Ward’s Island, November 3rd

Lyla snuggles her face into her scarf as she puts her mittens back on after taking a picture of Max. His body is still, sturdy legs planted among the browning leaves, watching birds through his binoculars. His coat is undone and Lyla hasn’t seen his mittens on his hands yet. Amazing, thinks Lyla. Children never seem to feel the cold like adults. Her hands took only a few seconds to become cold and stiff on this unseasonably cold day in November.

“Aren’t you cold, love?” she asks Max.

Max twists his body, led by the over-sized black apparatus he holds at his eyes, following something aloft that she can’t see. He then brings the binoculars down and looks at her.

“Nope,” he says, then steps out of his stance and heads for the trail.

“Ironman,” says Justin, smiling. “Must be a Palmer.”

Lyla smiles and falls in line behind her brother, following the well-worn path through the trees.

When they get to the clearing, Max stops and turns around.

“Here, Dad?” he says, eyebrows raised.

Justin reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a plastic bag of birdseed. He empties a small amount into Max’s outstretched palm, then offers Lyla some. Justin takes some for himself, then replaces the plastic bag.

“Now remember, stand by a tree and be very still,” he instructs Max.

The three of them stand in a haphazard line just off the clearing, arms outstretched with the proffered gift. Within a few seconds, the first chickadee, small and grey with its little black head, lands on a branch close to Justin. It hesitates momentarily, then swoops into his palm, nabs a seed, and flies away.

“Awww!” says Max. “How come it won’t come to me?”

“You have to be very still and very quiet,” says Justin.

We stand in silence for several seconds until another chickadee lands on a branch near Justin.

“Here we go,” he murmurs, moving his palm slowly toward Max’s.

The bird hops from branch to branch, trying to determine the best approach. As he gets closer and closer to the outstretched hands, Justin curls up his fingers, making a fist around the birdseed. The chickadee darts closer to Max, swoops down, and lands on Max’s hand.

Max’s eyelids flutter in surprise, but he remains still. Lyla watches a smile break across his face as he feels the light tickle of the chickadee’s feet on his fingers.

After it pecks at a few seeds, the chickadee zooms away, becoming camouflaged in the grey branches of the surrounding trees.

“Did you see that, Auntie Lyla?” asks Max. “The chickadee came to me!”