172 BEACH GRASS 



a man could stand erect at the entrance. A post 

 planted in front with a few short boards on top 

 made a convenient writing table. Here I like 

 to sleep at night surrounded by my friends the 

 trees and from their branches come the songs of 

 many birds. 



The birds early discovered the forest's attrac- 

 tions. During the spring and fall it becomes a 

 nesting and feeding place for many migrants. It 

 is an oasis in a desert of salt marshes to north and 

 south. Delicate warblers flying across the 

 marshes seek rest in its protecting arms. My 

 list of migrants is large, and, as time goes on, I 

 am inclined to believe, I shall find that many 

 will tarry there regularly. Birds, like most of 

 us, are creatures of habit, and, if they find a con- 

 venient stopping place — a good inn — on their 

 twice yearly journeys, they will come back to it. 

 For example, on three Memorial Days at intervals 

 of several years I have found a yellow-bellied fly- 

 catcher singing in my forest. Doubtless he 

 stopped there on other years, but, if the day were 

 neither a Sunday nor a holiday, his presence was 

 not noted. Although the spring and fall migra- 



