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is growing the birds congregate and try to fatten up for their long 
journey to South America. They fly during the day and also at night. 
Within the next few weeks the bobolinks will be hopping off for Cuba. 
Then they will continue across'the Caribbean to South America where they 
will winter in-the central part of that continent. 
Countless thousands of them stay in the swampy area known as the 
Chaco where there are grass grown savannas. The birds used to be safe 
there. But today ornithologists are worrying over the fate of the bobolink, 
since the Chaco has become settled by colonists from southern Europe who 
shoot and eat all kinds of sparrows, blackbirds, and other small birds. 
The wood thrushes that called the farm their home this summer are 
on their way to southern Mexico and the Canal Zone. They take an 
entirely different migration route from that followed by bobolinks. 
The catbird, another entertaining songster that nests on the farm, 
makes quite a trip each fall to find a delightful wintering spot. (While 
hiking over the farm these days it’s possible to see the nests of these birds 
in what used to be heavy thickets.) An occasional catbird may stay north 
all winter but the smart representatives of the species travel to the southern 
states and some of them hop off for Cuba, the Bahamas, and even Panama. 
Associated with the catbird in “concert work” on the farm during the 
month of May is the brown thrasher. Walking thru the one small wooded 
area in the center of the farm where wild crab-apple, thorn-apple, and 
plum trees are numerous brings these two birds to mind. In the spring 
they seem to vie for singing honors. 
The scarlet tanager, the most vividly plumaged bird on the farm every 
summer, is going to be a long way from Chicagoland this winter. It will 
be wintering from Colombia down thru Bolivia.—Bob Becker in ‘‘Day by 
Day on the Farm,” Chicago Daily Tribune, Oct. 20, 1948. 
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Down Flossmoor Way 
By CLARA COCHRANE CODY 
A MARCH MORNING; wind; cold; sunshine. As we sped along we felt, in 
spite of leafless trees and no green thing in sight, that spring was around 
the corner, playing peek-a-boo with us. In front of several real estate 
offices the red bannerets were gallantly flying, and early home seekers 
were questioning eagerly, as is the annual fashion. No doubt many were 
already in a dream of the near future, picking luscious strawberries, and 
gathering pink roses from the home garden-to-be on the prairie! 
Here and there was a “golden blur” of yellow, touched already by the 
Midas in nature who changes often the growing things to pulsing, living 
gold—visual delights. 
Presently from the bare corn fields the cawing of the crows, — a pair 
already busy carrying sticks to a tall tree in the woods, like human beings 
with spring fever for a home. 
Parking the car we started through the leafless woods. Robins, several; 
