xt7jh98zct60_9 https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7jh98zct60/data/mets.xml https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7jh98zct60/data/2015ms086.dao.xml Bevins, Martha 0.05 Cubic Feet 55 items archival material 2015ms086 English University of Kentucky The physical rights to the materials in this collection are held by the University of Kentucky Special Collections Research Center.  Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. Martha Bevins letters to Tom McCarthy Radio broadcasting. Agriculture -- Kentucky. Birds Women air pilots. 1956 October 1 text 1956 October 1 2016 https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7jh98zct60/data/2015ms086/Box_ms_42/Folder_1/Item_9/1956_10_1_Bevins_Migrating_Birds_p1.pdf 1956 October 1 1956 1956 October 1 section false xt7jh98zct60_9 xt7jh98zct60 ralllll
Morning View Kentucky
1 October 1956

Thanks again, Mr. McCarthy,
for burdening yourself with tape recorders throughout Europe in
order that we who could not go might enjoy the tour.
as the chill fingers of autumn nights (which seemed inordinately
early this year) Splash the first color over the trees, an air
of excited expectancy grips the tree patch and pond-field. The
great surge of activity when spring stirs wild things to renewed
life is but a gradual affair and in no way rivals the scurrying
turmoil which ensues When winter waves its warning banner of the
first frost.
The hastening toil of those who remain as winter residents is
almost obscured by the incessant dashings about, and groupings, and
urgent discussions of those who prepare for the long trip southward.
Yellow Breasted Chats, silent in August, now call by day and sing
through the moonlight hours. Brown Thrashers perch on topmost twigs
of tall trees and shout back and forth to each other, wiile below
in the forest-floor growth, Wood Thrush pop and sputter through

, incessant conversations. Rain Crows sit high with the Thrashers,
replacing their summer plea for rain with completely different

i talk .

\
My Blue Jays puzzle me. They divide along lines of neither age
nor sex, one group winging away southward, while the other winters
here. I regret their departure, as they are invaluable sentinels
in warning of the presence of predators, human or otherWise. However,
about a dozen stay and most adequately stand guard over the tree
patch through the cold months. Those who go announce their departure
by a deafening din in full flight, followed by a brief, swirling
pause in the southmost tree. Then, as I watch, they stream off
equatorWard, still vocal, twisting their heads to look down at me
as I call out my wishes for a prosperous trip and please hurry back.
Though we are not on the great migratory flyWays, the one sweeping
down the east coast, the other funnelling through the Mississippi
valley, into this bustle of preparation comes our share of
transients retreating before the northern chill. They are welcomed
as friends not seen since they paused on their flight up from the
south last spring.
Last Week the bird bath Was suddenly mantled by a cloud of Cedar
Waxwings, with their lovely soft coloring and gentle manners. They
stripped the long, dangling poke berry stems of their dark fruit,
worked busily amid the wild grapes, and nightly settled into
invisibility amid thickly clustered oak twigs. ,

 ' ——_———

-2-

At the same time, the tree patch echoed to the beautiful clarity

of the Oriole calls, while through the trees flashed the black

and gold glory of the adult males, followed modestly by the grey-
green of the females and youngsters. Tanagers glowed like scarlet
fruit amid the still-green leaves, then continued south taking

my Summer ranagers along with them. Tiny, but equalling any bird

in splendor, Red Starts flaunt their splendor amid less gaudy
Warblers. ‘

I aWait one land bird eagerly each spring and fall, and while he
rests here, devote as much time as possible to Watching him. Each
time I see him, I think I may never see him again—- that for all

I know, he is the last of his race. He is the ammost vanished
Audubon Woodpecker -— the Red-Headed Woodpecker of long ago .
abundance. Whenever I mention him, people are astonished that he
exists at all.

He is here now, eating peanuts and sunflower seeds with his local
cousins. When he arrived I hardly noticed his companion, a motley
greyish bird, until I saw him lead it to a feeder and eat several
sunflower seeds while it watched. He talked to it constantly and
presently it too dined on the seeds, Woodpecker fashiOn, wedging
them edgeWays in a wrinkle of the oak bark, skillfully stripping
off the outer edge of the shell, and easily extracting the meat
within. Because it was so unexpected, I was slow in realizing that
his friend was an immature Audubon. Not for years have I seen a
young one and I had forgotten what they look like.

The water birds who frequent the pond, all follow the Same pattern.
They arrive on the very rim of daWn, dropping quietly to the misty
water, spend one or more days feeding and resting, then, When the
last sunset light glows low in the west, I can see them cross it

as they leave the pond to continue their flight.

The big Sandhill Crane is here now, impressive in his two shades

of grey, with his pale, scarlet—touched head. I rejoiced to see him,
as I was not sure he had survived the northward trip last spring.

He arrived then Just before a late, violent storm , of great, heavy
flakes of snow, and temperature in the twenties. He crouched in the
grass at the edge of the pond, his legs folded under him, his long
neck down on his shoulders. I couldn't decide whether he would freeze
or starve, and fretted because I Was powerless to help him. When the
cold drove the little frogs and fish deep into the bottom of the
pond, he ceased feeding there and stalked through the long grass,
eating something which I finally identified as meadow mmce. He
vanished When the pond froze over on the second day, and his fate
was unknown to me until his return this fall.
Within a week or two will come the Great Blue Heron with his golden
bill, followed by the ducks and teal, who utilize the pond regularly.
By good fortunegathe tsee patch is a habitual overnight stop for
the Monarch butterflies as they pursue their incredible autumnal
southerly migration. It does not consist of the untold millions

in the giant swarm which follows the East coast; but there are

’ thousands, and little is accomplished on the evening they arrive.

 V t
-3-
Even though, on favorable Winds, they reach here as early as
three in the afternoon, they continue no further, but Waver
cloudily among the trees until the lowering sun sends them to rest.
They seem to prefer the hickories upon which to cluster, with
white oaks second choice, though temperature and wind direction
seem to be the manor factor governing their final location.
When several monarchs land on the leaves at the tip of a likely
branch, all the others within sight must needs immediately crowd
onto the same branch until the foliage is entirely obliterated,
and it is necessary to expand to new branches. .
Their departure hour in the morning is determined by the temperature.
A Warm morning sees them early astir and quickly organized
into a loose, flickering cloud which disappears southWard more
rapidly than one would suppose possible. This autumn it Was quite
chill, and they did not leave the tree patch until after nine.
Mr. Edwin Nay Teale, who has studied the great East Coast flight,
says the wings of the male Monarchs have little scent pouches on
the ribs, which give off a musky odor, and speculates that this
scent may be what the butterflies follow in grouping at the start
of the astounding migration, and during the flight itself.
The tree patch is always glorious when touched by the perfection
of an American October. This fall, with millions of political
words pouring and thundering and spouting and flooding forth

. upon us, a seat on a log in the midst of the big trees, with only
dogs and birds and small animals for companions, and only bird
calls coming to ear, will be a refuge of immeasurable Value.

. Sincerely,
» K
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