Once upon a Robin

A Surprising Companion for the Tour

In September, as I was preparing for the historical golf cart tour—a featured event hosted by the Almont Museum during the town’s Heritage Festival—I was focused on conducting a preliminary run to ensure everything would proceed smoothly. During these preparations, I received a text message from my fellow volunteer, Lou, letting me know that Zorro would be joining us for the day. Since we would be using her ATV for the tour, I had no objections; however, I did ask whether Zorro was friendly and of a size that would be easy to manage. My mind was already preoccupied with fitting my tour narration into the designated timeframe, and the prospect of wrangling an excitable puppy while trying to read from my notes didn’t seem especially appealing.

When Lou arrived, my concerns were quickly put to rest. Instead of the lively dog I had anticipated, she had a shoebox positioned on the bed of the ATV. Inside, to my surprise, was a small, young cedar waxwing bird. And so, that day, Zorro made his introduction—not as a rambunctious puppy, but as an unexpected and delicate companion for our tour.

Apparently, the poor creature had injured its wing, and since Lou is known for nursing birds and animals back to health, how could she refuse? Before we continued on our way, she offered the little bird some small pieces of fruit. She apologized for any inconvenience, but I quickly assured her it was no trouble—honestly, it was wonderful. Her compassionate gesture toward our feathered companion evoked a cherished memory; actually, it would be more accurate to call it a “handed down” memory.

My Mother often recounted one particular story of rescuing a robin as a child, carefully tending to it in bird cage lined with soft rags. Hearing Lou’s gentle voice to eat reminded me so vividly of that family tale, blending the present moment with echoes of kindness from the past.

Life on the Treadgold Farm

Joe and Amy Treadgold, my grandparents, had a farm at the southwest intersection of Hollow Corners and Muir Roads in Almont Township. Their farm life in the 1930s was typical, raising chickens, pigs and a few cows alongside growing wheat and corn. My grandfather, who emigrated from England and was known for his practical nature, and my grandmother—who lost her parents by age fourteen —were models of perseverance. After saving enough money to buy his own farm, Joe wrote and asked Amy to come to America. Amy, formerly a maid at Fitzwilliam’s Manor House in Yorkshire, immigrated and married Joe at Dryden’s Episcopal Church. Their bond grew through letters alone, as they endured years apart following Joe’s move in 1908 until Amy joined him in the fall of 1911.

They were individuals who achieved their possessions through diligent effort and recognized that life required seriousness; every animal and each piece of equipment served a specific purpose, leaving little room for sentimentality. It was essential to proceed with necessary tasks in a pragmatic manner.

The First World War claimed Grandpa’s brother, and the following global depression made times harder. The family stayed on the farm thanks to a landowner who let them defer payments when money was tight.

The Treadgold children—Bill, Barb, and Jessie—contributed to the daily operation of the farm, helping with chores in the hen house, working in the fields, and attending school at Muir’s before later moving on to Almont High School. Despite the demanding nature of their childhoods, Joe and Amy were determined to provide their children with moments of leisure. After mornings spent gathering eggs and milking cows, the children would often cool their feet and legs in a nearby creek or pond, finding respite from their labor. The farm’s produce was regularly taken to Detroit’s Eastern Market, where it was traded or sold for cash. These trips offered the family an opportunity to experience life beyond their farm, immersing them in a vibrant atmosphere filled with new sounds, tastes and sights.

A Springtime Discovery

It was late May when Barb, making her way past the weathered hen house and skillfully dodging a blooming lilac branch, witnessed a gentle moment. She saw her father bent over, carefully scooping up a small ball of feathers and placing it into his straw hat with great care. Straightening to his full height, he glanced over at his daughters, who were about twelve and fourteen years old, their faces filled with curiosity and confusion at the scene unfolding before them.

With a quiet sigh, her father led the way up to the house, pushing open the screened back door and calling out, “Amy?!” The girls followed, eager to understand the significance of their father’s gentle actions, as they carried with them both wonder and anticipation for what was to come.

“What you got there Joe?” Amy actually had lower the hat to see. She stood all of but 5 feet tall. They were a contrasting sight, Grandma with raven black hair, Grandpa, freckled with ginger hair and a foot taller. The only thing that seem to match with them was their blue eyes now peering down into the hat, watching the ball of feathers and twigs fluttering. The girls squealed in delight. . “Why it’s a baby bird!”

Excitement filled the kitchen as Amy carefully lifted the fragile creature from Joe’s straw hat, her delicate hands cradling the trembling bird. The girls, brimming with curiosity, clustered around the kitchen table, their chores momentarily forgotten. Amy fetched an old tea towel, fashioning a makeshift nest in a small basket, while Joe explained that he had found it beneath the oak tree, likely fallen from its home. There was a brief, silent exchange—a quiet acknowledgment of the seriousness of caring for something so helpless. Amy instructed the girls to fetch soft bread crumbs and a bit of milk, while Joe stood by the door, watching his family rally together in this small act of kindness. The bird, eyes barely open, nestled deeper into the basket, unaware of the hardship, love and resilience that shaped the farmhouse around it. As the spring sunlight poured through the screened door, the promise of new life seemed to echo the perseverance that had carried the Treadgold family through so many seasons before.

Nurturing Robin

Grandma explained to the girls that the bird, not quite a fledgling and more bald than feathered, would need to be fed often—every three to four hours, including throughout the night. Initially, they tried worms and insects, but the bird only accepted milk-soaked bread. Grandma took on the responsibility of feeding “Robin,” gently lowering the basket from the kitchen shelf and patiently guiding the food to its beak. The girls also took turns caring for Robin, watching as it slowly grew stronger.

For some reason, even in the midst of the depression era, Grandma had an old bird cage. Mom did not recall Grandma having a canary during her childhood, though later in life Grandma always kept a bright blue and yellow canary. Perhaps the cage was something Grandma brought with her when she emigrated from England, or maybe a neighbor loaned it to the family upon hearing about Robin—the exact origin is lost to history.

Once Robin became more mobile, they moved it into the cage. Grandma always left the door open, allowing easy access for feeding through the opening. Occasionally, Robin would rest in Grandma’s hands while being fed. One night, as the family gathered around the kitchen table for supper, Robin flew out and landed on the table, right on the uncovered butter. Grandpa declared, “That is it! It is time for Robin to go outside.” The girls understood, knowing their purpose had been to nurse Robin back to health so it could thrive on its own.

The following day, Joe placed the bird on a tree branch. However, Robin was not interested in staying there; he promptly flew down and landed on the fence beside the tool shed, where Grandpa was repairing equipment. Robin’s persistent chirping indicated his displeasure. “Fool bird,” Joe muttered under his breath.

Later that afternoon, as the girls walked home from Muir School, they noticed their father heading toward the water pump, with Robin perched comfortably on his shoulder. They laughed and hurried to retrieve their egg baskets.

Throughout the summer, Robin appeared particularly attached to Joe, often flying down to accompany him during various chores. On one occasion, Robin elected to ride on the brim of Joe’s wide-brimmed straw hat. As Joe gathered feed for the pigs and bent over to pour the slop, Robin lost his balance and tumbled directly into the pig slop. “Amy!” Joe exclaimed.

Amy came running from the garden, once she saw the poor little muddy bird, she could not stifle her laugh. Even Joe had to chuckle at Robin’s dilemma. Amy scooped up the little mess of feathers and mud, and gently rinsed Robin off under the water pump. When she hung the wash on the clothesline, her own songbird, mmm a former servant with a songbird…I wonder if Walt Disney has heard this story?

Robin grew more independent and soon just contented himself to fly diving a “good morning” and “good evening” to the Treadgold Family.

Robin’s Farewell

One autumn day, Robin’s behavior changed; he became unexpectedly aggressive, flying around and bothering the family. Jessie and Barb, unsettled by his actions, rushed inside to complain to their parents that Robin was being mean. Amy offered them comfort, gently suggesting, “I think he’s saying goodbye.” This explanation brought tears—no one wanted Robin to leave. With care, Amy explained that Robin needed to fly to a warmer place, following the other birds as the season changed.

The next day, a noticeable quietness settled over the household. When the girls returned from school, they felt the absence of their feathered friend. Joe was left without his companion as he fed the pigs, and Amy missed having her little songbird singing while she took the clothes off the line.

As always, the seasons shifted. Winter arrived, the pigs were sent to the Eastern Market, Barb entered high school and began making new friends, Jessie thrived at the country school, and Bill divided his time between working on the farm and at Hurd Lock. Life continued its course.

Spring eventually returned with warmth and renewed hope. Joe stepped outside to pump water for tea when a shadow darted past his head, a flutter brushed his ear, then came a series of daring swoops along with cheery chirping—FOOL BIRD—AMY!?

Mom remembered Robin announcing his arrivals and departures for nearly a decade, appearing before her high school years and still around after her marriage in 1942, remarkable for a wild robin. Kindness leaves a lasting impact not only on people but also on animals and nature. Robin’s presence brightened family life, turning small moments like his head-tilts or stealing crumbs into cherished stories retold for generations. Even ninety years later, the memory of that tiny bird endures, proving how little things can make a big difference.

As for Zorro, I hope he had a safe journey to his winter home, I know Lou will be waiting for his song come Spring.

Contact Lynn at tct@pageone-inc.com