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A Town of Five Thrushes 



The town of Stowe, Vt., is especially for- 

 tunate birdwise, — or, more exactly, thrush- 

 wise. The good fortune is one not generally 

 appreciated by the town's permanent resi- 

 dents, perhaps, but the bird-loving visitor 

 in June and July may revel in five breed- 

 ing species of Hylocichla, — "five brown, 

 wood -haunting Thrushes," as Hoffman 

 describes them. 



During the last ten days of June, 1919, 

 my husband and I lived at the upper end 

 of a Stowe valley leading to the eastern 

 slopes of Mt. Mansfield, which lies upon 

 Stowe's western border and has an eleva- 

 tion of 4,600 feet. We arrived at 8 o'clock 

 one evening. All along the wooded ridge 

 north of our house Hermit Thrushes were 

 singing, and we found, during our stay. 

 Hermit Thrushes most numerous of the 

 five species noted. 



South of the house, on the farther edge 

 of a grassy meadow, the valley's stream 

 meandered between low, wooded bluffs. 

 Here the Veery sang morning and evening. 

 Veeries were common in favorable locations 

 throughout the lower parts of this region. 



In a narrow, wooded valley leading into 

 ours from the southwest, we found a pair 

 of Wood Thrushes, the female (?) sitting 

 on her nest; so we could not doubt these 

 birds were quite at home in this northern 

 locality. Twice again we found Wood 

 Thrushes; in one case, in deciduous woods 

 at considerable elevation, what seemed to 

 be a rollicking family party of parents and 

 grown children. 



On the first favorable day we set forth 

 in the early morning for the mountain top, 

 planning to extend the expedition over 

 two days and a night, as there is a small 

 hotel at the summit. The mountain is 

 wooded to its top, and an easy-graded 

 carriage road makes the climb a simple 

 matter for those who do not care to attempt 

 the steeper trails. 



As we ascended the mountain, the Olive- 



(218) 



backed Thrush gradually replaced the Her- 

 mit Thrush. At an elevation of about 

 1,400 feet, from a low spruce tree close be- 

 side the road, an Olive-backed hastily but 

 quietly left her nest and eggs, at our 

 approach. 



In June, 1918, we had climbed Mansfield 

 from the south, our special quest being 

 Bicknell's Thrush, said to live about the 

 hotel at the mountain's top. That year 

 we were unable to find any trace of the 

 Bicknell's Thrush, and we are told that 

 other observers have duplicated this ex- 

 perience. Some years, because of weather 

 conditions during migration or for other 

 reasons, no Bicknell's Thrushes return to 

 Mansfield. In 1919, however, we were not 

 again to be disappointed. While still a 

 thousand feet or more from the summit 

 house, we first heard the new song. The 

 quality of voice suggested that of the 

 Veery, but the song was slower, richer, and 

 wholly lacked the Veery's downward spi- 

 raling. This first Bicknell's was in some par- 

 ticulars the most accomplished singer of 

 his species we heard, but he lacked the 

 romantic mountain-top environment. 



A shower drove us indoors immediately 

 on our arrival at the summit, but when, 

 toward evening, the rain had ceased, we 

 climbed to a rocky viewpoint and looked 

 out upon the tangled mat of dwarf balsam 

 forest which covers the extreme upper 

 slopes and the long, flattened top of the 

 mountain. Here and there the expanse of 

 balsams was punctuated with Bicknell's 

 Thrushes, each perched on or near the tip 

 of d balsam spire. With all of Vermont 

 and much of its neighboring states spread 

 beneath their gaze, and nothing but the 

 sky above, they lifted their heads and 

 voices and sang their little, captivating, 

 haunting song of three to six notes, all the 

 notes, except one, being long and slurred. 

 They put so much of music and time into 

 each note, that the song, even in its three- 

 note form, was still wonderful, and one 

 never heard enough. Indeed, one half 



