhausted. Ultimately, it is a document about the intersection of Victorian scientific curiosity and the commodification of the natural world, capturing a culture that found beauty and scientific value in the physical possession of a bird’s potential offspring.

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of science or the evolution of American environmental attitudes will find this journal essential. It is a time capsule of an era when the "amateur naturalist" was a primary source of ecological data. You will feel the palpable excitement of the writers as they describe their finds, a fervor that is often jarring to the modern reader accustomed to conservationism.

The book is not a narrative in the traditional sense; it is a collection of facts, dates, and short reports. It can be repetitive, and the prose is strictly utilitarian, mirroring the rigid, technical focus of the contributors. You will encounter attitudes toward wildlife that feel alien—the casual mention of shooting birds to verify their species or the disregard for the impact of taking full clutches of eggs. However, for those who can navigate these period sensibilities, the book offers a rare, clear-eyed glimpse into the mid-1880s. It remains a fascinating record of what the American landscape looked like through the eyes of those who spent their lives looking up into the trees and down into the swamps, searching for the hidden origins of the next generation of birds.