Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette.Volume XIII

"The American redbird," she reminded herself looking at the noble form of the cardinals. "That's a better name for you in this day and age." In the guide book she was creating she had listed the name 'cardinal' as an "archaic" up-time appellation (best not to think too hard on that), in the New United States the startlingly bright plumaged bird was now widely known among down-timers as the Amerikanische rotvogel.

Watching her breakfast guests tearing into the sunflower seeds grown on her front yard plantation Pam let out a sudden gasp. Good lord! What do I feed the ducklings? They must be half starved! Pam grabbed her paltry collection of American field guides, pushing aside the old familiar regret that she had not bought more bird books before the Ring of Fire came. File that under 'Lost Chances and Failed Romances,' Pammy old girl. She would do what she could with what she had-a skill set that had acquired much honing of late. There wasn't much in the books regarding feeding, and nothing specific on ducklings. She knew wood ducks were mainly herbivorous; they were considered a perching duck but shared some traits with dabblers like the mallards. Thinking hard, Pam distinctly recalled seeing the ducklings when they were still up at the lake going after small insects as well as pondweeds; all baby birds needed high quantities of protein.

On her way out the kitchen door she turned off the stove, the coffee would have to wait. She grabbed a small trowel and a pail as she headed for the sunflower field. Most of her wide, sloping front yard was devoted to sunflowers, they provided excellent bird feed and besides-they were just damn pretty. She stuck the trowel into the dark, dew-moist earth between the rows.

"Bingo!" Her first scoop yielded two wriggling pink earthworms. "Breakfast is served!" Once she had five of the unfortunate invertebrates in her pail she washed them briefly in the wall spigot. Back in the house she placed one on the cutting board, proceeding to chop it into very small pieces. Briefly a voice in her head, her own mother's traveling across the space-time continuum, admonished her. "That's disgusting-you eat off that, too you know!" Pam grinned as she realized she could care less. She heaped the minced earthworm into a shallow bowl filled with water. She noticed that some of the pieces were still moving. All the better.

Her downy house guests had awoken and were now peeping softly, poking their heads out of the box's shelter, the ringed markings around their eyes giving them a charmingly mischievous look. Pam gently placed the bowl on the kiddy pool's bottom, then stepped back to watch quietly. The ducklings peered shyly at the new object at first but once they caught the scent all shyness evaporated. Feeding frenzy! Pam marveled. Very hungry ducklings tore into the earthworm soup with relish. "So, you guys were hungry. Is that why you kept me up half the night?" I hope this is the right stuff for you…

Pam knew it was time that she got some help with this. She needed someone who knew something about raising fowl. She hauled out the Grantville phone book, found the name and dialed the number. He's a farmer-he'll be up early.

"Hello, Willie Ray? This is Pam Miller. I wonder if maybe you could help me out…"

Pam felt awful as she gently placed the frightened ducklings back into her rucksack-it was still the safest way she could think of to transport them. Soon she was headed down the sunny morning road whistling Zippity Doo Dah to a chorus of muffled peeps.

Willie Ray Hudson's place was well-known to every Grantviller. She found Willie Ray still nursing a cup of coffee on his wide front porch. As it turned out the friendly old farmer had spent the prior evening long and late at the Thuringen Gardens public house and he now rather resembled a tree full of owls blinking at the bright morning sun as if it were an unexpected calamity. Pam took his offer of "A cup of Joe." She hadn't gotten around to hers this morning and Willie Ray obviously needed some time to rally. He gave Pam a sheepish grin.

"This coffee is doing the trick, Pam. I'll be up an at 'em pretty quick. A fellow my age putting down that strong German beer like it's Sunday picnic lemonade, I should know better. Made a damn fool of myself. I think I ended up back here courtesy of a wheelbarrow!" He grinned, his jaw a field of gray stubble growing on darkly tanned furrows of weathered wrinkles.

"I know how you feel, Willie Ray. I got into some of that moonshine the boys are making these days a while back. My hired man's wife had to put me to bed like a baby, thank heavens for Gerbald and Dore! I was a mess, I felt like I'd been kicked in the head by a mule the next afternoon when I came to." They shared a laugh at their respective misadventures in the realms of the spirits. Something about Willie Ray and his farm made Pam feel comfortably rustic. She had spent plenty of time here and in places like this in her youth.

"Now, what you got in that old travellin' bag, Miss Pam? By the sound of it I'll bet it's not canned beans and frankfurters. Must be those orphans."

"They're wild wood duck ducklings, Willie Ray. Have you ever seen the ducks with the long crest coming off the back of their heads? The real pretty ones."

"I know what wood ducks are; seen a lot of birds here on the farm over the years, usually going after my patch of corn. Just what happened?"

"Their mother was killed by a trapper up along the rim. Probably a hungry down-timer shacked up in the German pine woods north of town. Gerbald and I are going to go see if we can find who it was later today. I was ready to kill them yesterday but now I think I'm going to try to reason with them, get them to hunt somewhere else outside the Ring." Pam's brow furrowed. She really hadn't a clue how to deal with the situation but she knew she had to do something.

"Well, being reasonable is always a good place to start. Come on, Pam. Let's show these little peeps their new home." Willie Ray stood up slowly. He stayed in great shape working his farm but the years had taken their toll; he wasn't a young man any longer.

The cloud passed from Pam's face. "Really? You do have a place for them?"

"Sure I do. What's a farm without a duck pond? It's out back of the barn, remember?" It had been quite a few years since she had visited Willie Ray. She felt guilty for a moment but the genial farmer wasn't the type to fuss over that kind of thing. Folks were welcome to drop by the farm when it suited them. Pam followed Willie Ray around the side of the house and down the bare path through the grass to the barn. They walked through the large outbuilding, a couple of cows giving Willie Ray a scolding moo for being late with their milking.

"I hear ya, girls. Dang it, where are those hired men of mine?"

"Were they with you last night?" Pam asked with feigned innocence. Willie Ray flashed her a rueful grin.

"Why, I do believe they were. Come to think of it last I seen they were singing drinking songs while propping each other up. Figure I'll see 'em around noon then. My own damn fault, I was buying the rounds."

Heading out the back of the barn they arrived at the duck pond. It was fairly spacious, a good twelve yards wide and fifteen long. One end had been left natural, full of cattails and lily pads. The end nearest the barn had a muddy beach crisscrossed with the tracks of various fowl, a gnarled willow tree providing shade. The entire area was surrounded with a sturdy looking chickenwire fence, dug well into the ground, something to keep the chickens in and the weasels out. The enclosure also included a roomy bird yard and several coops and pens, all occupied by an untidy population of clucking, quacking, honking and gobbling critters. A very large red rooster gave Pam the evil eye, an intruder in his domain. It advanced menacingly a few steps but Willie Ray shooed him off with a raised boot. The rooster held its head high in the air, stalking off with greatly injured pride.