Noisy Wren’s Adventures

Chapter 1 - Noisy Wren Goes To The Songfest in California

One day, I decided to fly to California to compete in the Annual Songfest. Since I would already be there, I decided to look up some relatives who moved there when I was a fledgling. It would be a long trip, so I ate many seeds and insects to build up fat and muscle for the journey.

Hi, they call me Noisy Wren because I rarely stop talking. My parents said I talk too much. I can't help that there are so many things to discuss, but I'm glad there are; otherwise, I would always be bored.

Anyway, I was telling you about my exciting journey to California! I rented a seat on the back of a Turkey Vulture. Don't worry! They don't like live food, so I'll be safe. Besides, I am carrying snacks in my flight satchel. If the Vulture gets hungry, I'll keep 'em happy with seeds and some grubs; dead grubs, of course! OK, on with my story.

It was the 125th Sun of the year, and the weather was ideal for a bird ride to California. However, my transporter won't cross the boundary into California because he has an old warrant for jaywalking in Los Angeles. Go figure. That is no problem; I can fly the rest of the way to Riverside and later to West Covina.

Well, there I go, TMI. Anyway, today is the day, and I am very excited to get underway! I went to the Big Oak, two blocks from the square, and waited for my flight.

Soon, a huge Turkey Vulture came floating in on the breeze, effortlessly gliding to a stop on top of one of the limbless trees with wires stretching to each other. We perch on them often; it's fun to perch there and wait for a cat to pass underneath. It's the safest way to play the game! We make bets about which of us will hit the target. Cats are smart and quick, so they can be hard to hit, but it's possible.

Anyway, I flew onto the back of my ride and hunkered down for the take-off. Yes, not to worry, I bartered with seeds in advance, and my flight was all taken care of. Wow! This bird is a giant! His wingspan is at least six feet, and I barely noticed when he lifted us from the limbless tree. We flew in big circles into the sky until we were so high that the things on the ground looked tiny. Then, we headed toward the West Texas Desert.

The Desert is lovely from up here; otherwise, you can have it. I prefer to live where there are trees, houses, and water. Another plus about staying around houses is plenty of targets to hit. Cats get very angry when we poop on them. Sometimes, they try to climb up to catch us, but mostly, they get scared about halfway up the limbless tree. By the time they scoot back down, they want to go somewhere else. They'll throw us mean looks and prance off like they meant to do that. We all crack up, and they especially don't like it when we do that.

Anyway, now and then, we would make some big, lazy circles to gain altitude. I liked that part of the flight and almost fell asleep several times—not good. I asked the Vulture his name, and he told me it was Vince. He's not much of a talker, but that's OK; I can talk enough for both of us.

I started thinking, then at some point, talking about the Songfest in Riverside as we soared high over the Western Desert. That's part of why I am making the journey, the annual Songfest. There will be birds from many places eager to enter the singing contest. Sure, visiting Cousin Chirp is fun, but I came here to show all my friends and family I'm not just a rambling, loud-mouth Northern House Wren. Back home, it's always the same; practically every time I open my beak, they'd roll their eyes and say, "Give it a rest, Noisy, pipe down, Noisy, or put a sock in it, Noisy," or worse. I know, I know; I ramble and chirp about things, but I can't help it; there is so much to chirp about! Anyway, the Songfest! I know, I know, I'm a House Wren and not a Songbird, but that's unimportant. I may not get close to the prize, but I'll still be a winner. My family will see I can be more than just a chatterbox. I know, I know, just a house Wren, right? Sure, I know what you may be thinking; I may not be a fancy Mockingbird with a portfolio of songs, but I have one good song. It's loud enough to wake the hibernating Bears. If I can get through it without rambling on about the time I pooped on an unsuspecting Dog, well, I'll count that as a win! With the shimmering Desert stretching out below, I felt I could do anything!

Anyway, Songfest isn't just about singing; it's about a bird showing up and giving it their best. Caught up in thoughts about Songfest, I didn't notice that Vince, that's the Vulture's name, had twisted his head, and was eyeballing me with one of those big red eyes, and said, "Hey, kid, you've been yammering continuously since take-off. My ears are 'bout to fall off. Oh, look, they already have. It's gonna be double seeds for the flight!" Double seeds? My satchel was not big enough to cover that cost! I tried to stay quiet, I really did, but then I saw the cat strutting across a rooftop below. "Vince! Dive! It's a perfect shot, I chirped. He snorted and continued gliding, muttering something about annoying, noisy little wrens. Spoil-sport!

Anyway, I think it's a cat; we're so high I can't tell for sure, and I was so engrossed in the thoughts about Songfest that I didn't see the Hawk until almost too late. "Hang on!" Vince suddenly banked steeply to the left, and I tumbled right off my perch! End, over end, I fell towards the Desert floor below. I knew I had to regain control and dive, or I was gonna be lunch for the Hawk. I started regaining control of my fall and stopped my tumble. I was now screaming backward, and I glanced over my breast and saw the Hawk gaining on me, with Vince hot on his tail. I folded my wings tightly and stretched my body out to go faster. I was going so fast! I'd never been this high in the sky before, and the Desert was still very far below; I began to wonder if this was the end of me. That's a sad thought; I really want to get to Songfest and sing with all the other birds! I turned my body to face the ground and pointed my head straight toward the sand. I was going so fast, faster than ever; it seemed like the Desert was rushing to meet me. I knew I'd better start pulling up soon or smash into the ground, but there was that Hawk to think about, too.

I dared not look back and slow my descent. I knew the Hawk was close, so I lifted my head a bit, spread my wings a little, and started an inverse arc, intent on hitting the ground but gliding as I made contact. I noticed a Joshua tree with a prickly pear cactus patch close to it, and I decided to try and scoot into the middle of it as soon as I could stop my roll on the sand. I was glad the sky had darkened with storm clouds; without all that bright sunlight, I would have been harder to target against the Desert floor. Although not an exact match, my feathers were brown enough to help my small body blend with the Desert colors.

Here I go! I pulled my head up sharply and opened my wings as far as possible, not bothering to plant my feet because that would make my roll more violent, and I wanted to make a sliding crash land without injuries. When my body made contact with the sand, it was like no sensation I'd felt before, sandpaper against my soft feathers. I tucked my head and was tumbling along the ground, barely avoiding a head-on with that Joshua tree. The prickly pear patch wasn't far, and I hoped I could stop before I got to it.

When I stopped rolling, I was inches from the patch; I felt the air move as that Hawk swooped over me; it must have barely missed snatching me in its talons. I scooted into the prickly anyway, in case he came around for another try. I could see Vince landing by the tree with a surprised look on his face. After carefully scanning the sky for the Hawk, I crawled from between the blades. I needed a minute to stop shaking before I could stand. It was a surreal experience, and only now, after it was over, did I realize how close I came to being pooped out of that murderous Hawk! Vince said, "Hoo wee, little wren, that was a close call! Are you OK? That was an impressive bit of flying!" My voice was a little shaky; I told Vince I was fine. Back home, when we played, we practiced something similar, which is why I thought of how not to get snatched by that mean ol' Hawk. Why can't they eat seeds anyway?

We Wrens and all the nice birds back home eat seeds, so why do some birds want to eat other birds? Vince looked at me for a minute and said, "Well, Noisy, world ain't built for everybody to eat seeds. Hawks are hunters, not peckers; same way, I'm a cleaner, but I hunt for leftovers from the hunters. It ain't 'bout fair or unfair; it's 'bout survival. You Wrens are scrappy trouble dodgers, seed eaters with moves like you showed in diving like that ol' Hawk and your glide-n-roll landing; Hoo Wee! That move was a thing of beauty, I tell you! But you? You just danced with death and come out chirpin'! Out-smartin' a Hawk is no easy thing; you keep that stuff up, and you'll do fine in this world. It takes different kinds of birds to make it all work out. You got grit, boy, and that's gonna help you shine at the Songfest in Californee you were rattling about earlier. 'Sides, if Hawks and his kind all ate seeds, I'd be out of a job! I only do this flying service so's I can visit my cuz in Arizona. I'm a carrion eater, but I can make do with seeds, sometimes, so I can visit relatives." Vince cocked his head to one side and finished up with, "Well, listen to me yammerin' on like I was a Noisy Wren, Ha, ha." "Storms a-comin', so hop on, we gotta get to flappin'!"

I hopped onto Vince's back and settled close this time, not wanting to fall off again; once was enough!

With a couple of flaps from Vince's enormous wings, we lifted from that Desert rock, slowly circling up, up, and up until everything looked tiny again. I was relieved but nervously scanning the sky for that mean Ol' Hawk. I didn't want him sneakin' up on me again. We flew for hours and hours while I chattered away at the back of Vince's head. I could feel Vince rolling his eyes as I told him about my friends, family, and bunches of other stuff. We finally crossed the Desert from Texas into New Mexico. We flew into Arizona, then flew some more, with that storm on our tails, pushing us toward Vince's destination, Quartzsite, Arizona. That's the name of the small town where his cuz hangs around. I asked Vince what his cousin's name was, and he told me it was Pock. I must have looked curious because Vince said, "On account o' the Chicken Pox he and I had when we were young whipper-snappers. He got pock marks 'cause he wouldn' quit the scratchin', and he busted open some o' them blisters, and that left pock marks on his head." We were passing over Phoenix, and Vince said he was thirsty, so we glided some more of those big circles and landed by a lone pond outside the city. I was glad to get off and stretch my wings.