July Musings. 



"If as a poet or naturalist you wish to explore a 

 given neighborhood go and live in it. Fish in its 

 streams, hunt in its forests, pluck its wild fruits. 

 This will be the surest and speediest way to those 

 perceptions you covet." Thoreau. 



Wednesday, July 5, 1911. In canip once 

 more ! In camp on a high grass covered terrace 

 beneath the shelter of a great white oak. On 

 the north, within less than forty yards and be- 

 low me thirty feet, the clear pure waters of Rac- 

 coon Creek flow placidly onward with a gentle 

 murmur. Just back of my tent, on the slope of 

 a ridge which gradually descends to the water's 

 edge, is a copse where wild raspberries, black- 

 berries, grapes, hazel, dwarf oaks and many 

 other shrubs and vines in great profusion twine 

 and intermingle. Here also my mid-summer 

 serenaders dwell, the choir that never tires of 

 making music for my ear. A pair of yellow- 

 breasted chats aided by a cardinal or two com- 

 pose its membership. At intervals, especially in 

 the dusks of early morn and eve, a wood thrush 

 helps them out. 



To the south of my tent is the greater part 

 of my grass covered lawn, and on it are three 



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