To our right in North Brae rises a massive pile of granite, known as "Indian Rock." It marks the resting place of a number of Indian warriors who once roamed the surrounding hills, and is a fitting monument to this once noble race.
This is the time of year when the birds set up housekeeping; and such debonair wooers the male birds are! Dressed in their gay attire, they display it to the best advantage before the fair sex. Is there anything so interesting or so amusing as bird courtship? The rollicking song of the male, an exhibition of his vocal powers worthy of a virtuoso, is accompanied by the most comical gymnastics —bowing, scraping, and side-stepping like a dancing-master; all of which, I am sure, is highly appreciated by the demure little lady. I have seen birds courting in the stately figures of the minuet, crossing over and back, bowing and curtsying, in a dignified manner. Listen to the meadow lark as he pours out his heart in a love song to his mate. As near as I can understand him he is saying, "Spring is here, my dear, my dear," and in a lower tone, "Let's build a nest." When such an ardent wooer lays siege to my lady, using such exquisite music to further his suit, she must have a heart of stone that would not quickly capitulate to his amour.
The bobolink, that little minstrel of the marshes, teeters up and down on a swaying cattail, and flirts most scandalously, as he calls to his lady love: "What a pink, what a pink, little minx, little minx! You're a dear, dear, dear."
But we cannot stay to spy upon such love scenes, and we strike out on the trail for home, after listening with pleasure, as well as profit, to these feathered musicians.
Wild-cat Cañon
It was on February 22, Washington's Birthday, that Hal and I started in the early morning from Berkeley, for a trip to Wild-cat Cañon. The birds are singing their Te Deum to the morning sun. The California partridges run along the path ahead of us, their waving crests bobbing up and down as they scurry out of sight under the bushes, seldom taking wing, but depending on their sturdy little legs to take them out of harm's way. A cotton-tail, disturbed in his hiding, darts away, bounding from side to side like a rubber ball, as if expecting a shot to overtake him before he can get safely to cover He need not fear, as we have no more deadly weapon than a camera, though we should certainly train that upon him if he but gave us a chance. High overhead we hear the clarion honk, honk of wild geese, cleaving the air in drag-shaped column, while the dew on the grass dances and sparkles in the sunshine like glittering diamonds.
After a hard climb we reach the top of the hill, and look down at the town just awakening into life, and out across the waters of the bay partly hidden by the blanket of fog rolling in from the ocean.