IN THE SAND DUNES 
21 
and by nightfall the tree that was 
well-clad twelve hours before will 
be as nude as any other tree in the for- 
est. Mr. Walker points out that the 
tree has one fault in that the seed pods 
cling to the branches all winter, mak- 
ing a gigantic rattlebox which clatters 
and clatters whenever the wind blows. 
The tree produces an enormous number 
of seeds. He counted one by one the 
seeds in an average pod, and found al- 
most exactly two thousand. He esti- 
mated that there were more than 
twenty-one million seeds on the one 
tree. A few birds, especially the blue 
jays, enjoy eating them. 
In the Sand Dunes. 
BY EDWARD EYRE HUNT, RIVERSIDE, 
CONNECTICUT. 
Life in the dunes is like life in per- 
petual snow, without the cold. Fuel 
can be fetched on sleds ; tents must be 
pitched with some regard for sand 
shdes ; gales will blow the sand like 
finest snowflakes into every crevice ; 
the glare of sunlight on the white waste 
will grow oppressive, and dark glasses 
or sooty marks below the eyes are good 
protection, just as in the Arctic ; the 
disposal of sewage is easy ; water can 
be obtained merely by sinking a well 
beneath the hard, dry surface, for the 
subsoil of the sand is always cool and 
damp ; shifting sands, like glacial ice. 
can best be fixed by vegetation — dune 
grass or beach plum — and the white, 
even surface each morning will bear, 
like newly fallen snow, a perfect record 
of every creature which has passed, the 
autographs of countless little feet. 
The dunes have a teeming popula- 
tion. About our tents were dozens of 
hop-toads which came out at dusk and 
went foraging in the wiry dune grass. 
They spent the day under driftwood or 
buried themselves in the cold subsands, 
and every morning their spoor, like a 
vertical pattern of water lilies, spread 
up and down the dunes. Flying grass- 
hoppers, too, were numerous and were 
either ivory white in color or a very 
pale gray. Their protective coloration 
was perfect. Nervous little sand fleas 
came into our tents and climbed to the 
peak of the canvas roof. At night they 
danced fantastically about our lanterns. 
There were sand wasps, too — dark blue 
or black. Ant hills abounded, some- 
times too near and numerous for com- 
fort. And there were crickets with the 
shrillest and most rasping evening note 
that I have ever listened to. The ca- 
davers of crabs and other small deer 
were circled with the tiny, well-like 
burrows of tiny, voracious crablings, 
and some little creature — anonymous 
to me — left vermicelli tracks all about 
our tent doors in the mornings, tracks 
which began and ended nowhere. There 
were flies, of course — far too many ! — 
and once I caught a katydid. 
Among the birds the fish hawks 
easily interested me most. I found, to 
my astonishment, that they had rather 
a pleasant note, and I had always be- 
lieved the hawks about the least musi- 
cal of birds. They fished constantly, 
darting down into the water and coming 
up with menhaden which they carried 
to their ugly nests in the tops of dead 
trees. My tent mate enlightened me 
a bit by telling me that a wounded fish 
hawk which he had caught had webbed 
feet and a long bill ; that it didn’t look 
like a hawk at all but like a gull. I think 
it likely that we have misnamed this 
bird, but cannot be sure until I look it 
up. Buzzards for some reason never 
visited our beach, although they floated 
about superbly a mile or two inland. 
Plovers came faithfully and so did the 
gulls. One day five tall herons stalked 
about in the lagoon behind the tents. 
So far as I could tell no birds were 
nesting in the dunes in August. 
The power of money could be tre- 
mendously increased, if we could buy 
time, as we do magazines and books. 
I have more of the latter than of the 
former, indeed so much more that it is 
impossible to get half through with 
what I’d like to. Yet, with the impos- 
sible staring me in the face, I find and 
must gratify a desire to continue The 
Guide to Nature. It is a delightful 
diversion after a long day’s work — 
like making room for a nice dessert 
even after a hearty meal. You will find 
my check enclosed with best wishes for 
your continued good work. — John A. 
Davis, Baltimore, Maryland. 
April waved her wand, and lo! 
Where just before were ice and snow, 
There stretched a slope beneath our eyes, 
That might have come from Paradise. 
— Emma Peirce. 
