Thoreau writes in his journal:
[Alek] Therien, the wood chopper, was here yesterday, and while I was cutting wood, some chickadees hopped near pecking the bark and chips and the potato-skins I had thrown out. “What do you call them,” he asked. I told him. “What do you call them,” asked I. “Mezezence,” I think he said. “When I eat my dinner in the woods,” said he, “sitting very still, having kindled a fire to warm my coffee, they come and light on my arm and peck at the potato in my fingers. I like to have the little fellers about me.” Just then one flew up from the snow and perched on the wood I was holding in my arms, and pecked it, and looked me familiarly in the face.
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