THE OREGON SPORTSMAN 43 



along the middle of the back. But the queerest thing in the life of the 

 hummingbird is to watch the mother feed her young. She collects sweets 

 from the flowers, little spiders and other insects, which she swallows 

 and then she feeds by regurgitation. She braces her tail against the 

 side of the nest, draws her dagger-like bill straight up above and plunges 

 it down the baby's throat to the hilt. Then she starts a jabbing process 

 as if to puncture him to the toes. In this way siie pumps his stomach 

 full of food. It looks like the murder of the infants. 



I have never seen a hummingbird fledgling fall from the nest in 

 advance of his strength, as a young robin does. When the time comes, 

 he seems to spring into the air full-grown, clad in glittering armor, as 

 Minerva sprang from the head of Jove. One day, as I watched a young 

 hummingbird in the nest, I learned the reason. He sat on the nest edge, 

 stretched his wings and combed out his tail feathers with his bill. Then 

 he tried his wings. He began slowly, as if getting up steam. He made 

 them buzz till they almost lifted him off his feet. He had to hang on to 

 keep from going. In this way he practiced many times during the day, 

 until he mastered the art of balancing and rising in the air. 



BIRD PROTECTION AS A WAR MEASURE 



Readers of The Sportsman wishing to prevent shooting on their 

 premises will be interested in cloth signs issued free of charge by the 

 National Association of Audubon Societies, which reads as follows: 



SHOOTING ON THIS PROPERTY IS PROHIBITED. 

 PROTECT THE BIRDS AS A WAR MEASURE! 



The food destroyed in America by insects and small rodents would 

 feed the people of Belgium! Birds are the great natural enemies of 

 these pests. The laws of the state and of the nation protect insect-eating 

 birds, but many are being shot wantonly and for food. Report violations 

 to the nearest game warden or to the address given below. 



NATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF AUDUBON SOCIETIES 

 1974 Broadway New York City 



DANDELIONS 



By Everett Earle Stanard, Brownsville, Oregon 



Afar from city streets I wander out 



To see what flowers are left upon the hill. 



The leaves are drifted in the tiny rill 

 That trickles slowly in its chosen route. 

 The wind is sighing like a soul in doubt 



Whose way is lost in winter woods so chill. 



There is no hint of any sweet bird's trill 

 In all the mighty forest round about. 



The dainty children of the summer hours 

 Are perished every one and fled away, 



Save that the hardy dandelion flowers 

 Remain to testify of summer's day. 



Well worth the walk it was into the cold 



To see the proud plant flaunt its mite of gold. 



