BIRDS OF PEASEMARSH 



sang that Spring was on her way. Thus they 

 cheered the human beings who waited through 

 snow and rain and cold for the slow coming of 

 springtime, for birds do not forget any spot 

 where it is possible to nest. They go where 

 Spring comes late. Sometimes it is late in 

 coming to Peasemarsh here on the western 

 shore of the Georgian Bay at the foot of the 

 Blue Mountains, but the birds do not despair; 

 they are the same bright guests here as in all 

 places within their range. 



Always this has been a favorite spot for 

 birds. They were here before the first white 

 man came this way. One reads of them in the 

 very few stories and legends that have come 

 down to us from the Indians that once peopled 

 this country. The Indians must have studied 

 the habits of the birds in the very spot where 

 they are singing in the orchard, for just under 

 the hill was once an old Indian village, and the 

 trail leading from it, to distant camps on the 

 bay, crossed what is now the orchard and the 

 meadow. 



So far as we know, the Indians, going back 

 and forth from their village, passed under the 

 old elm where now hangs the Bluebird house. 



[5] 



