June 
the house, as did a pair of blue jays, wood thrushes, 
and chestnut-sided warblers. These I am still waiting 
for. I need another June. 
Not one of all these birds is rare or even shy, 
unless it be the swamp sparrow; none of them that 
the veriest beginner should not come to know in the 
course of one June. For these are almost domesti- 
cated, our near neighbors and friends, who desire 
and who will return our friendly, neighborly calls. 
There are other birds, like the hawks, the owls, 
the herons, the rarer thrushes, sparrows, warblers, 
and marsh birds, that require time and tramping for 
their discovery. I know the very log in which I could 
find young turkey buzzards in June; the clump of 
dog-roses where a least bittern will build; the old 
gum that for years has harbored a pair of barred 
owls; the little cove where, spring after spring, a 
black duck nests. But I should need a vacation to 
visit these. 
I watch the others between times, — between five 
o’clock in the morning and breakfast, between break- 
fast and train time and church time, and on Satur- 
days to and from the garden. If you are your own 
gardener, you can carry not only a hoe, but along 
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