waiting sleigh, these inquisitive chickadees followed at a short distance and chatted about the intruder. PART III: SPRING The long months passed, even the month of the hunger moon dragged by, and the waters of Turtle Lake were again unbound, for the awakening moon had come creeping in and opened the way for the wild-goose or green-grass moon. Now these were joyous days around the water. The underground folk came out, stretched themselves, and found that the great sun and the south winds were doing their best to clear away the last remnant of the winter's snow. Great flocks of ducks traveled overhead and paused for a time about the water. Long strings of geese honked by in regular, wedge-shaped rows. It was indeed the glad springtime at Turtle Lake. The middle of the song moon found us again on the shores of this little lake. Smooth, clear, and clean were the waters this day, not a sign of the dead, broken water plants, nor of the slime on its surface. Many large herring gulls, with a wide expanse of wing-spread, flew back and forth from Turtle Lake to the other two small lakes which form a chain here in the hollow. Graceful black terns skimmed over the water and feasted on dragon-flies. A grebe swam out from the shore and exhibited his skill in diving. All the members of the swallow family, who claim this state as their home, dipped, turned, and circled about. The drum corps, too, were out in full force; hairy and downy woodpeckers traveled around the tree trunks where they were doing their bark police duty. Flickers ate ants by the hundreds and looked about for more. Fun-loving red-headed woodpeckers played about the fence posts. Contented, happy robins were everywhere about and were singing to all who would pause to listen. A scarlet tanager brightened an oak tree with his flaming color. Bluebirds who had heralded the springtime were homemaking in a hole in a fence post. From the woods back of the hill a wood-peewee called in a sweet, sad voice "pee-a-wee, pee-a-wee. A bittern called from the marsh land, and when sought assumed the pose of a decayed stump, thinking to deceive our eyesight. An indigo bunting, bluer than the sky above him, sang to his dull-colored mate of the beauty of the springtime. In and out among the trees the yellow warbler, the chestnut-sided, the black and white, the baybreasted, the Wilson, the redstart, the myrtle, and the magnolia warblers flitted and flashed their brilliant bits of color. It was indeed the happy song moon, for the air was filled with melody-songs in many keys, but all blended into one. Meadowlarks announced that it was "nice singing here, nice singing here." Blackbirds sang in chorus while they teetered and swung on the willows. A catbird performed in splendid style from the heart of an alder thicket, where he imitated his fellow songsters; then all at once he yowled like a cat and repeated the remarks of a frog close by. Marsh wrens sang from their favorite haunts their lively bits of music. A vesper sparrow, in a more serious mood, kept chanting his hymns of praise. Several whitethroated sparrows sang from the woods, in triple time, the praises of "old Tom Peabody, Peabody, Peabody." From the meadows beyond the marsh, happy-go-lucky bobolinks sang as they mounted in mid-air, in liquid, bubbling notes, of the joy of their homecoming; then descending, they let loose a torrent of irrepressible glee. A brown thrasher from the topmost branch of a dead hickory tree sang his famous corn song and told us that this was also the time of the planting moon, for he ordered us to Hurry up-hurry up; plough it, plough it, Four in a hill, four in a hill Cover it up, cover it up; weed it, weed it, Hoe it, hoe it, tut, tut, tut, tut, I'll pull it up, I'll pull it up, I have it, I have it; eat it, eat it, Tastes good, tastes good; I love it, I love it. Bright and gay Baltimore orioles, glad to be at home, added a dashing bit of orange and black to the scene and whistled their jubilant songs from the treetops. From his lookout on the wire fence a phoebe watched for his unsuspecting insect prey and petulantly called his own name, "phoebe, phoebe.” Gallinules and phalaropes calling from the marsh grasses made known their presence. A pair of towhees scratched among the dead leaves with both feet at one time, and when disturbed darted into a brush heap with a quick flirt of their long tails and a sentinel call of "chewink." Down among the violets, anemones, cranesbill, shooting-stars, and polemonium the gentle thrushes were searching out their favorite beetles. As we left the lake this glorious May morning a black-throated green warbler sang out, "There's no time like May." PART IV: SUMMER The happy, carefree days passed by. One by one the birds wooed their mates and settled down to family cares. The violets, wild crab-apple blossoms, and other early flowers of the woodland bloomed and were replaced by the daisy and pasture rose, for did not the rose moon follow in the wake of the song moon? Oh rose moon, why couldn't you stay forever? Warm, muggy days came and the thunder moon was ushered in. The tenth day found us again by the waters of Turtle Lake. But where were the waters of Turtle Lake? Around the edges flourished the cattails, the arrowhead, and the pickerel weed, whose bright purple flowers blended well with their surroundings. Covering the whole surface of the lake were large, glossy, green leaves and bright, lovely flowers of the yellow lotus. Turtle Lake was beautiful, with a beauty that made us forget her former self. Sweetly the birds sang of this beauty of Turtle Lake! Proudly the tall stems waved their large upturned green umbrellas! DOCUMENTS DIARY OF A JOURNEY TO WISCONSIN IN 18401 Thursday [Fultonville, N. Y.] May 7th, 1840-Cool west wind and pleasant this forenoon. Being in rediness and after having been detained since Monday in consequence of the breaking of the canal and freshets, I finally embarked about noon on board the boat Oliver Newberry, Capt. Edwin Monger which transferred its loading to another and returned from Auries-Ville, there were nearly 75 boats laying above the lock, while the boat was passing which, I walked to John F. Starin's to bid them all good bye and arrange some other small matters & where the boat overtook me She was light and had no passengers but myself and a young German pedlar After getting on board I found myself rapidly gliding along Leaving the Mohawk, its valley, the home of my childhood This is the boat on which Hiram Barber and Wilbur who murdered him were passengers three years since Cool wind and pleas❜t after-noon. Friday May 8th 1840-On awaking this morning 5 o'clock we were at Frankfort lock, very pleas't morning. Arrived at Utica about 1⁄2 past 7 o'clock. I called on prof.s. [sic] Perkins and Barber. Mr. Perkins Gave me some references to persons of his acquaintance and was as usual, about proceeding to [give] me some marvelous result of his ingenious, mathematical com 'Mr. Frederick J. Starin, a first installment of whose diary follows, came from Montgomery County, New York, to Wisconsin in the spring of 1840, landing at Milwaukee. Thence he walked to East Troy, which he described with its beautiful lake; he rode on a wagon to Whitewater and described the beginnings of that place; took a trip across Bark River into the forest and described the beginnings of sawmilling operations there. Later he made a trip from Whitewater, via Madison, to Fort Winnebago and used his pen cleverly in depicting all that he saw on the way. He traveled over other portions of the state, describing the prairies, the openings, the heavily timbered lands, usually locating himself by reference to range, township, and section. Mr. Starin was a beautiful penman and a delightful writer. We have in this journal a kaleidoscopic picture of the settlements of southeastern and southern Wisconsin, and of many of the favored places which were soon to receive settlements. It is a valuable source and has not hitherto been published. The original diary was lent to the Society by the diarist's daughter, Mrs. Imogene Starin Birge, of Whitewater. |