The daily morning journal and courier. [volume] (New Haven, Conn.) 1894-1907, 1902-11-15
INDIAN SUMMER.

/ @4ASAN al Z lew lIlliCS III NlG StlI WHICH
we feel as grateful for change in the
weather as we do during those short
but glorious days in November when
the summer comes back to say good
by" The Indian summer comes to us
with a smile, which seemsathe kindlier
by contrast with the rough greeting of
| the early fall. And it comes at a time
when kindly smiles are appreciated;
| when the wild flowers are dead, when
| the brightest of the birds have left us,
| and when many, even of our four foot
ed friends, have withdrawn ii inacces-
| sible retreats until the spring. These
few warm days make pleasant break
| in what would otherwise be a very
long winter; and. moreover, they give
us one more chance to make final prep
comfort is apt to be in direct proper
ton to our foresight.
No weather is more delightful for
walking than this, and most of us take
| advantage of 1t to be out in the sun
every minute we can spare. AS we get
out into the country, we notice that
| great changes have taken place within
| the last few weeks. The grand display
| of autumn coloring Is gone; most of the
| trees are practically leafiess. their gray
branches once more exposed to the
| light, and those which. like the white
oaks and beeches, still retain their
leaves, are brown, and their crisp foli
| age rustles with every breath of wind.
| The white road forms a much more
| conspicuous feature of the landscape
| now than earlier in the autumn. Then,
all that was to be seen of it lay be-
tween the observer and the first bend
to the right or left, and even that por-
| ton was subdued and unobtrusive by
| reason of the wealth of wild flowers
and autumn foliage on either hand.
Now, as we walk along it, it is all but
| obtrusive. The quiet shades of brown
| and gray which mark it's borders, ac-
centuate its prominence. No longer Is
the view of it limited by the length of
its straight sections; through the leaf
less branches of the trees we see it
| winding away for miles.
AS we pass the farm houses, we see
| through the open doors of the barns, or
piled neatly upon the floors of the pi-
| azzas, heaps of corn and yellow pump
kins, and in the fields the men are en-
gagged in occupations characteristic of
the season. Some are removing the
shocks of corn, and some are banking
high their winter celery. 1t is a sea-
son for making repairs and improve
ments, too. Here we see drain being
dug, there a fence being repaired, and
at another farm the henhouse roof Is
being reshingled Every one is taking
| advantage of the fine weather to do the
| work which it will be disagreeable if
| notlmpossible to do later on.
Once off the road and the, scene
| changes. The grass in the fields is
| crisp, and the weedstalks crackle be-
meath the tread. Lakes and ponds
which We're hidden from view when
the trees were in leaf, to-day seem I'M
| expectedly near and distinct In the
woods, the brown. curled leaves lie
thick upon the ground, hishing and
| rustling at every step we take. He is
a clever woodsman who can walk ST.
lently among the trees at this season.
Even "Bunnie," whom we startle from
| her form beneath a fallen pine-top,
| makes, as she leaps away, more noise
than moose would have done two
months ago. There Is more air and
| more light, for the woods are open to
the sky. AS we look above, through
the waving network of gray, dark spots
of varying sizes mark the positions of
the old birds nests, some Of them even
| now the homes of squirrels or mice.
Built, as they are, without mortar,
nails, screws or bolts, it is wonderful
construction which enables many of
them to weather the storms of several
winters.
These warm days cause the migra-
ting birds to linger in the north, and
We may see them here and there, feed
ing upon the berries and seeds. Later,
with the arrival Of the next cold wave,
many will continue their southerly
journey, not from choice, perhaps, but
from necessity.
The ponds are bright and shining,
but in spite of the warmth of the air,
we feel that the water is cold. Most Of
the muskrat houses which line the
shores are finished, but the tops of
some are still black and wet, showing
that they were worked upon no later
than last night. Those which were fin
ished earlier on are drier and grayer.
Here we are apt to see aquatic birds,
stopping for a few days on their way
to the south. In one pond we may see
q coot, easily distinguished by his
slate-colored body and white bill; and
in another we may get glimpse of
grebe, which dives at the slightest
movement of a hand. Wild ducks and
gulls, too, we may find in our ponds at
this season, the latter often in enor-
nous Aocks.
If we go up on the hills towards sun
down, and look over the plains and
valleys below, we shall see blue smoke
curling upward from scores of fires
where men are burning the dead leaves
and the brush. And afar off we may
hear the barking of shepherds dog,
and presently the sweet tinkling of
sheep bells, as the fiocks saunter SLOW
ly homeward; and above US We may