THE STORY OF THE LITTLE BLUEBIRD
Sorry, it took so long. I know you wanted to hear this Chester, I’m sorry I’ve been sick. I asked Grandy to tell it to me so you wouldn’t have to wait anymore. I hope I describe it as well as she did.
-Your Friend, Nessy
“When we last had heard of the little bluebird, he had been experiencing the worst few days of his life. He’d fallen from his nest, met a cheeky Grasshopper who’d become his closest ally. Soon after they met, the little green jerk got scared and started questioning their friendship. He was jealous that the little bird was destined to fly. That fact drove itself home and reminded the Grasshopper of the relationship he’d had to the little birds kind before their meeting.
Since he’d seen so many of his kind being picked off the ground and taken skyward, never to be seen again, he decided to get ahead of the situation he would trick and betray the little bird and become a brave hero for the other grasshoppers.
The sad little bluebird tumbled into the river and was carried downstream, almost drowning before somehow landing himself on a branch wedged into the slimy mud at either side of the river bank.
Then after passing out on the branch until late in the night, he was woken up by loud noises. He was found by some strange birds which turned out to be geese, but he’d never seen them so close. They were peculiar and far less graceful on the ground than in the beautiful sky formations they created. They took him under their wings and tried to teach him how to be the best goose he could be. When he got tired, they took turns carrying him on their backs. While he rode along, he listening to them quack on about the meadow animals.
Grasshoppers were noisy, always trying to be the loudest instruments in the symphony, only to beat out the crickets every time. The pheasants were nothing but vanity. The deer were always sending up false alarms and stirring things up. The fox was always in the hens’ house even though he constantly denied it, and the rooster was none the wiser cause he was always out picking around the main arena. He fit in better with the pheasants, or so he’d always say.
They didn’t have much to say about the mice or the moles. They mostly kept to themselves.
They said similar things about the bunnies as his bluebird parents had. That they ate all the best grass and blossoms, and there were too many of them that didn’t do much to contribute to the rest of the community, but then the gander offered that they did serve as good wolf bait and the first line of defense against predators for the rest of them. To which the goose excitedly agreed, continuing the idea by saying it was the perfect thing! Since rabbits were fast, they could tire the hungry critters coming in for what they hoped would be a good, easy meal. The gander squawked her agreement and offered a final thought on that opinion. In a sense, the furry things were maybe more helpful than most other creatures. Since they’d come to the meadow, the wolf and wolverine sightings had declined, indeed. The geese were funny, self-contradicting creatures. They became pretty dear to the little bluebird. But in the end, they were just such different birds.
The pair taught the little bird not to hop but to shuffle. It was much more fashionable. But as hard as little Blue tried, it never came naturally. In secret, while exploring by himself, he still did just that. Hop that is. They tried to coax him to learn to swim, but the almost drowning fiasco was still too fresh for him. The goose and gander understood this alright and allowed him to shuffle at the bank alongside them. The bluebird appreciated their company and everything they were willing to teach but eventually, to be like them enough that they allowed him to stick around, well, it was exhausting.
One bright and sunny day, the two caught Blue while hopping to and fro, looking for worms and grubs along the outer rim of the riverbank. The natural way he hopped and flapped and pulled the dirty things from the ground made them feel uncomfortable. They offered him the option to leave, and he took it readily. They parted ways on good terms. The little Jay hugged them both. With a final squeeze, he was gliding from grass patch to grass patch solo again.
His wings had grown in nicely over the weeks he’d spent with the geese.
He was sure there was more to the meadow than the views he’d seen through, and now, he was more determined than ever to find them. In his excitement over learning to use them, the bushy-tailed shadow lurking just out of his eyes reach went missing.”
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This is where Grandy left off. I’m sorry I’m not so good at telling the story as she is, but I didn’t want to keep you from hearing the stories. Write me back and give it to Buck, he’ll know how to send it. But let me know before tomorrow night whether or not you want me to tell the story or wait and have Grandy save it so you can hear it for yourself. I hope we can explore more soon. Sorry for how long it’s taking.
Your Friend,
Nessy