Songs of the Fields 



They are cleanly, else they would not be wash- 

 ing forever. It almost appears at times as if they 

 must carry a Lady Macbeth curse, that they try The Field 

 to wash away. They wash their antennae, heads, " 

 bodies, wings, each of their four small feet, and 

 then the long, springboard legs and larger feet. 

 After a few bites of pollen, plant- juice, or any 

 dead insects upon which they may happen, they 

 wash again. They are the genuine "water babies" 

 of the fields, and the most insistent musicians. 

 Sometimes they like the open fields, but a little 

 search among the grasses and flowers around the 

 old snake- fences will prove hoppers even more nu- 

 merous there. This may be because the rails and 

 bushes afford protection from bird enemies. 



The unusually wet season of 1907 did many 

 queer things afield, none more amazing than the 

 growth it made possible among some flowers of 

 low habit. Botanists tell you that beard-tongue 

 (Pentstemon pubescens) grows from one foot to 

 a foot and a third. At that height to the casual 

 observer it is almost lost among the grasses and 

 undergrowth. This season many people called 

 my attention to a delicately colored, lacy, exquisite 

 flower they never before had seen. It was beard- 

 tongue, growing all through the Limberlost, along 

 Canoper way, in Rainbow Bottom, and around the 

 fields, to the height of the top of seven-rail fences. 

 It sprang up a smooth, thrifty stalk, grew slender 

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