Wild Canaries
When I was young, I used to see these little yellow birds all over the western Atchafalaya Basin where I grew up. My Grandpa and Dad usta call them wild Canaries. It was a joy to see them flitting through the bushes cheeping at us on early morning fishing trips. It was only much later in life when I learned that they were finches. Nowdays, I see them often in the morning on the boat, in the early morning, while drinking coffee and waiting on the regular morning radio call from the office. This little fella happened to hop into range of my zoom lens (thankfully, before the camera fell hard down onto the deck and broke). These little guys will be, forever in my mind, wild canaries, despite what some learned college professor may say. I can still hear my grandfather whistling little cheeps at them, and them returning the calls as we fished along. A truly golden memory.
When I was young, I used to see these little yellow birds all over the western Atchafalaya Basin where I grew up. My Grandpa and Dad usta call them wild Canaries. It was a joy to see them flitting through the bushes cheeping at us on early morning fishing trips. It was only much later in life when I learned that they were finches. Nowdays, I see them often in the morning on the boat, in the early morning, while drinking coffee and waiting on the regular morning radio call from the office. This little fella happened to hop into range of my zoom lens (thankfully, before the camera fell hard down onto the deck and broke). These little guys will be, forever in my mind, wild canaries, despite what some learned college professor may say. I can still hear my grandfather whistling little cheeps at them, and them returning the calls as we fished along. A truly golden memory.
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