Soar: The Incredible Journey of Hendrix and Ryder

By Letitia B. Burton

It's early fall in North America, and Hendrix's parents are taking off to migrate to South America - without him! Now to survive the winter and see his parents again, he and his twin brother Ryder will have to make the long, treacherous journey on their own. But the young birds are at odds right from the start, with fearless Ryder pushing cautio

• Language: English
• Publisher: Southport Press
• Release date: Feb 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985204612

Letitia B. Burton

Letitia B. Burton-or "B.B.," as her young readers call her-believes that one of the most important things that a parent can do is read to their child for at least 30 minutes a day. It was a practice that she started with her three children after receiving this wonderful advice from Blanche Mansfield, then head of the lower school at the Nightingale-Bamford School in New York City. It is through sharing these stories that parents and children can together travel to new and interesting worlds and develop shared compassion for the characters. Letitia continued to read to each of her children daily until they fired her, one by one, at some point when they were in middle school. She lives in Southport, Connecticut, with her husband, three children, their two bunnies, two chickens, parrot, and beloved yellow lab Shesky, whom she now reads to. She loves to kayak out to visit the ospreys on Channel Marker 7. She is committed to donating a percentage of all profits from the sales of Soar to Audubon and other organizations working to protect the environment.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Hendrix heard whispering. And if there was one thing he knew he should pay attention to, it was his parents whispering.

Waves lapped against the rocks below, muffling their words. Stretching his neck, Hendrix could just barely make out what they were saying.

You know we can’t coddle them forever, Dad said.

But they’re only six weeks old, Mom said.

Well, six weeks of parenting is more than enough.

But once they learn to fly and can fish for themselves, then, well . . .

Well, what? What did she mean, learn to fly? Hendrix glanced at his wings, thin white-tipped feathers barely covering his tan fluff. His parents couldn’t possibly mean now. He trembled, cracking twigs beneath his belly.

The branches have ears, Mom whispered, cocking her head toward Hendrix. Hendrix scrunched his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

What doesn’t she want me to hear? wondered Hendrix.

If you give a bird a fish, Dad said, you feed him for a day; if you teach him to fish, then he doesn’t need you anymore. And I can—

Hush! We’re not having this conversation now. They could already be awake. We’ll talk more after the boys go to sleep tonight.

Fine. But I’m not putting off leaving.

Leaving! To go where? What could be better than this? The nest was warm and cozy, with a layer of soft, downy feathers to snuggle in. Besides, it was the only home Hendrix and his twin brother Ryder had ever known. Why would his parents ever want the family to leave it?

Boys! Dad boomed, his frame casting a black shadow across the nest. Wake up. I’ve got some news.

Ryder sprang to his clawed toes, rustling the branches so they jabbed Hendrix in the belly. Hendrix eased himself up.

Come on, sleepybeaks! said Dad. The early bird gets the biggest fish, ya know.

I thought it was supposed to be a worm, said Ryder.

Whoever made up that expression knows nothing about osprey. Today’s a big day. I’m teaching you boys to fly.

No way! Awesome, said Ryder, as he flapped and bounced to the edge of the nest.

Hendrix clutched the sticks with his four splayed toes and looked to Mom. Her beak was clamped tight.

Over here. Join your brother, said Dad, his piercing yellow eyes unwavering.

Hendrix loosened his grip and inched toward them, stopping short of the edge.

He craned his neck to gaze over the vast stretch of deep blue water. His breathing slowed, and his chest expanded as he took in the beauty of Long Island Sound. He squinted his eyes to cut the bright morning light reflecting off the water’s surface. Ahh, the breeze. Eyes closed, he savored the gentle puffs rustling the feathery fuzz on his face. Wind tickles!

Now, listen up, boys, said Dad, startling him back. There’s nothing to flying. You just face into the wind, pump a few times, and off you go.

Ryder jumped, flapping his wings, staying aloft for a moment. The nest wobbled. Hendrix stiffened his legs.

That’s it, Ryder. That’s exactly what you’re supposed to be doing. Now, watch. Dad raised and lowered his majestic wings, covered in wide, brown feathers, first slowly, and then faster, faster. The air swirled, and the wispy feathers in the bottom of the nest fluttered around Hendrix’s legs.

Dad leaped off the edge, dipped below the nest, and reappeared, flapping hard to climb into the sky. His enormous dark wingspan blocked the sun, instantly cooling Hendrix’s face. Circling in a wide arc before thumping back into the nest, he bounced Hendrix into the air. Hendrix stumbled, almost catching himself on his right foot before tumbling beak first.

See that? said Dad, balancing on the rim. Easy-breezy! Now, who wants to go first?

I do! I do! said Ryder, bouncing to his toes.

That’s my boy. Now stand on the edge, just like I did. Then pump and jump.

Flapping his wings, Ryder raised onto the tips of his talons. Faster, faster . . . he bent, sprang off the edge, and plummeted. Hendrix scrambled closer to the rim, searching. Suddenly Ryder zoomed from below the nest up past him.

Look at me! Look at me! shouted Ryder, as he swooped above the nest.

Look at him ride the wind, said Dad, thrusting his white chest. Our bird’s a natural.

Ryder, that’s wonderful, said Mom, as he crashed breast-first, wings splayed, into the nest.

Hendrix hunched, his wings sagging around his legs.

Come on; beak up. Your turn, said Dad.

Hendrix edged toward Dad until he was balancing on the rim of the nest. He teetered from one foot to the other, trying to steady himself. Carefully, he peered over the edge.

The nest was perched on top of a very tall channel marker, a perfect launching pad for flying—but not falling. It was surrounded by craggy-edged rocks.

Back he jumped, spreading his wings to steady himself. Mm . . . maybe later. My, uh, st . . . stomach hurts, he said, dropping his head and backing to the center of the nest.

Dad huffed and shook his head.

Mom pressed her wings back. Everyone has their strengths—and their weaknesses, she told Dad.

Hmm. We’ll see about that. Come on, Ry-Fly. Let’s go put those wings of yours to the test.

Ryder hurried after Dad. We’re still leaving, Dad called to Mom as they flew off over the sun-speckled water.

The leaving thing again? Where? thought Hendrix.

CHAPTER 2

Warmth flowed through Hendrix as he pressed against Mom’s chest. It smelled ever so faintly of salt.

There’ll be other chances to fly with Dad and Ryder, said Mom. She wrapped her wing around him. I hate to leave you now, but I have to gather twigs to make a fresh layer for the bottom of the nest.

She took off below the quick-moving puffy clouds. Hendrix raced to the edge and followed Mom until he couldn’t separate her from the deep-green leaf-covered tree branches that fringed the Sound.

He’d never been all alone before.

He spun in a circle, scaly bumps from the branches jutting into his toes. He gazed down to study the nest. Some of the sticks were thick, some thin. Some were dark brown, some light. Some were lumpy, some smooth. Some were straight, some curved. They were all so different. Each on its own—even the thick ones—was not capable of holding up even a feather. Yet woven together, they were strong enough to keep his entire family safe. Incredible.

Rustling. What was that? Hendrix twisted his head to the left and peered between the woven branches.

More rustling.

He twisted his head to the right, heart beating faster, and tightened his wings against his body. All along the shoreline, he searched for some sign of Mom.

Just then a familiar call came from behind. Gramps! Hendrix sprung to greet his grandfather, who was hovering, flapping back hard to slow his landing before drifting feet first into the nest. Carefully, he curled in his sharp talons.

Well, hey there! How’s my boy doing today? he said, lightly brushing the fluff on top of Hendrix’s head with his curved beak.

Hi, Gramps, said Hendrix.

Looks like a few family members are missing, he said, surveying the nest. Did they scatter to the winds when they heard the old bird was coming? His amber eyes twinkled and the tiny, gray feathers around them crinkled into thin folds. Did your mom head off to gather some fresh bedding?

Hendrix nodded.

And where’s your brother?

Hendrix gazed at his toes.

Hmm, said Gramps. Did he learn how to fly today?

Hendrix nodded.

Ahh, so that’s why you’re so quiet, eh? Gramps crouched beside him, his gray-fringed wing tips brushing lightly against Hendrix. Well, maybe since we have a bit of time, I’ll tell you some stories about me as a fledgling. Now, let’s see. Did I ever tell you about my first flight?

No, what happened? said Hendrix, shifting closer.

"Well, there almost wasn’t a flight at all. See, I got to the edge of the nest, looked down at all those rocks, and thought, Holy Mackerel! Are you kidding me? If I jump, I’m gonna kill myself!"

Really? said Hendrix, perking up. So, what did you do?

At first, I told my dad I felt sick—which wasn’t exactly a lie because, boy, was my stomach upset, he said, moving his wing to nudge Hendrix lightly. But then I used a little trick my grandfather taught me. It’s called ‘Connecting with your senses.’

Huhn? What’s that?

It’s easier than it sounds. Here’s the idea. If you can get your mind thinking about something different from what’s frightening you, then it doesn’t have time to think about being scared.

Hendrix shook his head. That doesn’t make sense. It sounds like you’re trying to trick yourself.

Exactly! But it works.

How?

The easiest way to get your mind thinking about something else is to have it focus on one of your five senses—you know, like your sense of sight or smell or taste—

Oh, yeah. Or sound, said Hendrix, loud honks alerting him to the V-shaped gaggle of geese passing overhead.

Yup. Or touch, said Gramps. I like to use the sense of touch for flying. I face into the wind—like this. He pointed his beak in the direction the wind was coming from. "I feel the wind blowing through my feathers. I focus right down to the