Late in July it began with the short rasps and screeches of tiny
hoppers flitting in the grass; the katydid began to tune up on the
evening of July 29. Then the long-legged conductor waved his baton and
the orchestra was off. It started moderato, but quickly increased to
an allegro, and sometimes it is almost presto. For the first two weeks
in August new fiddlers were constantly being added, and now there are
enough to fill every band stand all through the woods. The noise at
night is almost ear-splitting. The old preacher was right about it.
There are times when the grasshopper is a burden. At the hour of
sunset the cicada winds his rattle most joyously, subsiding into
silence as darkness comes and making way for the katydid.
The screechy orchestra is a poor substitute for the grand birds'
concerts of June and July. For the birds, August is a month of
silence. Except for an occasional solo, nearly all the birds are
silent, moulting and moping in the thickets. If you steal into the
thicket you may find the thrushes and the thrashers feeding on the
ground. Once in a while one of them shows himself in the morning or
the evening, but not often. Nesting done, the brown thrasher ceased
his long and brilliant solos from the treetops after the first week of
July.
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