Bumblediah Nimbly and the Worrying Whistling Ducks

Oct 1
13 min read

Updated: Oct 2

Chamomile zipped into Bumblediah Nimbly’s clearing, eyes wide with excitement. “There are newcomers down by the pond.”

Bumblediah sat on top of a shack the size of a cedar tree. He lifted a bundle of thatch and hammered it in place as Chamomile alighted beside his toolbox, her head just reaching the top of its rim.

Burt O. Range, the longhorn, swished his tail in the shade of an oak tree as he watched Bumblediah work. “What sort of newcomers?” he asked.

Chamomile flicked her blue fairy wings as she peered through a gap in the roof. “They look like ducks, but I’m not sure if they are.”

“Humph!” Bumblediah snatched a board and set it in place. He hoped the squirrels did not panic like they had when Burt O. Range had arrived. He still wondered if they had truly disbanded their "secret society".

“Ducks?” said a tiny, lisping voice from between Burt's head. A miniature head of golden curls with a toddler's chubby face peered between the longhorn’s ears.

“Yes, Dewdrop, Ducks!” Chamomile grinned at her niece.

The longhorn had befriended Dewdrop when he had first arrived and now loved nothing more than to strut around with the fairy perched on his head.

“Hmm.” Bumblediah looked up from his work. “Do you know where they came from and what they want?

“They said they came from over many dangerous hills, and they worried the pond was dangerous too," Chamomile said. "They seemed very concerned.”

“Perhaps they need a friend,” Burt said, remembering when he had first arrived in the Wood.

Bumblediah set the last bundle of thatch in place and sat back to survey the completed roof.

Chamomile hopped into the air. "Are you done?"

Bumblediah returned his hammer to the toolbox and climbed down a ladder set on the side of the shack. “Hmm, it could use some extra embellishments, but it is good enough for now.”

Chamomile spun in the air. "Yay! Did you hear that, Burt?"

Burt puffed. "Is it really ready?"

Bumblediah Nimbly placed his toolbox on the ground. "Why don't you see how you like it?"

Burt took a tentative step through the square doorway. His long horns barely fit. He turned around, his soft marbled brown and white snout pointed toward Chamomile and Bumblediah Nimbly, and his nostrils flared as he took in the scent of fresh chopped wood.

"Well?" Chamomile asked. "What do you think of it?"

“I like it,” Burt said. “It’s just right.”

“Wight!” Dewdrop chimed from his head.

Bumblediah tried to look less pleased than he felt. He had worked tirelessly for the past few weeks on the mammoth structure, and it was by far the biggest project he had ever attempted. “Hmm, as I said, it could use a few improvements. Maybe someday I will add a covered porch or a window.”

Burt pawed the ground, embarrassed. "No, I don't want to be any trouble. You did not need to do this..."

All of a sudden, a host of piping filled the air. Black shapes soared over the trees. The squeaking and piping grew into a cacophony as the flapping flurry wheeled around and, one by one, the birds settled on the roof of Burt’s home. They were the size of ducks and had tidy brown wings with a white streak, black underbellies, gray heads, and bright peachy beaks and feet. “This is new. We’ve never seen anything like this. How interesting!” they peeped.

Burt stepped out and craned

his head, his horns tilting. “Excuse me? This is my home.”

Chamomile flew up to where the birds crowded, her purple dress fluttering as she darted around them. “Hello! I thought you were going to stay at the pond.”

"We can not stay there always! It could dry up or flood, or something could eat us!" a bird replied.

"What are you?" Burt asked.

The birds shifted and fluttered. “We are whistling ducks. Whistling ducks!”

“What’s a whistling duck?” Chamomile asked.

A bird squinted skeptically up at Chamomile. “I feel that should be obvious, and it is worrisome that you ask that.”

Burt blinked slowly. “Worrisome?”

Dewdrop pointed. “Duck!”

Chamomile put her hands on her hips. “It is a perfectly reasonable question. You should not assume you can stay on someone else’s roof without asking.”

“Do you intend to stay?” Burt asked.

“Of course not!” one bird peeped. “The roof might break or have a tree fall on it, or it could get struck by lightning or blown away in a tornado.”

“Oh…” Burt swished his tail and flicked his ears nervously.

Bumblediah scowled up at the ducks. “Humph! Nonsense, we never have tornadoes in the middle of summer.”

But the birds ignored Bumblediah. "Or it could get swept away in a flood, or the sky could fall, or the world could end."

Burt looked nervously at the sky. "Well, okay then."

The crickets chirped, and the stars shone bright as Burt settled in his shed for his first night sleeping there. After dropping Dewdrop off at her birdhouse home and eating his supper of grass, he returned to find the whistling ducks still sitting on his roof. He sighed and closed his eyes.

“What if the roof did fall while we were sleeping?”

Burt’s eyes popped open at the sound of the duck’s voices.

“What if the pond is not there when we go to it tomorrow for breakfast?”

“What if a monster comes and tries to eat us?”

“But there’s the longhorn. Could a monster eat a longhorn?”

“Maybe if it was big enough.”

“What about the grumpy bearded fellow? He has got a terribly sharp ax.”

“The monster would probably just eat the bearded fellow.”

“What if the bearded fellow is the monster? What if he came after us with his sharp ax?”

“Oh woe! We are in trouble.”

“Be quiet!” Bumblediah’s voice rang out, sounding as grouchy as the ducks had worried about.

The birds hushed for a bit but began peeping again. “I told you. He will destroy the house and then the longhorn and then us.”

Burt settled deeper on the ground and stared into the blackness. What if the ducks were right? What if Bumblediah regretted building the house? What if he changed his mind and did not want Burt as a neighbor?

The next morning, the whistling ducks flew to the pond for breakfast.

“What if something’s happened to the pond?” One bird peeped.

“Something probably has,” another cheerfully responded.

The weary, worried longhorn who had barely slept a wink wandered through the trees and into his favorite field. He would enjoy some sweet grass and a moment of silence. He needed time alone to think.

Something hummed a tune in the tall grass. A purple hat bobbed a few feet off the ground between the golden blades, and Burt stopped and sniffed as it trundled closer. He smelled apple and lavender.

“Why hello!” a pleasant voice said. A small woman, a little shorter than Bumblediah Nimbly, stood before him. Two blue eyes stared up out of a face as rosy and cheery as an apple, all crinkled in a smile. She had gray hair pinned in braids on her head, a purple shawl over a gray dress, and pointed boots. She carried a covered basket.

Burt blinked. “Hello. Are you a Bumblediah Nimbly?”

The little woman shifted her basket. “I am Beth Hummingbee. And I have come over hills and across plains. Are there any fairies nearby?”

Burt perked up. “Yes, and one is my friend. I can lead you to her.”

Beth smiled. “I would be much obliged.”

They arrived at Dewdrop’s home to find her mother hanging laundry to dry on a string strung between the green birdhouse and a tree branch. Her mouth fell open when she saw Beth, and she drifted down, a shirt clutched in her hand.

Beth smiled and shifted her basket. “Excuse me, my name is Beth Hummingbee. I have come to help the local fairies.”

“Why… yes!” Raindrop stammered. “I am Raindrop. Pleased to meet you.”

“I was going to introduce her to Dewdrop,” Burt said.

“I am afraid Dewdrop’s taking a nap,” Raindrop's blue wings gently brought her hover in front of Beth’s nose, “but Beth, what sort of help do you offer? Will you be needing a place to stay?”

“Thank you, dear,” Beth said. “A nice cedar tree will do nicely as a place to stay. You see, I specialize in weaving, cookery, and sage advice.”

Burt flapped his ears. “Are you sure you aren’t a Bumblediah Nimbly?”

Beth’s brow crinkled. “No. I–”

“Murder! Murder! Murder! Woe! Wailing! Withering of the worst way!” The trilling of the ducks grew louder as they flew overhead.

“My goodness, what is that?” Beth said.

Burt's ears drooped. "The Whistling Ducks." So much for enjoying a quiet morning.

Raindrop put her hands on her hips. “Those whistling ducks. I heard Chamomile talking about them earlier.”

“Should we see if something is wrong?” Beth started walking in the direction the birds had gone.

Burt sighed. "I suppose we should."

They arrived at Burt’s home to find all the birds whistling and piping in a chaotic clatter on his roof.

Bumblediah stood glaring up at them, hands on his hips. “Now what’s the issue? Humph! Can’t get anything done around here.”

Burt looked at Bumblediah, then at the ground. It was all his fault.

The whistling ducks whistled and wailed. “The coyotes gobbled up Jerry. We worried this would happen! Oh woe! Woe! Woe!”

Beth pressed a hand to her mouth. “Oh dear, poor things.”

Bumblediah finally turned to find Beth. He blinked and rubbed his eyes.

Burt said, “This is Beth! She’s here to help the fairies.”

Beth placed her basket down. “How do you do? It seems these birds are in trouble and causing it for others, too. Are you Bumblediah Nimbly?”

“Hmm, yes, yes, I am,” Bumblediah said.

“Woe!” The whistling ducks wailed.

Beth turned to look up at the birds. “Now see here, I am sorry about poor Jerry, but you must not make a nuisance of yourselves.”

But the birds ignored her. “The coyotes will come with teeth, and we’ll all be doomed, and no one will care!”

“I care,” Burt said. Though he was thinking he’d much rather the birds move elsewhere.

“Humph!” Bumblediah muttered.

Beth tutted and turned to Bumblediah. “Are you in charge here?”

Bumblediah tugged at his beard. “Hmm, ahem, not exactly, but I do help the fairies with their building projects.”

Beth looked from the birds to Burt to Bumblediah’s stump house. “It was nice to meet you. It's a wonder you can get anything done with all that noise, but pardon, I had best find my cedar tree. Good day!” She picked up her basket and strolled away, leaving Bumblediah and Burt staring quizzically after her.

The whistling ducks remained on Burt’s roof for the rest of the day, and all day they worried. When Burt settled down to sleep, he still heard them piping.

“The little Bumblediah Nimbly lady did not seem happy.”

“And the grumpy Bumblediah seemed angry too. He will probably come after us with the ax, and the coyotes are still out there."

"It seems the coyotes are the monster!”

“Oh dear! Oh dear! And they are probably mad at the longhorn, too; it’s his roof we are staying on.”

“The coyotes, the lady, and the grumpy one will wage war on us. They will get rid of the longhorn, then this roof, then us.”

“It is true. Then the sky will fall and the world will end in woefulness.”

Burt’s eyes widened in the darkness. What if they were right? What Bumblediah didn’t want him to stay? What if the sky did fall? The more he thought about it, the more sure he was that it was true.

The next day, as Burt went to take Dewdrop to see Beth, he noticed Bumblediah Nimbly grouching as he left his stump. “Not a wink of sleep…” he muttered, stomping toward his shed. "Blasted birds, blasted roof. Terrible neighbors..."

Burt slumped.

Beth had set up her home by weaving together the branches of a cedar tree into a sort of tent home and had already constructed a lovely moss bed and sitting cushions for guests. Burt stood outside while Dewdrop took a seat inside on one of the cushions.

Beth smiled up at Burt. “You seem glum. Is something wrong?”

Burt sighed. “I have not been sleeping well.”

Beth raised an eyebrow. “Those ducks causing trouble?”

Burt yawned. “No, just noise… And Bumblediah is not happy with me.”

Beth's brow crinkled in concern. “He built your nice home for you, didn’t he? It seems those ducks are the problem.”

“Yes, he built it for me," Burt said sadly. "And the ducks are causing problems for Bumblediah because of me,” Burt said sadly.

Beth looked thoughtful. "Perhaps I could make something to help you."

But that night again, Burt was unable to sleep as the ducks prattled on and on and on about the sky falling and Bumblediah Nimbly being angry.

At last, Burt made up his mind about something. He needed to make it stop.

The next morning, Bumblediah was awakened by a loud cracking sound. He poked his head out of the front window and blinked in the sunlight to find Burt ramming the side of his house with his big horns.

The longhorn hooked a horn around and swung it, and hit the side of the home with a crunch. A bit of siding went flying.

Bumblediah sputtered. “What are you doing? Wait! Stop! You can’t…” he rushed out of his stump house.

Burt turned doleful eyes toward him. “I am sorry I had you make this roof, and I am taking it down so the sky doesn’t fall. Then I am… I am leaving.”

Bumblediah’s eyebrows rose and fell at this pronouncement. “You what? Humph! Where did you get that idea?”

But Burt backed up, lowered his horns, and charged his house.

CRACK. RUMBLE. CRASH!

The structure collapsed. Boards stuck out at awkward angles, and dust rose into the air.

“There,” Burt said. “Now, there won’t be any more trouble. Goodbye now.” He turned and plodded away. “I am going to say goodbye to Dewdrop."

Bumblediah sputtered and stared. He yanked at his beard and scratched his head, trying to figure out what had just happened.

“Where are you going?” Chamomile asked.

“Nowhere,” Burt said glumly. “Nowhere except away.” He crashed through a pair of bushes as he waded over a hill.

Chamomile had been returning from helping Squigle the squirrel locate some acorns. She frowned. “What? But you can’t leave! Why would you ever leave?” She darted in front of Burt.

Burt stomped on a clump of grass. “Because if I don’t, Bumblediah will be mad and the sky will fall and the world will end in woefulness.”

Chamomile wrinkled her nose. “How could the sky fall? What do you mean, 'the world would end in woefulness'?”

“I don’t know,” Burt said, “and I don’t want to find out, so I must leave."

Beth waded through the tall grass ahead of them. “Oh, Burt! There you are!” She stopped, panting lightly. “I was looking for you. I made you a gift, seeing as you so warmly welcomed me.” She came forward and pulled something out of her basket. A bending strand of woven sticks attached two fuzzy bundles of moss and feathers.

Burt puffed as he sniffed them. “What is it?”

“Earmuffs,” Beth said. "I saw you were having trouble with those noisy ducks, and I thought these would help block out the sound. I made a pair for Bumblediah Nimbly, too.”

“Oh.” Burt’s ears drooped again. “I won’t be needing those, but it’s very kind of you.” He sniffed. “Goodbye now.”

Beth studied Burt with a concerned expression. “You’ve let the worries get to you, haven’t you?”

“Get to me? Burt cocked his head, almost hitting Chamomile in the process. “I don’t understand.”

“You see, “ Beth said.. “Not only is there the problem of noisiness, but those ducks spread worry, and worry is even worse for sleep than noise.”

Burt puffed. “What’s worry? And how could earmuffs stop it?”

“They can’t stop it exactly," Beth said. "Worry is the bad version of caution and prudence; it’s a troublesome fear that causes the small things to turn into monsters and courage to wilt. But you don’t have to let it, and sometimes if you stop listening to other worries, it helps, so I made you earmuffs.” She held them out.

“So,” Burt said slowly, thinking very hard. “The sky won’t fall if these earmuffs can stop monsters from wilting because of worry? So the ducks were right about there being monsters?”

“Not exactly, what I meant was…” Beth began.

“Burt! Burt, where are you? You must come back.” Bumblediah bumbled into the clearing, huffing and puffing. He halted when he saw them, his hat askew.

Chamomile zipped up to him. “Don’t worry, Beth has earmuffs for Burt so he doesn’t worry and can stay!”

“I am staying?” Burt asked. The longer the conversation lasted, the more befuddled he felt.

Bumblediah yanked at his beard and frowned up at Burt. “How could you ever believe the sky would fall? Did you not like your house?”

“The ducks said the sky would fall,” Burt said.

Bumblediah snorted. “Those ducks are worse than the squirrels.”

“Well…” Burt’s ears twitched. “ Do you want me to stay?”

“Humph!” Bumblediah said. “Of course I am not mad at you, and of course I want you to stay. I was afraid you didn’t like your house.” Bumblediah's voice quivered slightly at this last statement.

“No,” Burt said. “I loved my house and will miss it very much.”

Beth folded her hands. “So, you will stay? I hope you shall. I only just arrived, and it would be quite sad to say goodbye to someone already.”

Burt breathed a sigh of relief. “I will stay then.”

Chamomile perched on Burt’s right horn. “Yay! Now what do we do about the whistling ducks?”

Beth smiled. “I think I may have an idea.”

“It’s even better than my old house.” Burt gazed at the slanting timber roof, the wide door, the round window, and the porch on his new home. Dewdrop perched between his ears, and her parents hovered nearby: come to see what Burt's house looked like.

Acorn stood in front of Bumblediah’s stump house with Chamomile.

Bumblediah rested a ladder against the side of the structure. “There is one more thing needed. Beth?”

Beth appeared from behind a cedar tree, lugging a figure made of woven grass, bark, and moss that looked very much like a coyote sitting on its haunches with leaf ears standing erect. It was twice as tall as she was. She handed it to Bumblediah. “Here you are!”

Chamomile flitted up to inspect the figure. “What is it?”

“It is a coyote to scare away the whistling ducks." Bumblediah lifted it carefully and mounted the ladder. He crouched on the roof and set it at the very top. He turned. “Now, Burt, I wanted to say once and for all that we all very much want you to stay, and I am glad to have you as my neighbor.”

Burt's heart glowed. "Thank you."

Chamomile squinted at a pebble that served as the coyote’s nose. “Yes!” She swung around and grinned. “And Beth. We also want Beth to stay. Welcome to the Wood!”

“Ahem,” Bumblediah coughed. “Yes, hmm, welcome. And I hope everyone will stop listening to the ducks.

Beth smiled brightly, “Thank you very much.”

Acorn studied the fake coyote. “Where are whistling ducks anyway?”

"I don't know," Burt said. "They came to find the roof destroyed and said that they feared it was because of the monster and flew away."

Chamomile giggled. “I saw them! They have settled in the squirrel's oak tree meeting place.”

Bumblediah had started down the ladder, but he stopped at this. “Those worrying whistling ducks with the suspicion squirrels?” he put a hand to his forehead. “Oh dear.”

“Don’t worry,” Burt said.

“Don’t wawy!” Dewdrop echoed from between his ears. She grinned and raised herself to her feet. Her delicate azure wings fluttered. Faster and faster they beat until she hovered an inch over the longhorn’s head. She laughed and twirled around in the air. “Don’t wawy! Don’t wawy! Don’t wawy!”