For Teachers and Students
How to Conduct Field Classes
BY FLORENCE MERRIAM BAILEY, Washington, D. C.
AS far back as 1886, when the Audubon movement was just beginning, the Smith College girls took to 'birding. ' Before the birding began, however, behind the scenes, the two amateur ornithologists of the student body had laid deep, wily schemes. "Go to," said they; "we will start an Audubon Society. The birds must be protected ; we must persuade the girls not to wear feathers on their hats." "We won't say too much about hats, though," these plotters went on. " We'll take the girls afield, and let them get acquainted with the birds. Then, of inborn necessity, they -will wear feathers never more." So these guileful persons, having formally organized a Smith College Audubon Society for the Protection of Birds, put on their sunhats and called, "Come on, girls ! " This they did with glee in their hearts, for it irked them to proclaim, "Behold, see, meditate upon this monster evil," while it gave them joy to say, "Come out under the sun-filled heavens and open your soul to the song of the Lark." This, then, was the inspiration of the bird work that started up and spread so surprisingly, and was carried on with such eager enthusiasm in those early days at Smith. And this must be the in- spiration of all successful field work, wherever it is done. A list of species is good to have, but without a knowledge of the birds them- selves, it is like Emerson's Sparrow brought home without the river and sky. The true naturalist, like Audubon, will ever go to nature with open heart as well as mind. Feeling this, the organizers of the Smith work persuaded John Burroughs to come to give it an impetus. When he took the girls to the woods at five o'clock in the morning, so many went that the bird had often flown before the rear guard arrived, but the fine enthusiasm of the man's spirit could not be missed. No one could come in touch with it without realizing that there was something in nature unguessed before, and worth attending to. And when the philosopher stood calmly beside a stump in the rain, naming uner- ringly each bird that crossed the sky, the lesson in observation, impressive as it was, was not merely one in keenness of vision. His attitude of stillness under the heavens made each one feel that ' by (83)
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