Notes from Field and Study 



275 



for the chickens, I saw the same Lark, or 

 another, probing in the wet grass for food. 

 — Mrs. Eugene D. Lindsay, Edmonds, 

 Wash. 



The Barn Owl's Voice 



A person once described as 'abominable 

 the night noises made by Owls, and though 

 true bird-lovers will never agree with him, 

 it would have to be admitted that the 

 Barn Owl is no 'true songster.' 



After listening night after night to the 

 harsh screams, and even louder growling, 

 rattling noise he can make, sounds which 

 in the dark hours fairly make the shivers 

 jump up and down one's spine, I can well 

 imagine that woods could seem haunted 

 and that, in the silent flopping flight of the 

 big whitish bird, any superstitious person 

 could see a ghost or almost any uncanny 

 being of the visionary world. Like young 

 Crows, the young of the Barn Owls 

 receive the care of one or both parents for 

 a long time after they can fly, and during 

 all this period, as well as earlier, they make 

 their strange clamor at feeding-time. 



As I write this — August 25 — a number 

 of their weird rasps come from nearby 

 trees. I have grown to like the sounds. 

 They began at dusk when out of the swamp 

 stole one of the parents, like a white 

 shadow, straight to the hollow in a partly 

 blighted chestnut tree that stands alone 

 in the pasture. The old Owl circled the 

 tree; then out flew a young one and then 

 another and another until five shadowy 

 white forms flopped apparently aimlessly 

 around and around the pasture, amid 

 screeches, which on other evenings I have 

 heard half a mile and which are simply 

 inimitable. This has happened nearly 



every evening throughout August and 

 September in the years I have spent 

 here. 



It is one of the old Owls that makes 

 the growling rattle which, reverberating 

 among tree trunks, sounds almost like a 

 menagerie let loose. The sound seems 

 usually to be made while the bird is 

 flying with, or to, its mate. When com- 

 ing toward one it is truly terrifying, par- 

 ticularly if in some gloomy recess of a 

 wood. The Barn Owl itself is such a 

 queer-looking creature that even coun- 

 try boys look upon it with dread, and 

 Crows awake into a perfect frenzy when 

 they find it. And yet was there ever a 

 creature more innocent of meaning offence 

 to man or bird? Every disgorged pellet 

 of fur, bones, and teeth which I could 

 find has been examined without discover- 

 ing a sign of feathers. 



Mice, destructive little creatures, al- 

 most fill the bill-of-fare, and these Owls 

 are very clever in hunting them. A 

 'mousey' spot in a field is silently quar- 

 tered again and again, with intervals 

 between during which the Owl sits on a 

 tree, fence, or building nearby and listens 

 and watches. Mice come out of hiding 

 after danger has apparently passed and 

 sooner or later are caught off their guard. 

 Down swoops the circling Owl, then up 

 again and off to the waiting young who 

 see the dangling mouse from afar and 

 raise their voices in joyous clamor. It is 

 not a beautiful sound, but to the thrifty 

 farmer it heralds better, bigger crops. The 

 old half-dead chestnut tree, unsightly as it 

 is, has a lease on life as long as it can 

 harbor Barn Owls. — Joseph W. Lip- 

 piNCOTT, Bethayres, Fa. 



THE SEASON 

 III. June 15 to August 16, 1917 



Boston Region. — Following a late, 

 rainy spring, the summer proved typical 

 of New England — ideal summer weather 

 in June, periods of intense heat, high 



humidity, and drought in July relieved by 

 the thunder showers of early August. 



The nesting birds laid full sets of eggs 

 which, in the main, hatched successfully. 



