MARCH IN THE PINE WOODS 



species are noisy, inquisitive, and vivacious in manners. The 

 note of the CaHfornia jay may be described as a squawking 

 laughter, while the blue-fronted jay calls a loud, rattling k^ick- 

 kuck-k^ck-k^cJi, making the most hilarious clatter imaginable. 

 Both species have a great variety of subordinate calls, the most 

 interesting of which is the imitation by the latter bird of the cry 

 of the red-tailed hawk. Just why the jay should have cultivated 

 this call — whether for the purpose of protection, from mimetic 

 instinct, or from pure love of mischief — I am unable to say, 

 but certain it is, the imitation is so perfect that the most ex- 

 perienced ear will oftentimes be deceived. 



TTiese mountainous pine forests are the home of a host of 

 smaller birds. The barn and cliff swallows are once more in 

 their old haunts after their winter's sojourn in the south, calling 

 and chattering in high glee. Amid the pine branches are 

 flocks of chickadees, incessantly in motion. Bands of Oregon 

 snowbirds are flitting from bush to bush in more open places. 

 The loud, sweet call of the robin rings out cheerily from the 

 white oaks, which are now putting forth their first buds, and 

 regularly as the sun wheels into the golden west the flocks of 

 Brewer's blackbirds return from their foraging excursions in 

 the valleys below. At first they assemble in small squads, 

 flying directly to the top of a great dead pine tree that forms 

 their evening rendezvous. As their numbers increase the 

 melodious clamor of innumerable voices resounds through the 

 twilight air. Finally, as of one accord, they leave their 

 perches, wheel back and forth through the air a number of 

 times, and finally settle amid a patch of tules in an old pond. 

 Suddenly all is silence. The pine tree grows blacker cind 

 blacker in silhouette against the saffron sky, the timid deer 



[83J 



