eH Aie Asal US BsOON- Bele biL. B Tol N Li 
Mrs. Long-ears may feel she raised her family so happily and so success- 
fully that she will come again next year to the same vicinity to bring up 
another family. 
About two weeks after we had said good-bye to the long-ears we were 
in a very different territory looking for birds. This was the vicinity of 
some clay pits, most of them abandoned and now small lakes, but one 
quite ugly and still being worked. Nearby were small narrow gilens with 
their sluggish streams, making excellent habitats for numerous birds. 
Mrs. Bonney was on one side of the creek and I on the other when she 
flushed a large bird that flew silently across. We saw it well enough to 
identify it as a barn owl, although she had never seen one before and I 
only the ones we used to see in the dark pines on the C.O.S. trips to 
the Arboretum. It moved again and was lost. Then she said, “Here’s a 
great hole in this old stub of an elm.” ‘Pound on the tree with a stick,” 
I called, and out came the barn owl, giving us excellent views of her, or 
of him it might have been, as barn owls at times both incubate, sitting 
side by side. 
We felt sure there must be a nest in the hole, and a few evening's 
later Mrs. Bonney went out alone to see what would happen at night. 
She reported that the owls were active about the old tree and that when 
she moved one let out an unearthly screech. This report led to our wild 
night of May 29. There was to be a good moon and we planned to watch 
the behavior of the owls by its light. As I left home a little after six 
o’clock I said casually to my husband, “I’m going out with Mrs. Bonney 
to look at the barn owl and won’t be back before dark.” 
We had an extra two or three hours before time to begin the owl 
study and decided to drive out to the marsh at the upper end of the lake. 
We thought we might see the gallinule or the bitterns again or maybe 
some rails, all of which are rarely seen here. The time we spent there 
and more time we spent in looking for some cool drinks made us late in 
reaching the clay pits. The moon was up and the gates locked, and so 
we had to park the car on the highway. Not liking to attempt crossing 
the creek in the dim light, we took, to me, the unfamiliar way along the 
top of the bluff. 
The environment at this point was not idyllic as had been that of the 
long-ears. It was nearer town and frequented by all sorts of people. The 
open pit to our left was ugly. Voices were heard near-by. We kept out 
of sight among the trees and spoke little. After a few wrong turnings, 
we came to a place where Mrs. Bonney said, “I’m sure the tree is across 
from here. We’ll have to go down this bank.” The side of the bank was 
covered with old bricks and overgrown with shrubbery. But finally we 
were down, made our way through some barbed wire, and found ourselves 
in giant ragweeds, higher than our heads. The situation to me was novel 
and sinister. Ahead I could see what first looked like a sheet of water, 
but when we got to it, it was a lovely moon-filled glade. The far side of 
this was not far from the barn owl’s tree. We sat down among some 
shrubbery and, as mosquitoes were vicious, applied plentiful amounts of 
oil of citronella and Scat. I wondered if the noses of the owls were as 
