The thought of it makes me want to hide my head.
It was six years before I found a living moth, or saw another
caterpillar of that species.
A few days later, while watching with a camera focused on the nest
of a blackbird in Mrs. Corson's woods east of town, Raymond, who
was assisting me, crept to my side and asked if it would do any
harm for him to go specimen hunting. The long waits with set
cameras were extremely tedious to the restless spirits of the boy,
and the birds were quite tame, the light was under a cloud, and
the woods were so deep that after he had gone a few rods he was
from sight, and under cover; besides it was great hunting ground,
so I gladly told him to go.
The place was almost `virgin,' much of it impassable and fully
half of it was under water that lay in deep, murky pools
throughout summer. In the heat of late June everything was steaming;
insect life of all kinds was swarming; not far away I could hear
sounds of trouble between the crow and hawk tribes; and overhead
a pair of black vultures, whose young lay in a big stump in the
interior, were searching for signs of food.
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