Block · one region of the page, as the scanner read it. It may hold a whole story, part of one, several, or an advertisement; stitching blocks into articles is the next step. Text is supplied OCR.
Page 3 · column 1 of 6 · from the scan, no model involved
Sounds of birds fill these mild ;April mornings. Above the squeaks of grackles, I hear the distinct and clear notes of a Cardinal. To me it sound like whoit-whoit-whoit. The structure of this song is complicated, difficult to describe but pleasing to my ear. At other times the bird seems to be [singing: What — Cheer, What — Cheer. I don’t know how a female Cardinal perceives this aspect of a dawn chorus. I can only assume it is pleasing to the lady. The male is not only announcing his availability as a mate, he is also warning other male Cardinals that a particular patch of thicket is his. They are to stay out or be chased out.
Robins are greeting April days with their rollicking song that defies my ability to describe. Roger Tory Peterson, in A Field Guide To the Birds, wrote: “Song, a clear caroling, short phrases, rising and falling, often prolonged.” It is a positive affirmation. I wonder that any female can resist its message.
Here in Flint Hill, doves are vocal only at dawn when they fill the air with low pitched and mournful five notes. It is the seeming sadness of this call that gave doves their name; Mourning Dove.
Grackles don’t really have a song. Their curious and constant squeaks — like hinges needing oil — in no way compete with the defined and definite notes of Robins and Cardinals. At the feeder, which they are dominating these days, these ineffectual and unbirdlike sounds often come from a male that fluffs up his feathers and points his bill to the sky when another male lands too close. With all that posturing, one expects a more forceful sound. All that one hears is a futile,
95.0%