March in the Pine Woods. 



perfect that the most experienced ear 

 will oftentimes be deceived. 



These 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 regu- 

 larly 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 assem- 

 ble 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 



^S3 



