xt7jh98zct60_47 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. 1958 October 27 text 1958 October 27 2016 https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7jh98zct60/data/2015ms086/Box_ms_42/Folder_1/Item_47/1958_10_27_Bevins_Sandhill_Crane_and_fishing_p1.pdf 1958 October 27 1958 1958 October 27 section false xt7jh98zct60_47 xt7jh98zct60 V

Morning View Kentucky

27 October 1958
I am very sorry, Mr McCarthy,
but no interview. It may seem incredible to you, but I panic
completely when confronted with a microphone. my hands shake and
my teeth chatter. My tongue becomes stiff and my brain skids into
total disarray. I gulp and gurgle and run out of air. Through
the years, radio people have occasionally tried to interview me,
but we never came up with one good enough to be used. You and
your listeners would be disappointed, while I would feel most
embarrassed and idiotic.
I have always been highly susceptible to weather, but never have
I been so captivated by it as during the past several weeks of
perfect October days. No enchantment of Lotus-land couhd weave a
more powerful spell than that under which I have wandered through
the flawless weather.
All the little, diligent, thrifty, scurrying chores that accompany
autumn, I have brushed aside as unimportant and almost unreal.
I spent no more time indoors than absolutely necessary, and
begrudged even those few moments. And yet, all my hours outdoors
were devoid of practical accompliShment.
I stood for long minutes watching the roof blow off the tree
patch, and drift down past me, leaf by leaf. Columns and rods of
sunlight quickly touched spots under the big trees where there
had been only Shade since spring. The floor of the tree patch,
matted soft and thick by the leaves of other-years, is newly
carpeted with scarlet and gold and bronZe, so glowing as to
appear almost luminous.
I have never been able to graSp the forlorn melancholy habitually
read into falling leaves. Personally, I think they have a wonderful
time. All summer they had remained in one spot, toiling patiently
for their parent tree. Suddenly autumn changed their sober green
to blazing sunset hues and released them to go where they would
on the bright winds. There is the gayety of a child's birthday
party in the flickering dance of fallen leaves amid the stolid,
dark trunks of the great trees which stand as firm promise of
other springs to come.
Only slightly less brilliant than the swirling leaves were the
hordes of migratory birds which gathered here. apparently, they
flew southward until encountering the lovely weather, and elected

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to remain for its duration. Tiny, sparkinng warblers fluttered ‘
in busy droves through the big trees, usually tagging along after
the local chickadees. It seems quite customary for chickadees to
act as hosts to visiting warblers; and the whole day is brightened‘
by the spectacle of a flock of little gold-crowned kinglets being
shepherded through the tirees by escorting chickadees.
Where tree patch and pond-field meet, there is a little sWale which,
if I were a thrifty farmer, would at least be ingress, but which
is practically a miniature jungle. Walnut trees march along it in
a row as it descends the slope into the deep pocket below the pond,
Beneath the walnuts it is dense with saplings of hickory and
persimmon and maple, with elderberry and briar clumps, and all is
interwoven by wild grape and bittersweet. A weedy little path
struggles across it to emerge into the mOWed field beyond.
This area of incipient valley, was, during the beautiful weather,
brimming with migrants of the sparrow clan and birds of similar
habit. here must have been several hundred white throated sparrows,
for the ground was all aflicker with them as they fed and their
little down-hill song was constant. Others varied from the big,
spectacular fox sparrow to tiny buffy colored fellows I could never
quite identify. Chewinks, assorted warblers and goldfinch rounded
out the population of the shallow draw. Occasionally, when thebirds
were particularly active, it took me over an hour to travel the
little path, though it stretches barely 100 feet.
More than once I walked to the pond to fish, only to spend hours
sitting on a rock, my tackle in a forgotten heap beside me. a
pair of utterly fearless Wilson snipe dad and whistled softly
alongtthe shore, passing within a few feet of me without concern.
Frequently they were accompanied by a woodcock with his incredible
walk, and two curlews joined the little group nor a short time.
One morning five American mergansers fed and bathed and rested upon
the pond, the males splendid in ebony aid white.
another day I found huge tracks in the soft mud of the shallows and
knew one of the giants of the bird world had been there. Later, as I
fished, I saw my visitor, a sandhill crane, seeming almost as tall as
I, stood motionless near a clump of sandbar willows. He watched and
appeared mildly amused at my efforts, probably concluding he would
quickly starve if he were no better fisherman than 1. After I
put my rod away and settled upon a rock, he waded into the shallows
and fished there, his great beak striking unerringly amid the small
base and blue gill swimming heedlelsly about his motionless feet.
I regretted that he only remained three days, illegal hunters
banging away on a neighboring hill frightening him into leaving.
Perhaps my fall housecleaning is not complete, but all of this
golden October has been harvested and stored away to remain with me
as long as I possess memory.
Best wishes to all a
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