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sheeted with honeybees. At the Dune Acres stop blooms 
the strange Viper’s Bugloss which [I don't see anywhere 
else. Under the high tension wires where it’s mostly 
grasses now, sprinkled here and there with spikes of False 
Indigo, the Fringed Gentian will raise its lovely head in 
September and October. A few Bouncing Bets are opening 
where later there will be acres of them for the Humming- 
birds’ delectation. ‘The Spiderwort everywhere is bright in 
the morning. A Phoebe darts in under the busy, busy high- 
way bridge on Route 12. What a strange ecological niche 
a Phoebe occupies. What is his cutoff point—what would 
be too much traffic for him to nest? And where does he go 
when the young are fledged’ I never see him after that. 
The young Tulip tree we planted has grown shoulder 
high at last. So few of these magnificent straight trunks 
are left in the Dunes. Have you ever studied a Tulip tree 
leaf bud? Its folds are as intricate as an origami fan could 
design. Its perfection is humbling—like the arrangement 
of seeds in a Common Milkweed pod or the infinite varia- 
tion and exquisite delicacy of even the simplest meadow 
flower when viewed under a microscope lens. The Lupines 
have developed fat green pods. Later these will turn black, 
split wide open and curl up from their own magic torque. 
Two dead baby red squirrels lie in the road fifty feet 
apart. Farther down is a dead Red-headed Woodpecker— 
a sad reminder of the never-ending tragedy of roadkills. 
Whom we don’t kill by pollution and destruction of hab- 
itat, we will kill with cars. The Chimney Swifts chitter 
high over the marsh. A wandering Indigo Bunting looks 
black in the high noon sun. Time was when he nested 
on Veden Road and fed his young on our feeders. He ate 
and ate and ate, longer than anyone except the Grosbeak, 
often right beside a Cardinal or half a dozen Purple 
Finches. . 
By the end of June, most young are visible—to ear 
at least. For sheer volume of noise, the Blue Jays win. Six 
or seven stunning blues will come in together and the 
begging din is unbelieveable. Only young terns are worse. 
The young Wrens scold and so do the adults, but at least 
they have intervals of joyous song. For “‘worrywortness’’ 
and sheer devotion, the Cardinal parents win first place. 
The baby, already adult size, cheeps and bleats constantly, 
even while chewing the shelled sunflower seed Mother has 
just put in his beak. The Towhees are faithful parents, 
feeding their young with great dexterity. 
35 
