Grongle
03-25-2006, 03:50 AM
Originally my father read me the stories—time and time again, according to my own popular demand. "Dad, you missed a whole sentence!"
Whether he read me every one of the books, I don't know. Probably he did. Years later, I got hold of every one I could; and I'm sure I read them all, then. And years after that, I got hold of them again, and read them again.
Mr. Burgess was a wonderful man, and he gave his wonders, like presents, to children and to other thinking, feeling humans. In many respects, Thornton W. Burgess was a "Mr. Rogers" of an earlier day. He made people happy, and he did it with wisdom. The gifts he gave were all wisdom, packaged in various kinds of sensitivity. His "neighbourhood" was that of forest and stream.
Peter Rabbit could talk. Don't think that made Thornton unrealistic. Perhaps partly through his early influence on my life, I became a professional naturalist for many years with Parks Canada. I'm about sixty now, and (like a lot of people) I wake every morning to the city sounds of myriad bird calls and chirps and songs, every one of which I know as well as I know a friend's voice on the telephone. I suppose I know several hundred species by their voices. Birds fill my world, and give me joy and peace in troubled times.
When I reread Thornton W. Burgess' books, I discovered to my astonishment that he had known his animals and birds very, very well indeed. When he says that most crows migrated from a cold region, but a few stayed; when he says that (specifically) a Long-eared Owl usurped one of the crows' nests; when he describes the crows returning in the spring—it is all accurate. And a lot of his information must assuredly have been of his own learning, as his details are not in mainstream reading about bird behaviour.
In a time when bird-watchers shot so much of what they watched, Thornton powerfully suggests an ethic of living and letting live. He has to do some fancy dancing around his predator and prey species, but he manages very well indeed. It is not death he counsels his young audience against, but rather needless death and needless suffering. And he imparts a sense of wonder and respect—I believe, taken together, these qualities are what we call love—of living things.
Love, wisdom, knowledge, sensitivity. Such a rich man, who bestowed such rich gifts upon children lucky enough to have fathers like mine. Thank you, Dad, for reading me those stories, so very long ago; thank you, Thornton W. Burgess, for writing them.
Whether he read me every one of the books, I don't know. Probably he did. Years later, I got hold of every one I could; and I'm sure I read them all, then. And years after that, I got hold of them again, and read them again.
Mr. Burgess was a wonderful man, and he gave his wonders, like presents, to children and to other thinking, feeling humans. In many respects, Thornton W. Burgess was a "Mr. Rogers" of an earlier day. He made people happy, and he did it with wisdom. The gifts he gave were all wisdom, packaged in various kinds of sensitivity. His "neighbourhood" was that of forest and stream.
Peter Rabbit could talk. Don't think that made Thornton unrealistic. Perhaps partly through his early influence on my life, I became a professional naturalist for many years with Parks Canada. I'm about sixty now, and (like a lot of people) I wake every morning to the city sounds of myriad bird calls and chirps and songs, every one of which I know as well as I know a friend's voice on the telephone. I suppose I know several hundred species by their voices. Birds fill my world, and give me joy and peace in troubled times.
When I reread Thornton W. Burgess' books, I discovered to my astonishment that he had known his animals and birds very, very well indeed. When he says that most crows migrated from a cold region, but a few stayed; when he says that (specifically) a Long-eared Owl usurped one of the crows' nests; when he describes the crows returning in the spring—it is all accurate. And a lot of his information must assuredly have been of his own learning, as his details are not in mainstream reading about bird behaviour.
In a time when bird-watchers shot so much of what they watched, Thornton powerfully suggests an ethic of living and letting live. He has to do some fancy dancing around his predator and prey species, but he manages very well indeed. It is not death he counsels his young audience against, but rather needless death and needless suffering. And he imparts a sense of wonder and respect—I believe, taken together, these qualities are what we call love—of living things.
Love, wisdom, knowledge, sensitivity. Such a rich man, who bestowed such rich gifts upon children lucky enough to have fathers like mine. Thank you, Dad, for reading me those stories, so very long ago; thank you, Thornton W. Burgess, for writing them.