May 22—Farmers don't worry about weather in the fertile Yangtsze Valley: the Good Lord hag arranged that farmers' weather" takes place once a week in May... and last Sunday fan excellent example; a slight jewless night and a sunny day follow.
Overnight innumerable Farmer 'Wangy had smelt the perfect day to come, and at crack of dawn every man, woman, and child was being hastened to the' elds to lift. the crops, Hurry, hurry, hurry!—for this perfect Gay hag only fifteen hours of daylight: hurr hurry, hurry,—for if the wind drops we shall have 'a heavy night dew and wet crops: tomorrow: hurry, hurry, hurry, for the cabbages fare ready too, and the dreaded white butterfly' fg already out in the fields. So all the adults of the Wang family dash at the standing crops. ff barley, wheat and rape, and cut it with the ancient sickle: behind them come Grandma and the youngest children, apron bags bulging with their gleanings, and behind them come all the birds Which feed on grain to do a little glean. Ing too. "Hei-ho, Ha-ho, Hel-ho, Ha.ho" chant all the able-bodied Wangs as they amble back to the villages with great sheaves of corn ried on shoulder-poles: ere the Mrs. Wangs fand Miss. Wangs walt, heads tied in cotton handkerchiefs to do ihe threshing and the winnowing: threshing by literally thrashing the heads of corn on bamboo racks; winnowing by pouring the grain slowly through the air so That that twice-blessed wind may blow away the chaff, But activity in the folds is Merce as ever. No sooner has the last gleaner left the Ground than Farmer Wang has the buffalo out Growing Ught plough or harrow: John-Willie always follows with the frame-harrow on which he loves to ride—holding on to the! Buffalo's tail to steady himself: Grandpa comes and sows the cotton, while Wang (now free of the plough) walks after him, handy behind back, doing the Charlie Chaplin walk. to tread the seed In safe from wind and rain. 'And og shades of night come down on a totally transformed countryside, we may well say that Nature has once more' had her face lifted—ready for her next youth—es.w.
May 24—We all make mistakes at times, and I certainly feel that T was well away from the straight and narrow path of truth when gave a short description of a Yellow.necked Heron in my "Shanghai Bird Year" as follows:—"The long neck of this bird the distinguishing feature, streaked chestnut-brown and white, which fives the. yellow appearance ete." I" can well remember the scene which prompted that description: a ship at sea on a stormy da; fa black sky and a gale of wind blowing bers on to the deck...a sudden whirl of wings over my head, as a Heron landed on to the fall beside me with ity long yellowish, streaky check outstretched as the poor storm-blown creature tried to balance on the, swaying. twisting perch. Actually that scene has come to my mind almost every morning this month og T have watched sombre, slate-black herons] coming home in the early hours to roost in the tall trees: these are dark heavy-looking birds, totally unlike the picture painted in my mind' by that bird at sea: yet they are precisely the same bird; but when the head is drawn back Into the shoulders (and herons always fly like that) the only sign of the fellow neck" is a hardly noticeable bull patch between head and breast: thus do. circumstances alter cases. These birds, by the way, are not the Night Herons (lighter in colour and much smaller) which have made them. selves known by their frequent appearances in the Avenue Haig: the Yellow-necked Heron of which I am writing was mentioned by Styan his notes many years ago as Ardetta favi. collis, and a friend of his added the English ame Black Heron—which ig a far better name. than "Yellow-necked." But I like La Touche's description of the bird best when he says, "this bird ig mainly crepuscular in its habits'. what @ lovely word! Think of the twilight, the gathering darkness, croaking frogs, flying bats, [dutiful husbands going home to their wives... and the big bad Black Heron stealing out for the night...being crepuscular in his habits, There is, I believe, a spot of the crepuscular in all of us—zsr.
May 20—~The Rails, Grebes and Waterhens, and other lurkers in' the reeds, are of partic cular interest just now, but we do not get to. Know much about them unless we are out in all weathers, particularly in the early hours. Just a few days ago on a foul rainy morning. saw my first Watethen of the season, calmly swimming across a creek: in spite of my proximity she made no attempt at flight, but Just paddled quietly into the reeds....and disappeared: in vain I beat the reed-tops with my stick in an attempt to get a view of her; I heard one hoarse croak to lof me know she wag still there...but she "stayed. put" until she Gnally won' the game of patience—and 1 went home. That same morning I heard from passer-by that he had seen my old friends the Podgies'—by which name T refer to the Litile Grebes (Podiceps rufcollis poguel) that T had been watching all winter; so next day T Paid them a visit at the pond indicated. It Seems that the Podgies, finding the weedy under growth of their winter pond too much for their dally diving operations, have moved to a nearby lagoon where there are clear spots more suitable for their work: and the most curious thing is that these very shy birds have there become quite fearless. It may be that the paths which surround their new home have made them accustomed to humans; it possible that the, natural hunger of the breed-Ing season has made them bolder: the fact remains that they swim round looking like a couple of three-week.old ducklings, and when they dive in search of food they come popping up within a few feet of the spot where they: submerged...right under the guns, speak. And here is a curious thing. 'This pond coated with "duckweed" through' which they easily slip when submefiging (for everybody, including the Podgies, must know that Duckweed only has floating roots)....and when they come up again they are coated with the green weed which makes a perfect camouflage protect them from any birds of prey flying above. So now Tam wondering if this ly Just tone more of Nature's little trieks?—rs.w.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.