WHAT BIRDS SAY AND SING 233 



our finest songsters. The similarity of these songs 

 to the notes of our birds could be only accidental, 

 since it is highly improbable that any of these 

 composers ever heard our larks and orioles sing. 



Associated with the oriole in my mind is the 

 red-winged blackbird, which comes earlier and some 

 seasons nests in large numbers in a strip of swamp 

 directly across the narrow channel of the lake in 

 front of the Cabin. One summer in particular, 

 they crossed the channel and swarmed all over the 

 woods food hunting, scratching over the ground like 

 industrious chickens, pausing with swollen throats 

 and wings half -lifted to deliver their crj^ beautifully 

 clear in accent and inflection: "Konka-ree." 

 Again, it comes plainly in the call form: "0-ka- 

 lee!" Their song is nothing more than a sort of 

 whistling-humming: " Gug-lug-a-ree ! " These 

 notes are long-drawn, pure, and very sweet. 



Meadow larks we ha^'e always with us, coming 

 from the cultivated fields adjoining our woods on 

 the south to hunt food in our thickets, vines, and 

 bushes, over the open garden and the meadow be- 

 hind it. Their tribal call is difficult to render, 

 short, sharp, and unmusical: "Z'stt, z'stt." The 

 notes of no bird of our ornithology are better 

 known than the sweet, lovely song of the lark. 

 In words appropriate to the season and easy to 

 understand, the larks cry: "Spring o' year!" just 

 as distinctly as the whippoorwill pronounces his 

 name. Over the alfalfa fields of Nebraska, I 



