Meadow Lark

I thought of Dad yesterday when I heard my first meadowlark of the year. That little bird didn't stop singing "Orangeville's a pretty little place." Not only that, it jabbered to the other birds. It was a loud, noisy bird. I wish I knew all the things it was say. It was probably telling the weather that it needed to straighten up and stay warm so it could stay. I wondered if this is early or late for the meadowlarks to return. I knew that Dad probably had it written in his books for each year, the exact date he heard the first meadowlark of each year. How many times have I wanted to know the temperature on a certain day, or when the leaves (beards) finally come on the quakies. He had it all written down, somewhere. I wonder where those journals are now? Wish we had them to copy them.