Why the Curlew's Bill Is Long and Crooked

Why the Curlew's Bill Is Long and Crooked

In very ancient times, when animals could still speak to one another in stories, a traveller known as Old Man wandered across the land. Old Man was curious, inventive, and sometimes truly wise. But he had one habit that repeatedly got him into trouble: whenever he saw someone doing something interesting, he immediately wanted to prove that he could do it too. Even when people asked him not to hurry. Even when they warned him that it might be dangerous. One spring day, Old Man was walking beside a stream. The earth had become soft after the cold season, melted water dripped from the banks, and the sun was warm. Suddenly he heard tiny voices and laughter. Near a large flat stone, some mice were playing. The stone jutted from a steep bank and was not held very firmly in the ground. Beneath it, the mice had invented a game. Their leader sang a little song, then called, “One, two, three—run!” The mice darted under the stone to the other side. Then the song sounded again. “One, two, three—back!” And the whole little group hurried back. Pat-pat-pat-pat! Rustle-rustle! Squeak-squeak! Old Man laughed. “What a game! I want to play too.” The mice stopped running at once. “It would be better not to,” said their leader. “Why not?” “We are small and light. The earth beneath the stone is soft. You are heavier. If you run, the bank may shake and the stone may slip.” Old Man waved a hand. “But I run very well!” “It is not a question of fast or slow,” the leader explained. “This game suits us, but it may not suit you.” Yet Old Man was already standing at the starting place. “Sing!” he said. The mice looked at one another. “Perhaps we should not?” “Sing, I tell you! You will see how it is done.” The leader sighed and sang the little song softly. “One, two, three—run!” Old Man raced forward. Boom! Boom! Boom! The soft ground trembled under his steps. Clumps of earth fell from the bank. The mice squeaked, “Careful!” But it was too late. Rustle! Rumble! The great stone slid down and pinned Old Man against the wet earth. It did not crush him, but it caught his cloak and part of his clothing so tightly that he could not get up. “Oh dear, oh dear!” cried Old Man. “Help me!” The mice hurried off to find someone stronger. Coyote arrived first. “What happened here?” he asked. “A stone fell on me! Pull me out quickly!” Coyote walked around the stone, braced his paws, and tried to move it. “This will take a little time,” he said. “And do not squirm, or you will only sink deeper into the mud.” But Old Man was uncomfortable, cold, and ashamed that the mice had been right. “Is that your help?” he grumbled. “Pull harder!” Coyote tried again. Old Man grew irritated. “Not like that! Not that way! I could do it better myself!” Coyote sat back on his haunches. “If you know better, I will not get in your way.” He turned and walked off. “Wait!” shouted Old Man. But Coyote had already disappeared behind the bushes. Then a long bird call sounded over the stream. Coo-lee-ee! Coo-lee-ee! A curlew landed on the bank. In those days, the story says, its bill was shorter and straighter than it is now. “Why are you shouting?” asked the bird. “The stone has me trapped. Help me!” Curlew looked at the stone, the soaked earth, and the edge of the cloak caught beneath the slab. “I cannot lift the stone by myself,” said Curlew. “But perhaps I can pull away the earth from its edge and loosen the pressure.” He began to work with his bill. Tap-tap. Scrape-scrape. He pecked here, lifted a clump there, and tossed the wet soil aside. The work was slow. Old Man began to twist impatiently again. “Faster! It is almost evening!” “If we hurry, the stone may settle lower,” said Curlew. “We must be careful.” He worked on. At last, the edge of the cloak came a little free. “Now pull yourself backward, but slowly,” said the bird. “I will grip the cloth with my bill and help.” Curlew clamped the edge of the cloak firmly. Old Man pulled. Once. Then again. The cloak almost slipped free. Just then, Old Man slid in the mud. To keep from falling face-first into the earth, he reached out and grabbed the first thing he could find. Curlew’s bill. “Oh!” cried the bird. Old Man jerked in one direction, and frightened Curlew flapped his wings in the other. Streeetch! His bill grew longer and longer, and curved gently downward. At the same moment, the cloak finally slipped free from beneath the stone, and Old Man rolled onto dry ground. Curlew sat beside the water and carefully turned his head this way and that. “What have you done to my bill?” Old Man, muddy from head to toe, sat beside him. “I am sorry,” he said. “It happened by accident. You were helping me, and I began to pull and hurry again.” Curlew looked at his reflection in the water. The bill was certainly strange: long, thin, and curved. “And what am I supposed to do with it now?” he asked. Just then something moved in the soft mud by the bank. Without thinking, Curlew pushed his new bill down into it and easily brought up a small water larva. He tried again. In a deep crack between stones, he found a worm. Again, and his bill reached food in places his short bill could never have touched. The bird blinked in surprise. “Hmm. It is useful.” The mice, who had returned to see whether Old Man was safe, squeaked happily. “What a fine bill!” “Very unusual!” “Just right for the shore and shallow water!” Curlew looked at his reflection once more and did not seem so unhappy. “All right,” he said. “I will keep it.” Old Man stood up, shook out his cloak, and looked at the unsteady stone. “I think I have learned something else.” “What is that?” asked the mouse leader. “If little mice say a big game is not for me, I should think first, instead of trying to prove how clever I am.” The mice laughed. Curlew spread his wings. “And it is good to speak politely to the people who are trying to rescue you.” “That too,” Old Man agreed. Curlew flew above the stream, and his long call sounded through the air again. Coo-lee-ee! Coo-lee-ee! From then on, the old story says, curlews have worn long, curved bills. Whenever a bird dips such a bill into a soft shore, one may remember the day when another person’s impatience accidentally gave it a very useful tool. And Old Man? Old Man went on down his road. Did he always listen to good advice after that? Well… that is quite another story.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨