Country life; London (England) -- Description and travel; Natural history -- Outdoor books
It is this previous knowledge which invests those who are always on the
spot, those who work much in the fields or have the care of woods, with
their apparent prescience. They lead the new comer to a hedge, or the
corner of a copse, or a bend of the brook, announcing beforehand that
they feel assured something will be found there; and so it is. This,
too, is one reason why a fixed observer usually sees more than one who
rambles a great deal and covers ten times the space. The fixed observer
who hardly goes a mile from home is like the man who sits still by the
edge of a crowd, and by-and-by his lost companion returns to him. To
walk about in search of persons in a crowd is well known to be the
worst way of recovering them. Sit still and they will often come by. In
a far more certain manner this is the case with birds and animals. They
all come back. During a twelvemonth probably every creature would pass
over a given locality: every creature that is not confined to certain
places. The whole army of the woods and hedges marches across a single
farm in twelve months. A single tree--especially an old tree--is
visited by four-fifths of the birds that ever perch in the course of
that period. Every year, too, brings something fresh, and adds new
visitors to the list. Even the wild sea birds are found inland, and
some that scarce seem able to fly at all are cast far ashore by the
gales. It is difficult to believe that one would not see more by
extending the journey, but, in fact, experience proves that the longer
a single locality is studied the more is found in it. But you should
know the places in winter as well as in tempting summer, when song and
shade and colour attract every one to the field. You should face the
mire and slippery path. Nature yields nothing to the sybarite. The
meadow glows with buttercups in spring, the hedges are green, the woods
lovely; but these are not to be enjoyed in their full significance
unless you have traversed the same places when bare, and have watched
the slow fulfilment of the flowers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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