How the Ducks Got Their Fine Feathers

How the Ducks Got Their Fine Feathers

It happened long ago, in autumn, when the leaves were turning yellow and the nights smelled of cold water. Ducks, geese, loons, and other water birds gathered above the lakes. Soon they would fly to places where the rivers did not freeze. In those ancient days, the old story says, all of them had almost the same plain feathers. At one great lake, the birds were preparing for the journey. Some cleaned their wings, some practised flying, and some argued about who should lead the flock. On a nearby hill appeared Old Man, a great lover of inventions, jokes, and clever tricks. He watched the birds for a long time. Then he noticed a patch of soft green moss. “That is just what I need,” he said to himself. Old Man collected a huge bundle of moss, cut long poles, and built a round little house by the shore. He covered the walls with moss, lit a small fire inside, and set a drum beside it. The birds watched from the water. “Do not swim too close,” warned the grey goose. “When Old Man builds something so carefully, he always has a plan.” Loon stayed watchful too. Then Old Man stood in the doorway and called, “Friends! I am holding an autumn celebration before you leave! There will be music, dancing, and something special!” The birds did not hurry. So Old Man beat his drum. Tum-tum, tum. Tum-tum, tum. He sang with such a lively rhythm that even the most careful ducks began to bob their heads in time. “We will only look,” said Mallard. “Only with one eye,” added Teal. Little by little, the birds came ashore and entered the mossy house. Loon and Grey Goose stayed nearest to the door. “Now for the surprise!” Old Man announced. “Before we dance, each of you may choose new colours.” He brought out clay bowls filled with paint. Mallard stepped forward first. “I want a green head,” he said, “a white ring around my neck, warm brown on my breast, and bright legs.” “A wonderful choice!” said Old Man. He took up a brush and got to work. Then Teal came forward. After Teal came Wood Duck. Then Shoveler, Scaup, Goose, Brant, Loon, and more. Each bird imagined its own coat. “Make my back darker!” “Give me a light stripe on my wing!” “I want my feathers to gleam in the sun!” Old Man painted and painted. By evening, the little house looked like a workshop where all the colours of autumn had come alive. The birds stared at one another in delight. “Now,” said Old Man, “we begin the Blind Dance. There is only one rule: whenever the drum beats, everyone must close their eyes and walk around the fire. Whoever peeks will spoil the game.” The birds formed a circle. Tum-tum, tum. Tum-tum, tum. They walked around the fire with their eyes shut. Quack, quack. Shuffle, shuffle. Tum-tum, tum. All the while, Old Man quietly placed a great woven basket near the wall. Now, he thought, I will catch a few birds and keep such fine company for the winter. They can sing and dance in my little house. Each time a bird passed him with its eyes shut, Old Man tried to guide it gently toward the basket. But Loon stood almost beside the door and heard a suspicious rustle. She opened one eye. At once, she understood. “Open your eyes!” cried Loon. “This is not only a dance! Old Man wants to catch us!” An enormous commotion burst out in the little house. Quack-quack-quack! Honk-honk-honk! Flap-flap of wings! The birds rushed for the door, sprang out one after another, spread their wings, and rose above the lake. Old Man had time only to grab his drum. “Wait! I only… I just…” But no one was listening anymore. Loon flew first above the water. Behind her, Mallard flashed his green head. Wood Duck swept by with patterned wings. Teals, geese, and other birds lifted higher and higher. Then they saw a wonder. The colours did not wash away. They seemed to have become part of the feathers themselves. Each bird had the outfit it had chosen. “Look at me!” cried Mallard. “And look at me!” called a duck with bright stripes. Even careful Grey Goose could not stop smiling. The birds made a great circle over the lake. Below them, Old Man stood beside his mossy house with the drum tucked under his arm. “Oh, very well,” he muttered. “At least I painted them nicely.” Loon heard him and laughed in her own ringing voice. From then on, the story says, water birds wore different colours. Some had green heads, others white bands, blue patches on their wings, dark backs, or reddish breasts. And in autumn, when great flocks gather over the water before their long flight, perhaps they remember that ancient night. Tum-tum, tum. Tum-tum, tum. Only now, when they hear an exciting invitation, the wise birds remember that it is good to have fun—but it is also good to open one’s eyes from time to time.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨