iLII 



THE WOOD THRUSH 



WHENEVER I visit Asheville, North Carolina, dur- 

 ing the summer months, I am always impressed 

 with the wonderfully sweet voice of the wood thrush. This 

 bird is more abundant there than in any other place I 

 remember visiting. From five o'clock in the evening until 

 after dark I am especially pleased with his wonderfully 

 musical call, ^^Chit-a-link, chee-wee-eee.'' In the morning 

 I listen to this song from daylight until seven or eight 

 o'clock. Sometimes he sings during the day, but his song 

 never sounds so sweet or musical as in the evening. 



The wood thrush, or, as the mountain people call it, the 

 ^^chitalink," is well known as a wonderfully sweet songster 

 even though he sings only a few notes. If he had the won- 

 derful range of the mocking bird, he would outdistance all 

 competitors so far that I am sure we would cease to appre- 

 ciate many of them as we do now. This bird has several 

 notes, but we usually hear only three or four. Clear and 

 musical as a silvery bell, no matter how often we hear 

 them they never become monotonous or tiresome. 



This bird is well named the wood thrush, for he lovea 

 the deep woods and means to keep himself concealed there- 

 in. So shy is he that when he alights he usually manages 

 to sit near some stump or tree trunk the color of which 

 matches his own so completely that he is diflScult to see. 



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