Baby Bird Shuffle

One Boy’s Efforts to Correct Nature’s Shortcomings

Finding herself an impoverished widow at the beginning of the Great Depression, Maida (Parlow) Knowles moved back to the old homestead her grandparents had established on the banks of the St Lawrence River. This abandoned farm had a large apple orchard, but the trees had been neglected for years. Rather than living in a seedy, cockroach-infested apartment and leaving her three young sons to roam the streets of Toronto while she tried to hold down a job, she wanted to bring the orchard back into production and earn a living for herself and her boys.

Having lived all their lives in the city, however, she and her three sons were having quite the learning experience getting their run-down farmhouse fixed up, and the apple orchard ready. When they arrived at the farm, she was appalled to see the house’s back porch and its roof lying on the ground. She was also dismayed, those first few nights, to lie in bed and see the stars through the holes in her roof.

One day during that first summer, she was outside picking up some of the porch roof shingles that were scattered. They made great kindling for the old wood stove, on which she was learning to cook their food. Suddenly she heard loud, angry voices and her three sons came along, the oldest two dragging five-year-old Alan by the arms.

“You’ll never guess what he did now, Mom!” The older boys glared in righteous indignation at the tearful transgressor. “He got into the birds’ nests in the apple trees and moved all the eggs and the baby birds around. They’re so mixed up now their poor mothers will never find them!”

“Yeah. Whatever is God thinking about the awful thing you did, Alan Knowles?”

She felt an urge to laugh at the very idea, but stifled it. This was, after all, a major crime to the two oldest boys. The accused hung his head and made no defence. (He told his mother later that he hadn’t dared to explain with his two big brothers screeching and glaring at him so furiously. They weren’t going to listen to a word he said, anyway.)

To defuse the issue a bit she told him he’d best go and tend to the cats so they wouldn’t find out about the confusion in the orchard before the baby birds learned to fly. Happy with his light sentence, he dried his tears and hurried off to the shed where their new cat family lived.

Looking back some years later, he explained to his mother the reason for his actions that day. “I’d been watching the birds coming and going to their nests and I noticed that some mother birds didn’t leave their nests for long; they seemed to grab some food and come back quickly. Others stayed away a lot longer. I was afraid the eggs and babies would get cold when their mothers were gone so long, so I just moved the eggs and baby birds to the nests where the mothers came back sooner, because I thought they’d be better looked after.”

It made perfect sense to him at the time. ☺

This was one of the accounts Maida recorded in the diary she kept during those first years and later published as her memoir: Apples Don’t Just Grow by Maida Parlow (Knowles) French
© 1954 by McClelland & Stewart Ltd

Apple Tree

In honor of the US National Literacy Awareness Month I’ll publish
this verse from one of America’s best-loved poets.

THE APPLE TREE

by Edgar Guest

When an apple tree is ready for the world to come and eat,
there isn’t any structure in the land that’s got it beat.
There’s nothing man has builded with the beauty or the charm
that can touch the simple grandeur of the monarch of the farm.
There’s never any picture from a human being’s brush
that has ever caught the redness of a single apple’s blush.

When an apple tree’s in blossom it is glorious to see,
but that’s just a hint, at springtime, of the better things to be;
that is just a fairy promise from the Great Magician’s wand
of the wonders and the splendors that are waiting just beyond
the distant edge of summer; just a forecast of the treat
when the apple tree is ready for the world to come and eat.

Architects of splendid vision long have labored on the earth
and have raised their dreams in marble and we’ve marveled at their worth;
long the spires of costly churches have looked upward at the sky;
rich in promise and in beauty, they have cheered the passer-by.
But I’m sure there’s nothing finer for the eye of man to meet
than an apple tree that’s ready for the world to come and eat.

There’s the promise of the apples, red and gleaming in the sun,
like the medals worn by mortals as rewards for labors done,
and the big arms stretched wide open with a welcome warm and true
in a way that sets you thinking it’s intended just for you.
There is nothing with a beauty so entrancing, so complete,
as an apple tree that’s ready for the world to come and eat.

From the book A Heap O’ Livin’
© 1916 by the Reilly & Britton Company