Marsh Symphony 215 



many toots and rattles which came from the neighboring 

 activities of man and his machines, but these were incidental 

 to, and not actually a part of, the area. The marsh lacked 

 the majesty of view, the presence of rampant elements, and 

 the roar of their conflict. But its allure was not less than that 

 of the seashore and the mountains. What was there about 

 the marsh to call me back week after week and year after 

 year? I tried to sum it up. 



There was the coming and going of the wildlife and its 

 contact with the neighboring human community, which es- 

 sentially is the theme of this book. There was the oppor- 

 tunity to visit the place frequently, to watch its residents 

 continually, and to get a connected picture of its life and 

 conduct. This, I thought, was not so easy for the man who 

 wished to study the high mountains or seashore. Such loca- 

 tions were many hours away from the city, while the marsh 

 could be reached from my home in four or five minutes. The 

 size and dignity of the larger areas were not to be underesti- 

 mated, but the lack of space by no means detracted from my 

 interest in the marsh. If I missed the unlimited view, I came 

 closer in contact with the marsh community. In the moun- 

 tains I knew canyons, lakes, and glaciers, all magnificently 

 impersonal; in the marsh I knew nests and mallard broods 

 and the various preferences of the marsh guests. At the place 

 where I visited the seashore, I watched the surf pile into the 

 creek entrance and batter it with the mass of logs which ac- 

 companied the onrush; in the marsh I stopped at the log 

 boom and watched the crows harry a Peale falcon which 

 soon abandoned its original intention to perch on one of the 

 big logs and rest peaceably. 



If one place was greater in scope, the other was more vital 

 in its nearness and appeal to the understanding. The noises 

 of the mountain and sea were caused usually by inanimate 

 things; the marsh noises were nearly always those of living 

 creatures, occasionally broken by wind in the undergrowth 



