The Brown Towhees 



have no company manners. And for color — never was a more hopeless 

 drab. But surely the bird must have some redeeming qualities. He 

 sings, perhaps? Not at all; his efforts at song are a farce, a standing joke 

 — though he is himself entirely devoid of humor. He is, to be sure, a 

 gleaner of crumbs and odds and ends, but so are the ants; and the bird's 

 presence in a garden is far from being an unmixed blessing. Really, there 

 is no reason why one should espouse the cause of this local ash-man. Yet 

 I suppose there are few Californians who would willingly spare the homely, 

 matter-of-fact presence of this bird under foot. Brown Towhees are just 

 birds — the same way most of us are just folks. 



Truth to tell, the sober color of our hero does match very well the 

 universal dryness of the under scrub, during the long rest period which 

 Californian vegetation indulges (and which dutiful Californians pretend 

 to like). When other birds, therefore, have forsaken the mesa and have 

 gone to higher, greener levels, the Towhee feels no need of change. He 

 has come into his own. Trusting to his brown coat, he moves about fear- 

 lessly in the open, and is much more active than Thrasher or Wren-Tit 

 dares to be, away from cover. Wren-Tit is, doubtless, the first bird to 

 respond to the screeping call of the birdman, but if the Wren-Tit is not on 

 hand, the Brown Towhee is sure to be. His name is legion, and some one 

 of him marks the downsitting and the uprising of every human in western 



or southern 

 California. 



The 

 Brown Tow- 

 hee is the typi- 

 cal Hans when 

 he gets with 

 other birds. 

 When he is 

 consorting 

 with the 

 Crown Spar- 

 rows, as he 

 often does, or 

 tries to, he 

 apes all their 

 motions of 

 fright or 

 flight, but he 

 does it so awk- 

 wardly and ex- 



Taken at Los Colibris 



Photo by the A ulhor 



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