How the Tide Wrens Acquired Summer Quarters 19 



September came, the time for land and shorebirds to begin 

 to leave, and the season when the marsh welcomed the influx 

 of water birds. Already the mallards were scattered over the 

 bay and soon the baldpates would begin to raft in the open 

 water. One cold morning I nosed my canoe into the baylet. I 

 saw no wrens. My friends had left, the lease had expired, the 

 season for which the space had been reserved was over. From 

 now on, mallards, fat from feeding on the knee-high smart- 

 weed which they love, would flush when I entered. They 

 would be the fall guests of this part of the marsh. The stiff 

 regularity of the cattail and loosestrife growth which held 

 the wren nests would slump into a soft disorder. 



I told the canoehouse manager that the wrens had left. 



"Where do you suppose they head for?" he asked. 



My answer was quick, but only because I had checked it 

 a few nights before. 



"They go as far as Central America." 



And that was the end of one lease in the marsh. Somewhere 

 in a similar area between Seattle and Guatemala, nobody 

 knows just where, will be the tule wrens, uttering their harsh 

 chur, moving about in the marsh growth, and as much at 

 home as when I watched them in their summer quarters in 

 the shadow of the football stadium in Seattle. 



