The Trumpet Of The Swan

Cygnets, Cobs and Pens sneak their way into our conversations the way they alight in the harbour of our town each winter. My middle girls eagerly complete homework for their E.B. White study for The Trumpet of the Swan and I think it's partly because Mrs. Laird loves her subject matter. Their co-op English teacher oozes an excitement for the swans, and for E.B.White's writing, so the children search carefully for "juicy words" and signs of other animals lurking on the pages. She tends her flock of varying levels of students in one-room-school-house style, while mommas watch kids who had no interest in the creatures fledge with swan fervor.

 

In timely fashion, the Trumpeters land on the icy marine water for us to visit while reading. Of course, being a bird lover, I was thrilled that English could include an experience we already enjoyed.  

 

  

 

Swan love.

(I found this shirt for Emily at a thrift store the night before her class :)

 

Thank you, Mrs. Laird for bringing E.B. White's book to life for us!

 

He Doesn't Belong

I felt my heart leap as I raised my lens to snap fifty or so photos of this wee feathery guy. My son's "Life Bird" was pecking the seeds just ten feet from us and we couldn't believe our eyes. You see, he's not supposed to be this far north. His tiny body craves the warmth of the south year round and we don't know how he lost his way--no one does. Not even the professional bird-watching photographers who stood in awe beside us--bazooka lenses mounted on tripods, covered in camouflage--could hazard a guess.

 

Oliver bent low and marked the occasion in his bird file folder while Meg lifted the camera from my neck to capture a cheery cardinal who seemed to show off just a little and command some of the attention himself. All of us shivered in the -8 degrees, biting air. It was worth it. We'd not only viewed a beautiful miracle of God, but were also gifted the time to photograph him. Since that day, many prayers have been whispered for his tiny self to survive the days to come until he can rest easy in the warm Spring breeze or decide to migrate home.

lovely Painted Bunting (God must have had fun with this one, especially) 

 

Thanks, Annie, for sharing the email that led us to the little park where he had been spotted.

(Like we always say, "Springies Forever!")