Shortridge High School - Annual Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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THE LURE OF BIRDS FREDERICK BAUMGARTNER T THE PRESENT TIME we hear a great deal about avocations. Boys turn to athletics as a means of recreation, while men recuperate from the wear and tear of business by playing golf. Although much may be said in favor of the vari- ous athlettic sports, the question has often arisen in my mind why could not a part of this time be more profitably spent in some field of nature study? For the one who has a few leisure hours at night astronomy may prove an interesting and worth-while diversion. For the nature-lover there is geology with its fascinating study of the earth's formation. For others the study of plants, flowers, and trees may make a stronger appeal. My special plea is for bird-study from which many benefits both physical and mental may be derived. 0 How many of you have risen from your comfortable beds on a spring or summer morning and have sallied forth at the first peep of dawn in search of the winged denizens of the woods and fields? If you have never had this experience, you have missed a rare opportunity to become inti- mately acquainted with the beauties and secrets of nature. There is a freshness and charm in the early morning hours which fade with the progress of the day. Every gentle breeze sends a shower of moisture pattering down through the leaves, every spider web, heavily laden with dew, sparkles like a string of costly jewels. Perchance a cottontail, just returning from his feed of sweet clover, scurries across your path and disappears in a friendly patch of underbrush. A frisky red squirrel, carry- ing an ear of corn stolen from a nearby field, postpones his early break- fast long enough to chatter at the disturber of his peace. Then the stillness is broken by the clear, fife-like song of a meadowlark as he wings his way over the grass-covered meadows. This seems to arouse the other carolers of the tree tops and soon a flaming cardinal sends forth that lively and familiar whistle which is answered by his mate. A redheaded wood- pecker on the dead limb of a gnarled and weather-beaten oak begins his loud drumming-a call to arms in the morning stillness. If luck favors you and you have chosen a spot with water near at hand, you may even see the majestic flight of a great blue heron, as he slowly and rhythmically flaps his way down stream, seeking an ideal spot for his early morning fishing. Suddenly a kingfisher, perched upon a snag overlooking a dark pool, closes his wings and with an arrow-like swiftness dives headlong to the water beneath. This effort is successful and he returns to his perch with a shining minnow hanging from his beak. By this time you are filled with pity for the drowsy sleepers at home and are fully convinced that this is just the right day and the right spot for a successful bird hunt. To prove to you that this enthusiasm for bird-hunting is not merely W

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TIIIS YVCDRIJ uFCDRDdA.U' -1- 7+ Yi- 'V+ V-1' V+ YJ- 7+ -1- Y'Z'4-1- 4-I-H+ 11'-4-I-4 441-4-f-4-1-5-Z' and about 5 o'clock I started for the jinx clothes. I kept repeating like a brave boy, minute by minute in every way you will have less to worry about when it is over. At six bells my studs were bothering me, and so per usual they fell in some dark corner, where my father found them. The next incident to create a gray hair in my scalp was the putting on of my wing collar. First one side opened, then another side flopped widely into the air. Since patience is always rewarded, I finally succeeded in getting the collor on my neck. With surprisingly little difficult, I got my tie on. My parents bade me to call the taxi driver, which I did. As miracles will happen, the taxi came before I had even put on my coat. I rushed out and finished dressing in the cab. When I reached the appointed place I was just in time for a scrumptous dinner. After that dinner I was myself once more, and I enjoyed the evening dance as well as any one. I now wish to contradict my first prayer that I made in this story, by the following lines: Please, dear Lord forget my first prayer, About my asking for no more invitations for formal affairsg As I have no longer any fear Of any invitations that the postman may bear. p TO THE CLASS OF 77 For the many years that follow Here are wishes good and trueg May the best that this world offers Be none too good for you! Though the skies be dark and dreary, And you shed a tear and sighg May you smile as you remember The days at Shortridge High! NELLIE SIELKEN I iii? , aspen ...v if fe . 4... 1 r.eo A if 'I

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THE LURE OF BIRDS visionary, but results from what I have seen with my own eyes, let me tell you of the many thrills which I experienced one day last spring while studying birds on White River below the city. I reached my favorite hunting ground at sunrise. The river, swollen by incessant spring rains, had flooded the adjoining nelds and the damp breeze, unwarmed by the slanting rays of the morning sun, chilled me to the bone. However, all personal discomfort was soon forgotten when I swept the scene with my field glasses. It was a sight which would have caused any amateur natur- alist to lose a heart beat, and trembling in my excitement I could scarcely hold the glasses to my straining eyes. The field was literally dotted with hundreds of beach-feeding birds of all varieties. Yellow-legs with bills proportioned to their long, thin legs waded knee deep in the Water, care- fully examining the submerged grasses for small Crustacea. In the shal- lower water many solitary sandpipers twinkled here and there in quest of food. Others stood teetering in one spot, uttering their clear whistle at frequent intervals. At a signal from their leader, these sandpipers arose from the feeding grounds in a compact mass. Twisting and wheeling as one individual bird, now displaying their white underparts which flashed like silver in the early morning sun and then showing their uniformly gray backs, they finally disappeared into a near-by marsh. Here they would rest until night when the long flight to their nesting-grounds in Canada would be resumed. Suddenly a marsh hawk, gray as the morning mist, sailed over the field. The feeding sandpipers and yellow-legs, fright- ened by this threatening terror above, scattered and skimmed over the fields, just as a group of bank swallows darting after insects sweep over a river. A silent wader towering above the greater yellow-legs around him caught my attention. I was unable to identify him at such a distance until he suddenly uttered his shrill plaintive cry, Pill, Will Willet. Elated, I instantly realized that the maker of this, unusual and to me unfamiliar note was a willet, a bird rarely seen in this region. I then moved off to a different part of the field and concealed myself behind a convenient tree in order not to alarm the feeding birds. This cautious move proved to be a wise one as two pair of semipalmated sand- pipers, one of the smallest species of their family, skimmed over the field and alighted a short distance from my feet. I still retain a Vivid picture of those sparrow-sized sandpipers which scurried about on frail legs in the shallow water, daintily picking minute animal forms from the mud with their delicate black bills. :W ggx i Y A i---- - - A X i tr.. Z -I i- a X ll,gEll, ll! 'L .X - m5 1 4l-iiax' ' ' ffl 1 - 'la-iafii i- . -Jiri mfg l I nl .4 - I Ng ' HY' X 7- 2. -I Q, X .T ' tif lll f - --H? lllxllh l ? g I ff 'l' Xl? ex ...f.T: -n X . '-T. ,, 5: ,1 Y. - w as T.- r 'iE! 9 ' Q l