12 TH EY 7ALU DIU sBlOUN: SBaUr Lei ie eee 
keen as their eyes, and if so what they would make of the strange odors. 
The air was full of fireflies; some insect went ‘zee, zee, zee, ze-ze-ze”’; 
American and Fowler toads added their mellow voices. Walls of trees 
and shrubs shut in the moonlit glade. “It’s better to live in a poem than 
to read or write one,” I thought. 
Then came the owls. One flew over our heads. Another seemed to 
go to the big opening in the old elm. At first there was no noise. Then 
we moved and immediately a demoniacal shriek rang out. I understood 
the old folklore associating owls with night-riding hags, witches, enchant- 
ments. But as I had never heard a demon cry, I began to think of some- 
thing more realistic to which I could compare the sound. The best: I 
could think of was the raucous attempt at a crow of a young rooster. If 
he used but one note and prolonged it that would be a bit like the owl’s 
cry, I thought. But Mrs. Bonney said it was like nothing she has ever 
heard. 
The owl stationed itself in the branches of a tree near the nest and 
continued the cries. I moved to a tree trunk overhanging the creek to 
be as near as I could get without falling into the water. The owl kept 
up the shrieks indefinitely at seven to fourteen second intervals. 
Finally when it seemed impossible to learn more on this visit, we made 
our way back to the car. I looked at my watch in the moonlight and saw 
if was eleven o’clock. We drove home happy and excited by our night’s 
experience. When we got to our hotel I rang our bell in the lobby and 
went up to our fioor. My spirits were suddenly dashed to find my husband 
outside the door of our apartment, pajama-clad and looking very stern. 
“Do you know it’s 11:30,” he asked. “I’ve been calling the police.” I felt 
remorseful, but a little pleased, too, as no one before in my many years 
of field work had ever shown the least concern about my safety. 
One beautiful afternoon the first of July, Mrs. Bonney and I went 
out again to the barn owl tree. We had wished several times that we 
had an extension ladder so that we could look down into the nest. As 
that was not available she brought a step-ladder, her husband’s deep-sea 
fishing pole, and a small mirror. The gate was open and we drove as 
close as we could, but even so we had to carry the ladder across a corn 
patch and a tangle of long grass and weeds, over the creek and through 
the wood to the tree. We first knocked on the trunk and, getting no 
answer, decided the birds might all be gone. Then we rested the ladder 
against the tree and I climbed up and was precariously standing on the 
top, holding with one hand to a small branch, and trying with the other 
to adjust the mirror so I could see into the big cavity, when Mrs. Bonney 
cried, “Oh, there they are.” Two young barn owls flew out in quick 
succession. One appeared white and the other showed quite a few tannish 
bars. They disappeared in the wood across the creek. Presently two more 
came up and went into a round hole just above the big opening, as though 
they had gone up into the attic. There they stayed until we left, and often 
the full face of one, looking like a valentine, would fill the opening. 
As even when standing on the step-ladder we were five or six feet 
below the cavity, and as this was so deep that the mirror reflected only 
