Amelia’s Journey Is Upended in a Most Unexpected Way
Emily’s gift and Amelia’s strength are revealed
Last week, Amelia set off on her journey to find out if she could be “lost and not afraid.” Here at the peak of the action at the story’s Midpoint, everything becomes upended for her when becomes part of Professor Accipiter’s Blue Moon Bird Circus and Sideshow Extravaganza. (You’ve seen him here before, but only in Black and White, never in Color.)
We are sending out many “Thanks” to our readers who took time last week to answer poll questions and leave comments.
“As told by Amelia when back in The Garden” has been very helpful and clarifying. In fact, I spent some time this week making a color drawing of Professor Accipiter based on Amelia’s description since only she of all the chickens is the only one who ever came face-to-face with this most evil character.
The illustration above (from one of Nate’s notebooks) includes two direct quotations from Amelia. For several weeks, we have also been thinking over earlier poll answers and comments concerning what to do with illustrations of Nate’s notebook pages in the printed book. We think we are close to a solution that is satisfying to us and engaging for readers.
But for now, we continue with the next three chapters in the Midpoint Act of Volume Two: Over the Chimney. Chapters 22 and 23 explore the discovery of Emily’s gift, and Chapter 24 (the end of the Midpoint Act) shows just how powerfully extraordinary Emily’s gift truly is.
Amelia had been gone for some time, much longer than I had expected. It was a lazy kind of Sunday afternoon, and I had decided to clean out the garage and get things better organized. I had asked Emily if she wanted to come and watch, but she didn't seem interested. She still missed Amelia very much. She had hoped that the red flag flying from the kitchen chimney would have brought her back to us soon after I had hung it there. In a way, even though I knew it was almost impossible, I shared that hope with her.
Eventually, Emily wandered in and flew up to the highest stack of things on my workbench. It was a safe spot out of the way where she would have a chance to inspect everything.
“What is that?” Emily asked. “I know that smell, but not that shape. Is that something for a chicken to eat? It seems really interesting.”
“I'm not sure what you mean. There's a lot of stuff on this workbench.”
She hopped down from her perching spot and pecked at a yellow and red box.
“Oh, that's chalk. You use it to make marks on things.”
“Chickens are excellent at making marks. Can I look at it? I won't mess it up. I promise.”
“Sure, and even if you do mess it up, it's okay because I no longer need it and can buy more.”
Emily pulled out a piece of chalk. It was just a little short stub of a piece. She looked worried.
“It's okay, You didn't mess it up. And even if you did, it breaks easily anyway.”
“This tastes like oyster shells. Just like you put in our dry food.”
“Yes, chalk is made from seashells too. Do you know why I put oyster shells in your dry food?”
“No. Why?”
“It ensures you'll have enough calcium when you make your eggs. The same thing that's on the outside of your eggs is in the oyster shells and in the chalk sticks.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Your little body is remarkable, isn't it?”
“It is. The chalk is white, and the oyster shell is white. But my eggs are tan. Why is that?”
“Well, your eggs are only tan on the outside. Underneath the tan, they are white.”
“So how does that tan color get there on the outside?”
I looked around the garage and found an old can of spray paint. When I shook it up, the little ball inside rattled. Emily was fascinated with this.
“Is that thing rattling around in there something to eat?”
“No. And if you tried, it wouldn't taste good either if you tried to eat it.”
“Does the can make that sound because it has an egg inside?”
“Not exactly. It's a little metal ball.”
“You aren't going to shake me up, are you?” she asked in a silly kind of way, knowing that would never happen.
I found a scrap of wood. “Let’s go outside. We want to avoid using this inside the garage.”
I sprayed the wood scrap with the paint. “Sort of like this. See.” Where the wood had been a pale gray color, it was now brown.
She examined it closely and shook her head because the paint fumes smelled strange, even outside.
“I don't like that smell. I don't have one of those cans in me. Do I?”
“No, Sweetie, you don't. You just have something in you that paints pretty tan pigment on your eggs before you lay them. It works somewhat like the can with the ball inside.”
“Pig mint? Like a plant pigs eat?”
“Emily, you are so much fun. ‘Pig mint’ is two words. ‘Pigment’ is one word. It means tiny little pieces of color.”
“I see. Can I have it if you don’t want it? The chalk, not the smelly can of pigment?”
“Of course you can. And I will find some paper for you to draw on too.”
She looked far away into the sky and then up into my eyes. “Will you draw with me?” She tilted her head and gave me her most hopeful expression.
I could clean the garage another day. But how many days does a person get to make drawings with a chicken?
There was some of my grandmother’s colorful paper I had stored in a portfolio up in the loft part of the garage. After I brought it down, Emily and I sat on the cool concrete of the garage floor and we began to draw.
It was great fun watching her. She would hold a stubby piece of chalk in her beak and make a set of side-to-side marks in one spot with the chalk. After examining the result of her marks, she would hop up and turn in another completely different direction and make another set of side-to-side marks in a new spot.
I copied the crosshatching marks she was making on different parts of the paper, except I didn't hop up and turn in another direction the way Emily did. I just turned the paper since Emily didn’t mind. We stopped when we had filled the paper. Chickens are very thorough like that.
We propped our drawing up against the workbench, and that way we could step back and look at it. Emily called Gracie and Bessie to come and look at what we had made.
“Those white chalk marks on the blue paper sort of look like clouds, don't they?” I asked.
“They do. They really do! They resemble clouds that Amelia might fly through,” said Gracie. “Or possibly that a ballerina might dance through.”
Emily was very pleased with her drawing, and she was especially pleased that we had made it together.
“I want to draw Amelia,” she said.
“Let’s start on that tomorrow,” I said. “It’s getting late, and the sun will be setting soon. I need to go check on Pearl while you get a bedtime snack. But first thing tomorrow we will start real drawing lessons.”
“And maybe one day, you can draw the scenery for one of our ballet shows,” suggested Gracie.
“That’s a great idea,” I said. “Paris is famous for artists who draw and paint. Some of the most renowned artists have used something almost like chalk that is called pastel. The colors are beautiful and intense.”
“Beautiful enough to be called iridescent?” asked Emily.
“I have a feeling that you, Emily, have the ability to change the world of art in Paris as much as Gracie can change the world of dance in Paris! And as much as Bessie can change the world of cooking in Paris! We just need to find a way to get you girls there.”
“I want to draw Amelia,” she repeated more emphatically. Emily seemed quite startled by speaking so boldly. “You will teach me, won't you?” she asked timidly.
“There is nothing I would rather do,” I said.
Just like that, Emily’s Summer Drawing Camp began. Over the following days, we looked at shapes and drew shapes.
There was the square of a nesting box when you looked at it one way, and the diamond of a nesting box when you looked at it another way.
There was the oval of an egg when you looked one way, and the circle of an egg when you looked another way. Emily thought this was fascinating. “One egg, but not one shape. I lay eggs all the time, but I never noticed that. I will study to draw these different shapes by heart.”
“You've just discovered one of the biggest secrets of drawing. Look and study and look again. There are many people who have never been to Summer Drawing Camp like you. Even so, they can tell whether something looks right or wrong, but they can't tell you why. That is what you are learning to do. I will remember and draw all of these shapes by heart.”
Worms from the garden were one of her most favorite subjects. These were difficult for her to draw because they kept moving, and she had to resist the urge to eat them.
“I love studying these shapes!”
“I thought you would,” I said as she was gobbling down her most recent worm model.
“Did you know chickens change shapes all the time? You make different shapes when you stretch out your necks or tuck them in close, when you fluff out your feathers, when you walk, and when you fly.”
“I will need to study those things if I'm going to draw Amelia, won’t I?”
Gracie became our first chicken drawing model. She would get up on a crate and make a ballet pose for Emily to draw. Gracie would hold still in the dance pose for as long as she could. It was great practice for both of them.
Then Pearl took over as our drawing model because Pearl hardly ever stands still. We watched Pearl do silly walks back and forth, and then Emily drew what she remembered. Many times, she remembered very well, and other times not so well. But the important thing was to draw the silly parts correctly because that made it a drawing of Pearl. If she didn't get the silly part right, Emily would add other details such as barred markings on the feathers to make the drawing look like Amelia.
One day before starting, Emily asked, “Is it true what you told me you wrote in your drawing sketchbook? Is it true that drawing lets you do things you would never be able to do any other way?”
“Yes, that's true. At least, I believe it's true. Not everything is true just because you believe it, but there are some things that are true whether you believe them or not.”
“I want to make a drawing of Amelia and me flying together in the sky.”
We had been practicing with just the old box of white chalk from the workbench, but I wanted this drawing of Amelia and Emily to be special. I found a box of colored chalk and some pastels, and Emily began creating.
She worked carefully without saying a word. Her concentration was intense.
Finally, she said, “I'm ready.”
That was not what I had expected to hear, not yet. She had only drawn Amelia flying in the sky. She had not drawn herself. It was not a drawing of Amelia and Emily flying together in the sky.
Maybe she was too embarrassed to tell me she wasn't sure how to draw herself or that she needed some iridescent chalk but we had none.
“Do you need anything else? Like possibly a mirror to add yourself to the drawing?” I asked.
“I'm ready now,” she said impatiently. “Let's prop it up against the workbench like we always do.”
Outside, we heard Gracie turning on the record player to demonstrate a new dance routine for Bessie and Pearl.
As soon as Emily’s drawing was in place for us to look at, she stood beside it, closed her eyes, and then she opened them again. She closed her eyes for a bit longer, and then she opened them again. The third time, she closed her eyes and kept them closed.
Slowly, her wings began to stretch out until they were fully extended. She trembled with excitement.
Her eyes opened wide, but she wasn't seeing the garage or me. It was as if she only saw the sky and Amelia beside her, the moon above her, and the forests and rivers below them.
She swayed from side to side, as if being carried along by winds high into the sky above.
She looked to her right, then she began opening and closing her beak. No sound or words came out, but I knew she was calling to Amelia. She was saying how delightful everything looked when they were flying up high together.
I am unsure how long I sat there on the garage floor watching Emily, but I didn't dare speak or move. She had not been so happy for the longest time, and I didn’t want to spoil this moment for her.
Suddenly, Emily did several strong, fast wing flaps as if she was landing. She blinked her eyes, tucked her wings close to her sides, and looked at me.
“I was flying with Amelia,” she said. “Just like I knew I would— drawing truly does let you do things you would never be able to do any other way. Drawing let me fly with Amelia.”
This was not at all what I had meant, but it didn't matter.
“I know you were, sweetie. I know. That’s why you said you were ready. That's why you didn't draw yourself with chalk like you drew Amelia, isn't it? It felt almost as real as if I was was there and flying with the two of you.”
“It was all so beautiful, and seeing Amelia was the most beautiful part of all.” Emily hopped into my lap and sat down.
“I helped her get to the Moon,” she said as she rested her head against me. “But it is also good to be back home. I told her about the flag we made and how we learned to count like the hummingbirds to more than six.”
“It's good to have you back home, Emily. It took quite some time to fly to the Moon, didn’t it? That means it is a long distance away.”
I stroked the feathers on her back and felt her relaxing.
“We are going to fly together again in Birdy-one days when the sun is as high as it will get in the sky,” Emily mumbled happily. Then, she began to doze off while listening to Gracie’s dance music as it played softly while she danced a new dance.
Emily had disappeared like colorful chalk being blown from a page, but there, in front of Amelia, was a large moon at the end of a long country road. There were words above it and below it. Amelia knew only two of the words, and one word was in capital letters. Nate, the Gardener, had taught her those words.
“Moon. Home,” she read aloud.
I have made it, she thought. It would be dark soon. Somehow Emily had helped Amelia to make the long flight, but she still felt exhausted. If Amelia had known more words, she would have read something quite troubling instead.
Emily had told her how she had learned to draw, and Amelia wondered if that was the gift that she had sensed Emily possessed. It was definitely an astonishing gift to make a drawing that let Emily do something she could not do any other way—help guide Amelia so she could fly to the Moon.
The Moon was in a high spot, and Amelia liked that. There was even a perching board beneath the moon. It certainly seemed like the perfect home for a chicken. As her eyes grew sleepier, she saw what looked like people walking past far down below her. They were going into an odd sort of tent that had three tall points on the top.
How interesting that the moon would have people on it too, she thought. But I am here. I am really here. There are no chickens anywhere to be seen. I must be the first chicken to fly to the Moon.
It is peaceful here on the moon, she said to herself. I may like it here, she thought. Her eyelids because heavier, and she began to nod off to sleep.
A loud trumpeting and the blaring of music woke her up. She bolted upright, shook the sleepiness away, and tried to find out what was happening.
Down below, an odd sort of tent shone in the darkness, lit up by lights on the inside. More lights beneath her perch were shining up into her face. They seemed to be directed upward to illuminate the moon behind her.
She cautiously moved closer to her moon and gave it a peck. Then another peck. Part of the moon came loose. She pulled some loose pieces off and found it tasted like old paper.
The music below stopped, and Amelia peered down towards the tent. “Chicken! Chicken! Chicken!” she heard people chanting loudly inside and then applauding.
Was this an invitation? Were they calling for her? Perhaps they were. There were so many strings of lights down below, she could clearly see the ground, and so she flew down from her perch. With a better viewing spot, she looked up into the starry night sky. She stared carefully at the same moon she had seen from the top of the roof with Nate, the Gardener, the same moon she had examined with him from the chimney of a place her heart called “home.” It was another moon, the real moon, not the one made of paper that she had just given a peck.
Her heart sank. She had not flown to the Moon after all. She had no idea where she was, but it was definitely not the Moon. When she tasted the air, she knew wherever she was standing was not on the map she had made. Nothing even smelled like anything from the map she had made.
“Peanuts! Cotton candy! Lemonade!” she heard a voice calling out from inside the big illuminated tent. “Hot dogs! Funnel cakes! Candied apples!”
That is what I smell, Amelia told herself. It is so overpowering, I cannot tell where I am. If it tastes like it smells, it has no business being on my map of the world.
“Duck! Duck! Goose!” she heard a crowd calling out.
She inched her way over to the tent, lifted a bit of the loose canvas with her beak, and slipped inside. It was as bright as day inside, so she scurried to the darkest shadow she could find.
There were people on perching boards above her, but they were not there to sleep. How could they sleep with all the noise and lights? They all seemed to be watching something in the center of the big tent. Amelia crept forward in the shadows to see for herself.
There in the center, and standing on his special perch, was a man dressed quite sharply in an ascot tie, vest, and bowler hat. As he began to speak, he waved what appeared to be a white peacock feather, one of the rarest feathers known.
“And now for your amusement,” he said, “I present to you one of my most talented bird friends, a raven—”
Amelia pressed forward, hoping to get a better view. “Who I am told by my trusted companion and general handyman—” He gestured with the white peacock feather towards a large rat at his feet.
Amelia drew back in surprise. It was The Sewer Rat who had tried to tempt her to run away. There could be no other rat who grinned and displayed his only two teeth, one at the top and one at the bottom of his mouth.
“—is a musical genius named Elise.”
If it had not been for the applause and cheers from the crowd of people above her, The Sewer Rat would have heard Amelia’s gasp of horror.
The top of the small piano raised like an elevator and out stepped a raven that looked exactly like The Raven With Blue Eyes except her wings that had been clipped so that she could no longer fly. She was accompanied by two small pigeons whose wings were also clipped.
That has to be Elise, The Raven’s sister, Amelia thought. It’s too much of a coincidence for her not to be. Somehow she has become part of this strange place, whatever and wherever it is.
Elise and the pigeons did their bows all around towards the audience and then hopped down to their perches close to the piano keys and began to play. Although they may have looked happy to the audience, Amelia sensed that Elise and the pigeons were miserable. Anyone could sense it if they simply opened their hearts. When they finished playing the piano, The Clown Band began a song and Professor Accipiter began to speak to the audience. The more he spoke, the more hypnotic his voice became, and there above him, as if hanging like towering flags, were spinning ashen columns.
“Air Shadows!” Amelia gasped aloud. Elise must have heard her because she tilted her head as if to listen more closely. Amelia could see the fear in her eyes as she quickly returned to playing the piano.
As the song drew to a close, a curtain to the side opened and a toy train emerged. The Sewer Rat sat on the engine, wearing an engineer’s hat. In the train cars behind the engine were cages on wheels designed to look like passengers cars. They held birds of every sort, but mostly those that would be found on a farm, like chickens, pigeons, ducks, geese, and even crows. They must have been performing earlier when Amelia had heard the cries and cheers from the crowd.
As the train followed its track around the raised circus ring curb, the people in the audience began to throw corn and seeds mixed with coins from their pockets.
“Remember to aim well, my friends,” Professor Accipiter called out to the audience.
Amelia watched as the confused birds were unsure whether to try grabbing the corn and seed or to try dodging the coins raining down on them. The people in the audience seemed to be unaware of what they were doing because some of them just threw down their wallets and coin purses.
Seeing those, The Professor called, “More!”
“These birds are in trouble,” said Amelia, “and I have to find some way to save them. Wherever I am, it is not the real Moon, and it is not a real home for me or for anyone else.”
She turned and hurried away from the tent towards her big paper moon with its words. If she had known more words, she would have read:
Welcome to MOON, Virginia.
Home of Professor Accipiter’s
Blue Moon Bird Circus.
Until Next Time…
In the quotations by Amelia in the featured illustration above, two concepts are found. The first is that there is a stark contrast between two worlds: The Circus and The Garden. Nate’s eyes are opened by Amelia’s experiences that is the nature of the whole world. The second is that Amelia may have felt she was a Runaway like the others in Professor Accipiter’s Circus world. This is something Nate will relate to as well, though he was more of a “Giveaway” (from Volume One, Chapter One)—in his own way he has become a “Runaway” from being responsible with things that are not nearly as fun as playing with his chickens.
Personal Note: I see both of these concepts as being still quite relevant to the world today. Political disagreements and religious disagreements between groups of people seem to be attempts at creating a world that is like The Garden while portraying one’s opponents as The Circus. And to avoid getting caught up on all of this, so many people at an increasingly earlier age, have become “Runaways” even if only through mobile devices with screens.
Thank you for reading!
John, Gracie, Bessie, Blanche, Pearl, Emily, and Amelia
"Birdy-one days". Cute.