Bird calls

April 18

We left the front door wide open this afternoon. "It feels so good out there," said my first grader as she came in from the school bus. After dropping her backpack and shucking off her shoes and socks she stood on the front step breathing. That she notices how it feels outside makes me feel like this project is working. She notices, she appreciates in her own six year old way. Warm spring air rushes through the house and I prop open doors to keep them from slamming.

We eat dinner on the deck again, plates perched on our laps listening to the stereo calls of birds calling from left and right. I need to learn which voices belong to which calls. They are so distinct and so clear. We are at a concert or listening to a conversation. "It's a black crested chickadee," says my little one. I must tell her teacher the bird lover this. The pipe cleaner/cheerio feeder she made at school this week hangs above us. "Look!" shouts my first grader, "Some are missing! They came, the Cardinals ate your food!" My little one smiles contentedly. She knew they would.