Dictated to me tonight. Wish we’d done more of this over the past two years, but it just never happened. So glad we got this one down…
October 29th, 2012 by Elihu Scott Conant-Haque
You know, as I look back at all the years I was in Greenfield School, I realized that although I’ve had so many experiences at other schools, I really have had most of my life there. Even though I’d had five years at other places, I really became aware of where I was at age five, so that’s why I say my “whole life” was there.
Greenfield School had been a good school. I mean, I’d been famous at the place, not that I’d had many friends. And it was true, I didn’t have many friends, though it varied; sometimes I’d have a lot, maybe for a week or two, and then they’d remember that they played sports and that they were “cool” kids, so they couldn’t hang out with me. And then it would go back to just Keithie and me, and maybe Carter. Keith is a tall boy, a fast runner (unlike me) and he plays sports. He’s an outdoorsy type, he rides motorbikes – he even has his own – and can do huge bicycle jumps. Not that I’m not cool, I am, just in my own way. I guess Keith had been the only kid in my class to realize that maybe I was cool – in my own way – and that’s why he was friends with me. Cause usually, a kid is friends with you only if you’re cool – and you have to be cool in his way.
Anyway, the years at Greenfield seemed to pass quickly, as I look back at them now, a fourth-grader going to Waldorf, with many, many friends (not that I’m popular.) Greenfield was a good school, it’s just that, I guess my eyes sort of contributed to the way I acted, I don’t know. Because the school seemed really chaotic to me, but not to others; they could deal with it. Ha, they wouldn’t have even cared even if it was chaotic for them – they would have just kept on going. But that was then. Now is now.
I guess you probably want to know more about what I’m doing at the moment than what I did a couple of years ago – though all this seems interesting to me, because it’s funny to look back on my own life now, and see all the things I never would have realized then.
At Waldorf, things are going pretty good. I mean maybe it’s not true that I’m totally loaded with friends. A friend is sort of a different thing than a classmate that really cares about you. A friend is someone who’s willing to play with you at recess rather than doing their own silly sport that you can’t understand. Now friends are nice to have, and there are two real good friends I have at Waldorf. Cora and Sophia are their names. They’re twins. They have freckles and short, rusty-colored hair. They’re both a little taller than me; Sophia’s about an inch taller and Cora is about two and a half inches taller. Mostly everyone is my class is taller than me. I’m the second shortest, next to Phoenix.
It’s a good school, this new school, Waldorf. I mean, I’ve been here for about six months, it’s not like it’s really new. I’ve mostly set into the things I have to do. They’re different from Greenfield, though there is homework. I have to do spelling. But the thing I like most about Waldorf is that it’s not as chaotic as Greenfield, it really isn’t. It’s a gentle school. And singing is a big part of the day. Since I’m a very good singer, that was obviously a nice little surprise that I didn’t know of when I first came to the school. There are many beautiful songs we sing. One we’ve been practicing especially hard on is a song called “the Goose Song”. It’s a beautiful song, with a melody and harmony part. We have a class of 22, so when we sing both parts together it sounds amazing. But it might not sound quite so amazing, because sadly, Sophia and Cora are moving soon.
Well that’s about all I have to tell you about Waldorf and Greenfield. I’m really happy to have this written down. It makes me feel good to know that somewhere in all these files, in our little Mac computer, tucked away under a little stool, in a little bedroom, in a little country cottage, where live a little boy and his mother, is a whole story of that little boy, looking back. And to know, that somewhere in that little boy, he feels happy.
In filing a mass of papers from our life over the past year or more, I’m finding things that I’d like to share. For no particular reasons, and also for many tiny ones. So here’s Elihu’s first mandatory assignment of third grade; the classic summary of his summer vacation, an assignment for which he was given just four rather small boxes in which to recount his adventures. Hardly seems enough, but he gets his points across. I don’t keep any formal memory books, but I’ll archive these pages somewhere safe for us to revisit when Elihu’s kids are themselves writing little pieces kinda like this.
How I Spent My Summer Vacation by Elihu Haque (w/drawing of long-necked bird leaning in to inspect the title)
Flying RC planes. This plane has a four foot wingspan and flew above the clouds. My friends came to see.
Went to Chicago. Got to see old friends. It was fun to see my mom’s old friends. Got to play at Mom’s gig. (He sang at Fitzgerald’s with The Prohibition Orchestra of Chicago.)
Playing at the Green Mill. Played hand drums with dad. Played for one whole set. (Yup, he did. And tonite, all these months later, he is very likely on stage at the Green Mill playing his djembe while I am writing this.)
And overall it was a great summer, no I mean AWESOME!!
This Monday Elihu had a day off from school on account of Columbus Day and the weather was absolutely fine. We took off for downtown, just five miles from our country home, to take advantage of the tourists that would no doubt be strolling Broadway. Elihu was in a mood to play, and besides he wanted to make a few bucks to put towards the cost of supplies for his Archaeopteryx costume (that mom has yet to make).
We were so happy, so ready for this fine fall day that I kinda forgot all about my parent’s 52nd wedding anniversary. Oops. My dad himself didn’t know the occasion (Alzheimer’s kinda gloms the days together for him) so the day passed as any other. It wouldn’t be like my mother to remind anyone (not sure if it’s the 50s era ‘mother as martyr’ thing or what), so it went unrecognized. Maybe it’s because I always insist we all go out to dinner – and it’s mom who ends up paying. At least she got out of paying a hefty tab if nothing else. (My pitch for going out to a fine dinner is this: I claim the event will be fondly remembered for years to come but the bill will not, making it worth the one-time expense.) Regardless, I feel pretty lousy about forgetting the date. 10/10, how easy is that to remember?! Oh well.
Happily, we had a wonderful outside day full of fresh air and sunshine, music, dog-smooching and people-meeting. Elihu made $40, and we stashed $20. The house rule is “save half”. So half towards the Halloween fund, half for the bank (or the credit union, I should say. !) Here Elihu busks for some dancing babies, then he shares the sidewalk with cigar-chomping old-timers…
A disappointing post-script:
After waiting some twenty minutes for a two minute video to upload to this post, I was finally told that this file type (‘avi’) was not accepted due to security reasons. Huh? What to do now? It’s the only format my videos are in, and it’s never been a problem before. Can I save the file in another, acceptable format? Man. How deflating.
Hopefully in future I’ll have some cute vids here. Meantime, I think I’ll see if I can upload them to Facebook. My computer illiteracy is driving me crazy. If I’d ever thought my handicap was in any way endearing before, I certainly don’t think anything of the sort now. Just wish I knew how to catch myself up… Those classes at the library don’t come close. Sigh.
Instead of video, here is a nice snapshot of the day…
We live on a hill. The tops of the trees descend down its steep banks revealing a view of the lands beyond and to the southeast. There are two main layers to the many subtle strata of horizons; the darker ridge in the foreground are the low-lying hills just to the east of the Hudson river, the paler profile behind are the much larger Green Mountains of southern Vermont. I love to look out over the vast scape and contemplate the land on the ‘other side’. I picture the countryside’s bucolic scenes, the tiny farms and undulating topography. I don’t often have reason to drive there, for it’s a haul just to reach the foothills – a commitment of 50 miles there and back – so when I have a quest east of the Hudson, my heart quickens at the thought.
Yesterday, Elihu and I had a reason to cross the wide river valley and explore the hills beyond. I should have been excited, but I was not. It was raining and I’d forgotten my hat, I’d not slept more than three hours the night before and I discovered my driver’s license was not in my pocket but probably still at home in my purse (farmer business does not include a purse; important items are transferred to the interior ‘man’ pocket of my farm jacket). After having a little talk with myself, pointing out how there was no benefit to remaining angry, I managed to coax myself out of the pissy mood that had been incubating for the first ten miles of our wet commute. This was our Big Day, and I’d do us both right by just dropping it and welcoming the adventure that awaited us on the other side of the Hudson. We were going to the Fall tailgate poultry sale at the Schaghticoke (say SCA tih coke) fair grounds to find hens for our red golden pheasant, Timothy, whom we’d just purchased the week before. As she does quite often for us, the angel of serendipity came to our assistance that night as we stared in disbelief at our new avian acquisition by placing one Jim De Graff, former zoo owner and breeder of exotic pheasants, in our path. He’d told us about the bird sale this weekend. We were lucky; this event happened just twice a year. He was nearly 100% sure we’d find just what we were looking for. That he could be so sure that we’d find these hens was an indication to me that we were in for some serious, bird-intense sub-culture. We’d waited anxiously all week this very morning. This very rainy morning. Oh well, this was going to be fun no matter what I’d forgotten to bring, no matter what the weather. As Elihu sat in the back seat enthusiastically playing air drums to the radio, his face radiating joy, I began to lighten up too.
Driving south on State Route 40 from Greenwich to Schaghticoke is like driving through a model train set layout. The farms are tidy, complete with outbuildings and vintage tractors, hooved animals and ponds. There is a new scene to be admired around every curve, at the crest and valley of every hill, plus each scene has an expansive view to the west of the great Hudson river valley lands beyond. The forested hills rise to our left as we continue south towards the mysterious convocation of bird lovers. The road winds and winds. Elihu, not usually a child who asks ‘when will we be there?’ (as he thrives on the times when he’s left to live in imagination, something his near-sighted eyes promote on long car trips) finally does. Thankfully, I spy the town’s water tower ahead, and I can tell him we’re almost there.
When we pull in to the fair grounds, we see a makeshift village of tents and awnings. I’d hoped the event might be indoors, and later I discover some of it is, but the bird sales are out in the open. Hmm. Just how wet will we be getting? I wonder. Looking around the car, I find a broken dollar store umbrella and so no longer lament my missing hat. Elihu throws his hood up, we park in the first space of grass we see, and we’re out the door.
Each vendor has backed his vehicle to the gravel drive, rows of cages and boxes spread out on the grass. The breeds are identified by hand-written labels now folding in on themselves in the rain. Some birds are sheltered by newspapers on top of their cages, some are not. Ducks crowd into the corners of their wire cages sopping up the new puddles with a rapid-fire quivering of their bills. The most elegant breeds of chickens are sodden and sorry looking. Thankfully, the customers here can see past the cosmetic handicaps that the day has cast on these birds; every last person here knows his birds, dry or wet. Just like us, everyone here has come looking for a bird, most folks for one specific breed in particular. The very first tent we come upon has game birds of some sort. Two round women in their later years sit on old fashioned lawn chairs while their cigarette smoking husbands in red and black checkered flannel shirt jackets stand in front, greeting passersby. I wonder if it could possibly be this easy. It’s not a huge place, but there have to be at least thirty vendors. As we get closer, I can see these birds are in the right neighborhood – the shape is close, their movements are quick and timid… Could these be young pheasants? I tell the smoking man what we’re looking for. “Red Golden Pheasant hens, two of ’em.” He didn’t miss a beat, nor did he seem overly satisfied with himself that he just so happened to have two Red Golden hens right here in this box. “What?” I asked. “Red Goldens“, I repeated. “That’s what we’re looking for. And hens.” Yeah, he’d heard me. And they were, as he said, right here in this box. I peered in, and saw four brown somethings. Game birds, for sure. Females probably. “I got a Cinnamon too” he offered, holding the flaps open so I could get a better look. Wow. This was the place. Seriously, it was this easy? I asked the price, he told me $15 apiece. I remembered being advised not to pay more than $10 a head. I surveyed the grounds and wondered if there might not be dozens more red golden hens out there. But this was so perfect, and I was just talking about $10 here… I told the man I was interested, but had to look around for a bit. So Elihu and I went off to learn what this thing was all about.
We soon figured out the deal. While there was just about every type of outdoor domestic bird available for sale there, we noticed that there were not quite as many of some, and rather a glut of others. Some vendors had even sold their whole lot by this time and were packing up and heading out. I didn’t want to blow the whole reason for our trip, plus if we just got the hens bought and safely stowed in the car, then we were free to explore. Before we got too far into the flooded grounds, I turned back for the car. I told Elihu to wait at the pheasant man’s tent, I’d be back. I pulled up, paid for the gals and presented the farmer with our luxurious dog-sized kennel in the back. He wrestled the hens from the box, and placed them inside. They were a lot smaller than I realized, their bodies about ten inches long. There were so many questions I’d wanted to ask, but the rain had started up again and I just felt rushed. “They look young, our guy is mature already. Will that be ok?” I shouted over the noise. He nodded and assured me they’d be fine mates. Not much more I could do but continue with the adventure as it swept me along. There was more to see, more to learn, and as I’ve been saying to my dear son since he can remember “you never know until you go”. What we didn’t know about breeding pheasants we would learn as we went along.
I parked the car again and we were free to enjoy the rest of the morning. It seemed the breeds of the day were the Banties. Many vendors had them and lots of folks wandered through the grounds with the sweet-looking chickens in the crooks of their elbows. I guess the appeal of these miniature breeds is that they’re portable, easy-going and make nice pets. Elihu was able to smooch a few of these as they passed by. He was in heaven. In his element. Finally surrounded by people who felt just like him about birds. As a mother, you can imagine how pleased and thankful my heart was as I followed behind my son, watching him stop at each new cage as if it were the only reason we’d come. He was fit to burst and after a while I could not keep up with his wanderings. I’d stop to chat with folks, my quest for information on birds turning more into short interviews: Did these sales actually net them money? (No, not really.) Is this your business? (The layers pay for the rest of em.) Do you do this for a living? (Oh no – I’ve got a real job.) Is this a hobby? (Yes! No one here’s makin any money. This is a hobby. And it takes money!) Well then. I learned something important, that this was a hobby, not a rent-payer. Kinda discouraging (I’d begun to count my exotic pheasant chicks before they were hatched. Think of the money we could make selling them! Piece of cake!) and yet the bit about the layers was good to hear. Our layers had once made us money – until we began to lose them. Layers, wait… We need layers! I was shaken out of my bird-daze and came to my senses. We needed layers, and where better to find em then here? Screw the auction house! This was the fountainhead! I told Elihu our new agenda and we set off on our new quest.
After scouring the entire grounds we found but one vendor who had suitable laying hens. She had two fine looking Aracaunas, one single Barred Rock and a bunch of dark colored Leghorns. Five apiece for the Leghorns? Wow. Seemed we’d found a really good deal. As I learned from the woman selling a pair of Mute Swans, birds you buy at the auction house are likely to be questionable; sick perhaps, behaviorally challenged or some such deficit, usually the very reason they’re being sold to begin with. Here, these were all breeders, folks who sold healthy and well-loved birds. It made sense to buy our layers here if we could. It seemed we’d found our girls. The booth was just across from the food stand, and I thought it might be good if we had some lunch before we wrapped things up. If I hadn’t known it before, I learned it then. Not a good move. Shoulda paid for those birds to secure them before I walked off. After a quick lunch (I ate, he didn’t’) we returned to find the Leghorns gone. Elihu started to sniffle. While it is true that this is a breed he’s long talked about wanting, I still didn’t see the need for tears. Besides, if nothing else, this event had taught me a lesson, which made it worth the loss. Pay for something as soon as you know you want it. Got it. Next time. But for now we weren’t entirely let down; there were four fine hens remaining, two of which were the lovely looking Aracaunas. We paid for them and Elihu begged to move them himself – from the cage to our back seat bin. Elizabeth, the woman at the vegetable/hen stand easily agreed, and when she saw how handily Elihu removed the hens, restrained them, and transported them to his box she complimented him warmly. I watched, proud of my boy. If you’ve ever tried to handle and move a bird, you’ll get it. If you haven’t, all I can say is it’s a gift. Natural to some, unthinkable to others. Definitely takes a knack.
After placing our new hens in the car, I’d tried to back up and retrace our route, but a line of cars behind me changed that plan. Instead, I drove forward along the perimeter of the grounds, and we passed some more stands we’d not seen yet. Finding space on the lawn, I parked again so that we could make one last walkabout before taking our hens home. A long-haired woman stood beside a handful of cages in which a couple of ducks, a fuzzy miniature chicken and one very cramped goose stood in the rain, waiting to go home. I love a duck, I really do, so I just had to spend some time cooing to these guys. Elihu too loves a duck and in fact had talked for several weeks about having a Muscovy duck instead of a dog. We’d long felt an undefinable absence in our home (not filled by a parrot – we tried that – and for Elihu’s allergies unable to be satisfied by a cat) and had thought perhaps – especially since Elihu was eight – this was the right time for us to get a dog. While the idea seemed pleasing, it just didn’t sit right with me – or him. So, he’d somehow settled on the idea of Muscovy duck. We searched the internet for “Muscovy duck as pet” and found a story of a particularly endearing pet Muscovy duck named Archimedes which seemed to confirm for us that this was a definite possibility. So I had to visit the ducks. There was even a Runner duck – the strangest looking duck you ever did see. Long and thin necks, almost vertical as they stand, they just don’t look possible. While I love all creatures and find Runners interesting, I’m not a huge fan. And they certainly don’t look, well, pet-like. Smoochable. Whatever it is that makes a pet a companion and not just another animal. Then I catch eyes with someone. A large head cocks to the side and a marble-blue, orange-rimmed eye looks up at me. “A goose?” I ask, knowing it’s a goose, but waiting for the story that comes with it. “He’s the only American Lavender Ice you’ll find anywhere around here” she offers, beginning to fill me in.
My experience with geese is that they are not very nice. Definitely not smoochable. Not an animal you want to get your fingers anywhere near. However, this guy’s been bred to be friendly. See? She inserts a finger into the cage and wiggles it into his back. He seems to like it. ? This is a first. “He won’t bite me??” I ask, still very hesitant to test her on it. She assures me, laughing. I tentatively move a finger toward his bill. Not much happens. He ignores it, in fact. Really? Another first. I let her talk a bit about him, his breed, what makes him so unique. While that’s all good to know, what I want to know is is he really friendly, I mean really friendly? As in ‘companion-to-an-eight-year-old-boy’ friendly? She assures me. She goes on to tell me that her best friend growing up was a goose named ‘Lucy’. I say, yeah, fine, but a boy? A gander? Males play rough, right? She goes on to tell me that years later she was to learn that Lucy was actually a gander! (They re-named him ‘Lucipher’ because he didn’t like a certain guy in the neighborhood… I kinda let that one pass; it didn’t add to her pitch, and frankly, by now I wanted to be sold on this creature). His eyes, oh his eyes. The same sort of look as a duck, only more substance promised to live behind them. Or so I hoped. Geese lived long, right? Twenty years, some. They get along with chickens? Sure do. They used em as sentries in WWI, would they do the same for me? Yup, they guard the flock, ward off foxes, raccoons. Are you sure he doesn’t bite? Sure. I stood there just looking at him. Elihu danced around, telling me why he had to have the other ducks, beginning to create his campaign for bringing home a final, unplanned member of the flock. Little did he know I was way ahead of him.
“Ok.” I said. “I’ll take him.” Two other birders looked on and nodded approvingly as they stroked the Banties they held in their arms, telling me they’d do it too if they only could. (I could, right? Again, quick mental list – I’d told her about our accommodations and she’d thought they were fine) really, could we? Really? Wow. Who was piloting this ship?? Had I been overtaken by an irrational alter-ego?? Ok, I’d bought an exotic pheasant last week, his mates this week, a car full of hens, yeah ok, but a GOOSE?
“Oh ho! Oh boy!” Elihu leaped into the air and ran to the goose’s cage. “Max!!” he shouted, “you’re coming home with us!”. Max? Sure, why not? Everyone laughed. Kim, the woman who’d sold us the goose, had kindly offered to throw the tiny Silkie rooster in with the deal. She didn’t want to go back home with a rooster (yeah, I hear ya sister). She insisted that Elihu could show this lil guy in his 4H group at the fair – he could easily take the $100 blue ribbon prize. While that wasn’t necessarily a selling point for me (but still mildly compelling), the idea of a tiny bird that Elihu could easily take around with him – perhaps in the crook of his arm at the next fair in spring – was just icing on the cake. Why not? The little fluffy white chicken was docile, sweet and accommodating. Kinda like the bird version of a toy poodle. Perfect. Throw him in the car with the rest of em. Oh heck, he can ride on your lap, why not. After locating a box and shifting the cargo around some (again, praise for Elihu’s deft maneuvering of animals) we were ready to go.
Somewhere inside, I had a feeling our lives had changed forever. I went to Kim and hugged her – in light of the way she’d contributed to the new direction of our lives it felt absolutely natural. Whether the result of her effortless sales pitch or the next step of our destiny encouraged by subtle forces, our lives were now different, our family now larger.
Duck? No. Duck? No. Goose? Why not….
Elihu and Maximus
Post Script: While animal’s names are usually something we like to sit with for awhile and often don’t choose until after an animal has lived with us for a bit , ‘Max’ just seemed perfect from the first moment Elihu said it. His full name is Maximus, and it fits as he is the largest member of our flock.
I’m on the playground. I look out, cars bustle and the streets look busy. I wonder what the people in those cars are thinking. Then I go. Well, I don’t know what I go to do then. After that I look around and well, there’s not much to do. I just sorta sit. And sit. Jack passes. I know he doesn’t want to play with me. He hasn’t been playing with me for the past two months. What if I were one of those kids, one of those kids that always seems to be having fun? Would I be having fun? Or would I just realize that it’s not any better to have friends? Snowflakes fall and it’s still winter. Nothing’s going to change that. And I’m still me and nobody’s going to change that. Nobody’s going to change anything. Snowflakes fall and nobody’s going to change that either. Maybe that’s the best thing about winter.
Sometimes winter can be the worst season, but yet the best. I look at the tall fences and I look back at myself, down at my legs. There wasn’t much to do except keep doing what I was doing, whatever that thing was. Soon the whistle is blown, and I slowly walk back. I get in line and now things seem to be a little better, well at least now that recess is over. There are worse times in the day, like science. You know I don’t mean to mean they’re bad, I just mean that I’d rather do different things. I’d rather be on the playground than in science. Yeah, of course I hate the playground, but the playground could have a better side if I had someone to play with. Right now it’s just sort of the place I always…. I don’t know, whatever I do.
And now it’s science time. I get out my science book and I get out my science packet and my pencil. I look at the numbers. Number one through ten. We’re starting at five. At least this packet didn’t have twenty questions, the last one did. After science it’s pack and snack time. I feel great. At least the day is over. I mean come on, this is my favorite time of the day. Who doesn’t like the time of day when you can do anything you want, you can read, you can eat your snack, you can do whatever you want.
After that the bell rings. That was the first bell. It should be the second bell. Mr. Hewitt’s probably just a little late. It doesn’t matter. Sheesh, this day has been a long day. Well, now I’m listening to the second bell and time’s going by pretty fast it seems. Soon the buses will be called. The first buses are Raccoon and Octopus. “Raccoon and Octopus” repeated Mr. Hewitt. Oh man, I can’t believe the buses are in a different order. Well, Dog bus is usually the second bus, but when they’re out of order it could be the sixth or seventh bus. I didn’t have to wait long.
I got my backpack, and I’m ready. Put my backpack on, put my chair up on my desk, and I was out of there. I walked down the long hallway. They’re filled with kids, some I know and say hi, some I don’t know. They just look at me and pass. I keep walking. I don’t mind those kids. Even the ones who say hi. I say hi back sometimes, but I’m more eager to get to my bus than to say hi. The day has been long and of course I’m eager to get onto my bus. I say hi to Mr. Taylor standing in the middle of the ramp watching the kids.
Then I go through the open door and I’m outside. It’s cold out, but I’ll only be out, well, speaking of only – it really takes me about five minutes to get to my bus.
I’m on the bus, and now starts the 45 or 50 minute drive to my house. I look out the window. What pretty forests, gardens and houses. They’re all pretty. Some of those houses aren’t really houses, they’re shacks. Serge used to say that some of those houses had ghosts in them. But I didn’t really believe that. When I was just a silly little first grader I believed it. I still sit with my backpack pressed hard against my back, making a shadow over my head. I felt sort of over my head. I sort of felt scared on the bus and that’s why I always put my backpack near me. With my personal belongings, it somehow made me feel safer from all those unknown kids and unknown star wars things, and legos and whatever they were. And so I got off. Off of the bus.
When I got home I realized that the bus was the good place. Aww. Oh. I was home. The most boring, but in a way, the most exciting time of the day.
Aah aah aah ahh. A rooster crows. I knew Bald Mountain felt happy that I was here, and I knew that Whitey felt happy that I was here, and I knew the rest of the flock was happy that I was here. But there’s one thing I didn’t know. If I was happy that I was here. We drove down the long driveway and we got in the house. Ah, felt good to be in the house. I layed down on the couch and looked at all my presents. Aahhh. I felt tired, and happy and I felt like it was time to relaxamate. The tree looked dry. It’s branches had curved in and fallen down and it had lost quite a few needles. But with still a few ornaments left on it, it looked pretty. Chickadee-dee Chicka-dee-dee. Chickadees rang out from the porch, and lots of them too. I looked around, lifted up the shade and sure enough there were two Chickadees trapped in the porch. Wait! That second one wasn’t a Chickadee, it was three times as big as a Chickadee, had a crest, and a black mask. It flew around in the porch and over time let our an ear piercing “jay jay jay”. I knew in an instant it must be a Blue Jay so I ran and got the net, but when I got in the porch he was out, sitting in the Butterfly bush and scolding. “Jay jay jay” he yelled at me and flew away. Now all that was left was the Chickadee. “Chicka dee dee” he said to me as he turned his head around to look at me. Then he jumped off the screen and a blurry figure flew away. It was now getting dark, the sky was getting gray. I checked out my presents, I had a lot of cool ones I realized, cooler than I thought.
After that, there’s not much to do except take all the ornaments off the tree, take the lights off and take the bins downstairs. And that we did. I looked at my bed. I looked back at Mommy. I didn’t want to go to bed. The snow sparkled and made the whole backyard look so beautiful. Looked out my bedroom window again, now I saw crows. They flew away. Now I knew for sure it was time to go to bed. I looked at my pajamas, they were layed out. She must have layed them out while I was looking at birds on the computer (which I did not include in this paragraph).
And so, since it was time to go to bed I did, I brushed my teeth. Mommy read me the rest of the Saint Francis book and then within fifteen minutes (well I really couldn’t tell) I was asleep.
The Hillhouse 