SPRING ON THE MARSHES 



BY A. A. ALLEN 



ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF ORNITHOLOGY, CORNELL UNIVERSITY 



SNUGGLED between opposing hills at the head of 

 Cayuga Lake is a tract of land locally known as the 

 Renwick Swamp. To some it is the only blot upon 

 an otherwise beautiful 

 landscape, and the one 

 hindrance to a prosper- 

 ous city. To others it is 

 one of the greatest assets 

 which this bit of country, 

 richly endowed by na- 

 ture, affords. For ages 

 the picturesque streams, 

 which tumble down from 

 the hills have been de- 

 positing their burdens of 

 silt into the deep waters 

 of the lake until a great 

 delta has been formed, a 

 delta upon which rests 

 much of the city of 

 Ithaca and upon whose 

 outer stretches lies the 

 verdant marsh. Each 

 year sees more and more 

 of this marsh "reclaimed" by filling, but each year the 

 north winds form new bars in the shallow waters at the 

 head of the 

 lake and more 

 of the lake is 

 claimed by the 

 marsh. Ten 

 years ago the 

 cat-tails waved 

 where now an 

 extensive avia- 

 tion field in- 

 vites the man- 

 made birds, but 

 ten years ago 

 the storm-toss- 

 ed waves lash- 

 ed a great area 

 where now the 

 cat-tails beckon 

 to the passing 

 marsh birds. 

 Thus, as the 

 years roll by, 

 will the luxuri- 

 ant marsh al- 

 ways lead the way in the conquest of new land and 

 the transformation of the lake bottom into industrial 

 sites. But for the present this area, together with thou- 

 sands of similar ones, will be classified in our economic 



THE LOON 



By Lew Sarett 



A. lonely lake, a lonely shore, 

 A lone pine leaning on the moon; 

 All night the water-beating wings 

 Or a solitary loon. 



With mournful wail from dusk to dawn 

 He gibbered at the taunting stars, 

 A hermit-soul gone raving mad, 

 And heating at his hars. 



Photograph by A. A. Allen. 



SPRING ON THE MARSHES 



The marsh at the head of Cayuga Lake as it was ten years ago. Today much of the marsh here shown is 

 occupied by an aviation field while the marsh itself has advanced to claim much of the lake shown in 

 the photograph. 



atlas as waste land. Waste land indeed! Let Nature 

 speak and she would decry the insinuation. Here is a 

 place so loved by her that not one cubic inch is wasted. 



Year after year the 

 green flags wave, crowd- 

 ed closer than the skilled 

 agriculturist can force 

 his crops. Down be- 

 neath the flags, the water 

 plantains, the smart 

 weed, and the arrow 

 arums, the duck weeds, 

 the milfoils, the bladder- 

 worts, and the algae fill 

 every available inch with 

 luxuriant growth. Nor 

 does the abundance of 

 the vegetation exceed 

 the animal life that 

 dwells there. Birds, 

 beasts, and fish and 

 myriads of winged crea- 

 tures are here found in 

 greater numbers than 

 any where else. Some there are who shun the marshes 

 as the abode of snakes and fever, haunt of naught but 



evil, and to them 

 the strange 

 voices which 

 come from its 

 unknown 

 depths are un- 

 canny. The 

 rhythmic wav- 

 ing of the 

 sedges, the cold 

 breezes at eve- 

 ning, and the 

 blackness of its 

 waters portend 

 no good. But 

 some there are 

 who have spent 

 hours wading 

 through its 

 dark waters ; 

 who know 

 when the pick- 

 rel run and the 

 bullheads nest; 

 who know when the mallard and the widgeon and the 

 pintail circle over its ponds and who know in which high 

 elm the wood duck nests. They know how the redwing 

 hangs its nest and where to find the coot and the rail. 



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