A Firm Seat 171 



The surface of the water around the canoe is covered with 

 debris, mostly small material. Cattail leaves, pieces of sub- 

 merged plants that have been broken off by storms, floating 

 duckweed, fragments of shore plants, odd things such as a 

 moth's wing, moulted feathers, and floating pollen are part 

 of the mixture, most of which eventually sinks, for there is 

 no current to carry it away and little wind to transport it. I 

 would like to know the depth of material that is annually 

 added to the marsh floor, how much of a deposit it would 

 make after it had settled and become thoroughly consoli- 

 dated. How long does it normally require to raise the bottom 

 an inch? I have seen many so-called drowned lakes in the 

 mountains, but their disappearance was almost entirely due 

 to the material carried in by flood and avalanche. Except 

 where man dumps material, the marsh is an example of an 

 area being filled by its own debris, almost uninfluenced by 

 outside contributions. 



I hear the loud and, to me, joyous call of martins overhead. 

 I have not visited Green Lake this year to see if they have 

 begun their annual gathering in the willows at the south 

 end. As many as eight thousand birds have been estimated 

 to sweep into the low trees at dusk. They may be seen com- 

 ing, high in the sky, from all directions, and bound for this 

 one meeting place on the shore of the small lake inside the 

 city limits. There they fly and mill about until just before 

 dark, when they drop into the trees with a noise that re- 

 sembles that of a breaking wave. Early in the morning they 

 leave and return, probably to the places where they have 

 nested. Will they continue to come to the Green Lake 

 willows? The city has recently erected a concrete structure 

 for viewing water sports at the edge of the lake less than a 

 city block from the trees where the concentrations took place. 

 Perhaps this spectacular roosting, the only one ever reported 

 in the Pacific Northwest, will come to an abrupt ending. 



A bullfrog calls from inside the marsh. I wish that the call 



