BIRDS OF THE CAMBRIDGE REGION. 



The Fields alons^ Wjssall Lane. 



19 



Some of the pleasantest recollections of my boyhood relate to the country 

 traversed by Vassall Lane, and extending east and west from the site of the old 

 Cambridge reservoir at the junction of Reservoir and Highland Streets (where 

 Mr. Alvin F. Sortwell's house now stands) to Fresh Pond, and north and south 

 from Concord Avenue nearly to Brattle Street. Throughout this area, now so 

 thickly settled, there was not then a building of any kind. Most of the land 

 was occupied by broad, smooth mowing fields ; bubbly and, in places, boggy, 

 pastures ; and fine old apple orchards, many acres in extent. There were also 

 one or two bushy swamps, several groves of large oaks, a conspicuous cluster 

 of tall white pines, a few isolated shell-bark hickories of the finest proportions, 

 and a number of scraggy wild apple trees. Here the dandelions and buttercups 

 were larger and yellcjwer, the daisies whiter and more numerous, the jingling 

 melody of the Bobolinks blither and merrier, the early spring shouting of the 

 F"licker louder and more joyous, and the long-drawn whistle of the Meadowlark 

 sweeter and more plaintive, than they ever have been or ever can be elsewhere, 

 at least in my experience. It was here that I spent most of my school holidays 

 in the early '60s, collecting birds in company with Daniel C. French, now an 

 eminent sculptor, or with fvuthven Deane, the well-known ornithologist. In 

 early spring we pursued the shy Redwings from tree to tree or beat the wet 

 hollows for Wilson's Snipe, often flushing the latter birds by scores, but only 

 very rarely and by the merest chance bringing one to bag. The migrating 

 Warblers, Vireos, Sparrows, Flycatchers, etc., which frecjuented the orchards 

 and scattered groves or thickets later in the season, proved easier of capture 

 and supplied us with many a specimen whose novel beauty or imagined rarity 

 thrilled our youthful senses with wonder and delight. 



In June there was the birds-nesting, dear to all boyish hearts and fascinating 

 to every one who has ever indulged in it, by reason of its alternating successes 

 and disappointments, and because of the insight which it gives into some of the 

 innermost secrets of bird life. On one memorable occasion we found the nest 

 of a White-breasted Nuthatch in an orchard near Gray's Woods; and, on others, 

 eggs attributed with the rash confidence of extreme youth to all manner of 

 impossible parentage. 



Best of all were the mellow October days when the squirrels were busy 

 gathering their winter stores from the oaks and hickories, and when in the close- 

 cropped and still verdant pastures, flecked with cloud shadows and spangled with 



