Ill 



THE FAMILIAR BIRDS 



I CALL the birds familiar in the sense that they 

 make themselves very much at home with us, 

 and not in the sense that their lives become an 

 old story and fail to arouse our interest. It is a 

 story perpetually retold, with endless variations. 

 After you have named them all and have made 

 yourself acquainted with their various characters 

 and habits, your next walk to the fields and woods 

 or along the highway or about your own dooryard 

 may reveal some new trait in finch or thrush, or 

 some significant incident in their lives that kindles 

 your interest afresh. 



The birds are pioneers that begin the world anew 

 about us each season, and their lives touch and cross 

 ours at new points at all times. They are always the 

 same familiar birds, the birds of our youth, but 

 they are new as the flowers are new, as the spring 

 and summer are new, as each morning is new. Like 

 Nature herself they are endowed with immortal 

 youth, and always present to us an endless field for 

 fresh observation. 



The first robin, the first bluebird, the first song 

 sparrow, the first phoebe, the first swallow, is an 

 event which we mention to our neighbor, or write 



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