Robyn and Robelius Head South

Robyn shivered. The skies were gloomy and scattered with migratory birds.

"Robelius, it's time. Time to head South."

Robelius was her son, a red-breasted, hard-headed fellow.

"Now? I've got a nice juicy one."

Or that's what Robyn thought he said, but it was hard to tell when his mouth was full.

"We must go, or we could die."

"Aw, what do you know?" he scoffed, squinting down at the dirt.

"It's built-in knowledge from our Ancient Lord."

Robelius put his ear to the ground. "There's another worm right under here!"

"But Robelius...they will turn to ice cubes in the winter."

He chirped a laugh. "I've heard ice pops are good."

Robyn sighed.

Cardinal Marc Ouellet landed on a fence nearby. "Having troubles, Robyn?"

"Only what I expected."

"You need to put your foot down! Lay down the claw!"

Robyn shook her head. "I've tried."

"Well, I'll pray for you," Marc said. "I shall take my leave, as I have duties to attend to."

Robyn bobbed her head toward him, then fluffed herself up, needing the warmth. "Robelius, they expect us down South to bring in the spring. They've even written songs about us."

"Other robins will take our place," said Robelius, hopping to another spot.

"Hello, there," came a sweet, warbling voice. The black swath on the yellow bird's head stood out. "My name's Elvis." He preened.

"The King's alive," muttered Robyn.

"I'm all shook up!" he said. "It's now or never. Funny how time slips away! I can't help falling in love with this weather. But we've got to be snowbirds."

Robyn frowned. "Yes, but my son won't listen."

"I really don't want to know," Elvis clucked. "It's your baby, you rock it." With that, he flew off.

Robyn stared.

"He's kind of a cuckoo," Robelius said.

"No, he's a Wilson's Warbler," replied Robyn. "But a rather strange one."

A brown chickadee fluttered down. "I'm Dee. Aren't you going South?" she peeped.

"If I can convince my son," Robyn said, flapping her wings in frustration.

"There are lots of cute girls going," said Dee.

Robelius looked up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," said Dee. She flew away.

Robelius stared at a young female robin taking to the skies. "Okay, let's go!"

Robyn chirped in glee. "Thank the Lord!"

They were off on the breeze, flying behind a group of sparrows and robins over the state of New York when Robelius pointed his wing downward.

"Look, Ma, it's a pretty place! Can't we live there?"

"No, not yet. We aren't in the South yet."

"How can you tell?"

"No sombreros." Robyn winked. "We'll stop before then, of course."

Their first pit-stop was in southern New York. The leaves were falling in a shower of reds and yellows as the sun rose.

"I wish we could stay here," whined Robelius.

"So do I," said Robyn. "But we have miles to go, so no arguing."

"Hello," said a strutting sparrow. 

"What's your name?" Robyn asked. 

"Captain Jack Sparrow," he bowed, "on an adventure to the world's end."

"I wouldn't say that," Robyn chirped.

"Well, you know . . . I have to stay in character."

Robyn shrugged her feathers. 

"Arggh, mate, and all that. Why is the rum gone?" He cackled wildly.

Robelius pecked at the ground, then looked up. "You are another odd bird, Jack."

"Shh," said Robyn.

"Call me Captain Jack. And I take pride in my oddity," said Captain Jack. "Sparrows are generally too dull. I am a daring pirate, unlike any in the world."

"I'll say," clucked Robelius.

Robyn nudged her son. 

"I'll say that's pretty neat," he added.

"Well, we must be getting a bite to eat," said Robyn.

"I savvy," said Captain Jack. "And I'm off to find the horizon." 

"Farewell!" said Robyn.

That evening they rested, nibbling worms and eventually sleeping in the branches of an elm tree. . . .

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Robyn's eyes blinked open and closed in the dawn. Tap, tap, tap. That noise! 

"What's going on?" she asked.

"It's just me, a woodpecker."

"Is your name Woody?" Robelius questioned with a flick of his beak.

"No. Why would it be?" Tap, tap, tap. He slurped up a bug. "I'm called Jackhammer."

Robelius rolled his eyes. "Another Jack."

"Not Jack. Jackhammer," corrected the woodpecker.

"Oh." 

Robyn eyed the tree. "I thought you pecked holes to make nests."

"Nope. To find bugs. Or to find a mate. They're impressed by our fast drumming."

Robelius laughed. "I wish that worked for us robins."

"It's not as pleasant as it sounds," said Jackhammer. "The head hurts a bit. But we're designed to take it, while other birds aren't."

"Cool," said Robelius.

"Very," said Jackhammer.

"Well, we must be on our way," said Robyn.

Jackhammer nodded. "Safe travels."

"Thank you. Safe drumming," Robyn countered with a smile.

Tapity, tap, tap.

"Must we leave?" Robelius kicked the dirt.

Jackhammer stopped his tapping. "Always listen to your mother's wise words, little guy. She knows a thing or two more about migration than you do."

Robelius scowled, as much as any bird can. "But I like it here. I don’t get overheated."

"You'll like it down South, too," said Robyn. Jackhammer nodded.

"We'll see about that," whispered Robelius.

They flew off, but Robelius stayed a bird's-length behind Robyn. She eyed the trees and the skies, not noticing that her son was slipping farther and farther behind.

"I think it's going to be a cold one, Robelius, though it may not seem so now. . . . Robelius?" She looked over her shoulder. A shiver ran through her. "Robelius! Where are you?"

The sky was lowering with rumbling clouds.

"Now is not a safe time to split up!" Robyn prayed as she flew back the way she’d come. And she called her son's name every few seconds.

Honk, honk. A Canadian goose at the edge of a vee almost hit into her. "Watch where you're going!" he snarled.

Robyn was watching the trees and the ground, not the sky in front of her.

She hovered and called down to the lake area where they had rested earlier, then she landed. 

"Jackhammer, have you seen my son?" Robyn called to the woodpecker.

"Not since you left, no."

"He was right behind me, and then . . ." Robyn's voice trailed off into a whimper.

"You mustn't worry," said Jackhammer. "Don't you all know your way down South, anyway?"

"Yes, but my son likes to play by his own rulebook. You heard him. I think the South secretly scares him."

Jackhammer tilted his head. "But why?"

Robyn's head drooped. "My husband died there. Purely unrelated to the place, but Robelius thinks it has to do with the scorching sun."

"Oh, I see . . ." Jackhammer pecked absently at the tree, his beak barely making a noise this time. "I'll see if I can find him. And then . . . perhaps I could go with you and help keep an eye on him."

"Oh, would you?" 

"Of course. I should be heading that way, myself."

"But how to find him?"

Jackhammer put a wing to his head. "I've got an idea." Without a further word, Jackhammer tapped a fast staccato on his tree. He pulled out a big, juicy bug, letting it dangle from his beak.

"Mmth mill brin hmm oww."

Robyn blinked.

Jackhammer waved one of his wings in an arc. "Cull yrr snn."

Robyn smiled. "Yes. Robelius! We have a meal for you! A juicy bug!"

The leaves whispered back. No Robelius.

"We can maybe stay here a while," she added.

A flash of red appeared on the grass. Robelius stood there. "We can stay a while?"

"Yes," said Robyn.

Robelius grinned. "And that bug is mine?"

"Yes," said Robyn. "Though you don't deserve it."

Later, when the sun had set on the trio, Robelius was fast asleep in the elm tree.

"I hope this works," Robyn was saying. "Thanks for your help."

Jackhammer nodded. "We'll take flight tomorrow."

"That's the plan."

~~~

A sleepy Robyn awoke to something tickling her head. She brushed it--a wind-swept leaf--aside. 

She looked around. Where were the others?

Ah, there was Jackhammer, gazing out at the lake. And there was Robelius . . . water-skiing?

On his feet were strapped two flat sticks. Two wiry grasses attached to those and led to a beaver, who paddled quickly around the lake.

“Leave it to a beaver . . .” said Jackhammer.

“Whee!” exclaimed Robelius.

“Oh, he’ll never want to leave now,” moaned Robyn.

Indeed, Robelius shouted out, “We won’t have this in the South--a friendly beaver to give us rides! Instead it’ll be alligators trying to eat us.”

Robyn shook her head. “This lake will likely freeze over in the winter.”

“Then I’ll go ice skating!” called Robelius, laughing as he nearly fell in the water.

Robyn covered her eyes with her wing.

“Don’t forget the plan,” murmured Jackhammer. “I think it’ll work.”

To encourage her son to get off the lake, Robyn and Jackhammer started hunting for bugs.

“Take me over, Beav,” said Robelius. “Breakfast time.”

After they had eaten several worms and bugs, Robyn pointed to the sky.

“Now?” Robelius croaked.

Robyn gave her son a feathery whap on his bottom. “Yes, now.”

Robelius frowned.

A loud shriek came from the tree above them.

"Wh-what's that?" Robelius stammered.

Another shriek pierced their ears. 

"We'd better get out of here!" Robelius cried.

They darted away. 

Robyn winked at Jackhammer. "Good ol' owl," she mouthed.

"He couldn't have done much better," whispered Jackhammer.

The next few days were smooth sailing--er, flying--but then Robelius noticed the sun was getting hotter.

"Can't we stay here?" he asked. "It's warm enough!"

"Robelius, honey . . . it's warm enough for now, but the South is our winter home. That's the way it must be."

Jackhammer put a wing around Robelius' shoulder. "I've visited the South many times. The sun feels so good. There's food aplenty. And we'll fly back North later on."

Robelius wobbled. "But how do you know? What if the sun is too hot and gives us a stroke?"

Jackhammer looked into Robelius' eyes. "What if the winter snow gives us frostbite? What if we get hit by a truck? There are all kinds of things that could go wrong at any place or time. We can't live in fear, but instead look on the bright side. I mean to say . . . be thankful for the time we have and use it well."

Robelius shuffled his feet. "I guess so."

Jackhammer patted the robin's head. "Let's go."

Under the sunny blue sky, Robyn, Robelius, and Jackhammer arrived at their destination.

Robelius pointed to a group of men in colorful hats in the shade of a building. "Look! Sombreros!"

And they laughed.