346 
The Veery 
An Ethereal 
Trill 
To my mind all such attempts are woefully inadequate. Perhaps the 
best description of its song is that given by Ridgway, who refers to it 
as “an inexpressible, delicate, metallic utterance of the syllables ta-weel- 
ah, twil-ah, twil-ah, accompanied by a fine trill.” The first part of the 
song is louder than the ending — in fact the song seems to start off 
with a burst of energy that diminishes before the end of the performance. 
To me the song has always suggested a sort of ethereal trill, as if the 
notes came through a spiral, silvery pipe; there is 
something suggesting infinite space and vast distance 
in their exquisite quality. Although the song carries 
well, it frequently happens that when one is near the performer, but 
does not see it, he thinks the bird a considerable distance away. 
The Olive-backed Thrush has a song which may be described as a 
poor imitation of that of the Veery; but once listen to a Veery on a long 
summer evening and you will never afterward mistake the Olive-backed 
Thrush for the Veery. 
This bird knows well how to hide her nest, and unless, perchance, 
you should see her carrying building-materials, or should discover one 
of the parents taking food to the young, you are not likely to learn her 
secret. Probably the majority of nests that are seen are found by 
flushing the bird from her eggs as the observer makes his way through 
the woodland. 
On June 18, 1914, I found myself in a good Veery country along 
the western shore of Lake Champlain. The constant singing of these 
Thrushes, especially in the early morning and late afternoon and evening, 
awakened a strong desire to learn more of the private life of these 
particular birds. Just as you always feel that you know a man better 
after having seen his home, sO' do you feel on much more intimate terms 
with a wild bird after having looked upon the cradle it has built for its 
young. We are in the midst of the woods and the Veeries were on every 
side. So I started gaily forth to hunt a nest, but the 
day ended in failure, as did also the next and the 
next. In desperation I wrote to a very wise gentle- 
man of my acquaintance and asked him how in the world I was to find 
a Veery’s nest. 
“It is a very simple matter,” he wrote, “if you will keep your eyes 
open. The nest is always on the ground or very near it. Look at the 
foot of trees or stumps, especially in growths of young sprouts, on logs 
or stumps, in thick places or among plants on a steep hillside. Search 
only in the woods and especially where it is damp.” 
I read this and found that I knew just exactly as much as I did before, 
for I had seen all this in bird-books over and over again. So I thanked 
him for his kindness and went out into the woods once more. For two 
or three hours every day for two weeks the search went on, and not the 
slightest sign of a nest could I find. Yet the Veeries had nests, or had 
had nests, for during this time I came upon no less than fourteen young, 
Hunting 
a Nest 
