The Bird Feather Tree
By Antoinette Zurigo
(aka Andrew E. Svenson)
KURT and Jenny sat under a pine tree eating lollipops. All at once a blue feather floated down. It landed at Jenny’s feet.
The children looked up. They saw another feather drift slowly to the ground.
“This must be a bird feather tree,” said Kurt.
“Whoever heard of a bird feather tree?” Jenny asked.
“Don’t laugh,” Kurt said. “Haven’t you heard of cattails and dogwood trees?”
“Maybe you’re right,” Jenny said. “If this is a bird feather tree, let’s see where the feathers come from.”
They looked hard, but the branches were very close together.
“I guess the feathers come from higher than we can see,” Jenny said.
“Let’s climb up into the tree,” Kurt suggested.
Just then Jenny’s mother called. “Time for supper!”
“Now we can’t climb the tree,” Kurt said.
“We can do it tomorrow,” Jenny said and skipped to her house.
Kurt stayed for a minute. He looked up into the tree and squinted his eyes. No, he could not see a single feather. He picked up the two that had fallen and put them into his pocket.
On the way home he kept thinking about the bird feather tree.
He thought about it at supper.
He thought about it when he went to bed.
Before he knew it, the next day had come. Kurt stood under the tree with Jenny.
“I’ll go up first,” Kurt said. “You can follow me.” He reached for a limb and swung himself up into the tree.
Jenny was right behind him. Up and up they climbed. It seemed very easy.
“I didn’t think it was such a high tree,” Jenny said. “Do you see any bird feathers yet?”
“Not yet—Oh, look! There goes one,” Kurt said. “We’re getting warm.”
A gold feather with purple dots fell down through the branches.
Suddenly, a little higher up, Kurt’s mouth fell open in surprise. “Look, Jenny!” he whispered.
There sat three Indians. They were busy making something with their hands. The Indians turned to look at the children, but they said nothing and went on working.
Kurt and Jenny climbed closer to the Indians.
“See!” said Jenny, “they’re making bird feathers!”
The fingers of the three Indians seemed to fly. They made feathers of all colors, which they put into a big pile.
One of the feathers fell down through the tree branches. “Ooops,” said one of the Indians, “there goes another one!”
Just then a basket on a string came down beside the Indians. They filled it up with feathers. Up went the basket again.
“That’s funny,” Jenny said. “Where did that basket go?”
They looked up into some more branches and Kurt laughed. “This isn’t the top of the tree. Come on, Jenny.”
The children pulled themselves higher and higher.
There sat some more Indians! They were making beautiful headdresses and bonnets of colored feathers. When one was finished, it was hung on a branch.
“It’s like a feather treehouse,” Kurt said.
The Indians looked at the children. One of them dropped a feather. It fell through the branches.
“Ooops, there goes another one,” said the Indian.
All at once a basket came down from above. The Indians scooped up all the small feathers they had not used and put them into the basket. It was pulled up into the branches overhead.
An Indian smiled. He rolled his eyes upward and jerked his thumb toward the disappearing basket.
“He wants us to go up,” Jenny said.
They climbed again. But now their arms were getting tired. Kurt’s knees wobbled as he pulled himself from limb to limb. Would they ever reach the top?
He looked up and laughed. “More Indians,” he told Jenny.
“What are they doing?” she asked.
“You’ll never believe it. They’re making feather pillows!”
The children looked at the Indians, who worked like mad, stuffing pillows with small feathers of all colors. They stuffed so fast that the air was full of flying feathers.
The Indians said nothing. One of them grinned and jerked his thumb.
Kurt and Jenny raised their eyes. There was nothing above them but blue sky!
“We’ve reached the top of the bird feather tree!” Kurt shouted.
“It must be pretty far from the ground,” said Jenny.
Kurt stepped out on a branch and looked down.
“Wow! It’s a long way!”
The boy leaned over for a better look.
Just then an Indian tossed a pillow to him. “Here, catch!” he said.
Kurt turned to grab the pillow, but he lost his balance and fell.
“Owwww!” cried Kurt, as down he went, head over heels.
The Indian said, “Ooops, there goes another one!”
It seemed that Kurt fell a long, long way.
Then he landed. Plop! He was in bed, holding tight to his pillow.
Jenny came over later in the morning. “Let’s climb the bird feather tree,” she said.
“What for!” Kurt asked. “There’s nothing up there but a couple of old blue jays.”
But I don’t think he really believed it. Do you?
By Andrew E. Svenson, 1971
Property of the Hollister Family Properties Trust
Not for distribution or publication.