Thrush WESTERN BIRDS 



to locate a comrade, I suppose, or perhaps in mere curi- 

 osity to see what object dare attempt to imitate his 

 liquid note. 



Besides the insect life found in the mulching about 

 the trees in the garden, these Thrushes also eat the ber- 

 ries of the pepper trees, as so many other birds do. 



The song that I have so often heard in my garden 

 is frequently only a whisper song, sung at all times of 

 day, but toward evening ringing out much louder. So 

 attuned to this song have my ears become that, even 

 when it is scarcely more than a breath, it reaches me, 

 and in reverence I also breathe, "Listen, the Thrush is 

 singing." 



The song, which I believe is the best the bird has, 

 for I have heard it elsewhere and at the nesting season, 

 has something of the quality of the Veery. Translated 

 into words, which at best are poor substitutes, it runs, 

 Tra-wee-ah, tra-wee-ah, tra-wee-ah, sometimes ending 

 in a shuddering sort of note. Sometimes this latter note 

 is given by itself and before the other phrases are given. 

 The whistling call note has, also, been compared to that 

 of the Veery. 



One nest of these birds which I watched was found 

 in the most unexpected place in a most unlooked-for 

 way. In fact, I was watching the nest of a Yellow 

 Warbler in a Los Angeles park, and although I had heard 

 the Russet-backed singing not far away, no thought 

 that he and his mate would pick out a place so popular 

 for humans when more secluded spots were at hand, 

 entered my head. To be sure, this park, although con- 

 stantly filled with picnic parties at that time of year, 

 is just beside the canyon-like Arroyo Seco, through 

 which runs a liquid stream, and which is in a district 

 not thickly populated. 



As a companion and myself watched the Warbler's 

 nest, something brown darted past us. At first we paid 



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