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Following the Old Familiar Trail 
By EARL G. WRIGHT 
Out through the orchard, across the field of corn stubble and into 
the December woods. I am again in the haunts of my childhood. In 
these woods and fields I spent many carefree hours as a boy com- 
muning with nature. 
Again I follow the trail that was once so familiar. Out of the 
woods and along the fence-row between the hilly pasture and the 
meadow. But what is this? The fence is new, the hedge is gone and 
"The marsh stretches away for a mile or more." 
the meadow is now a field of corn shocks. The fence-row I once 
knew was a dense hedge of wild cherry, thorn apple and sumach. 
Here in summer I could be sure to find a nest of the migrant shrike. 
The corner fence post usually housed a family of bluebirds; and one 
Summer a pair of black-capped chickadees set up housekeeping there. 
Now the corner post is made of steel and not very inviting to my 
old friends. 
The open, hilly pasture has not changed in these many years. 
Where the scene remains the same, memories of days long gone seem 
as only yesterday. Here, in winter, where the hill slopes down to join 
the marsh we had our toboggan slide, and it was here that we used to 
try out our homemade skis. 
The marsh, because it is worthless for agriculture, remains un- 
changed by man. Its light brown carpet of saw grass stretches away 
