Noisy Wren’s Adventures

Chapter 4 - The Group Head To The SongFest in Riverside

So there I was, perched in Cousin Chirp’s sycamore in West Covina, my heart still racing from our epic practice session with the Chatter Chords—Squeak, Trill, and Bop, the coolest musical Wrens this side of the Rio Grande. My song was ready, polished to a shine thanks to their coaching, and I was buzzing like a bee on a sugar high. The Songfest in Riverside was tomorrow, and Chirp and the gang were coming with me. “Noisy,” Chirp said, her eyes twinkling, “you’re gonna make those Riverside birds choke on their seeds when you sing!” I grinned, fluffing my feathers. “You bet, Chirp! I’m Noisy Wren, and I’m bringing the noise!”

The next morning, we took off for Riverside, a short hop over the hills. The five of us—me, Chirp, Squeak, Trill, and Bop—flew in a scrappy V-formation, our wings buzzing like a tiny orchestra. Riverside was hopping when we landed, the Songfest grounds packed with birds from all over: mockingbirds with their fancy playlists, cardinals flashing red like they owned the place, and even a snooty nightingale who kept preening her feathers. The stage was a big oak stump under a canopy of palms, with birds perched on every branch, chirping and squawking like it was the bird Super Bowl. I felt a flutter in my chest—nerves, sure, but mostly excitement. “This is it,” I whispered. “Time to show ‘em what a House Wren can do.”

Chirp gave me a wing-nudge. “You got this, Noisy. Sing like you’re pooping on a cat from a hundred feet!” Squeak piped up, “Yeah, hit that big trill!” Trill added, “And don’t rush the pause—let ‘em beg for it!” Bop just nodded, his bassy voice rumbling. “Blow ‘em away, kid.” I hopped onto a twig, clutching my satchel—empty now, but who needs seeds when you’ve got a song? The Songfest judge, a grumpy old owl with glasses perched on his beak, called my name. “Noisy Wren, House Wren, Texas! You’re up!”

I fluttered to the stump, the crowd hushing. Hundreds of eyes—big, small, beady, shiny—stared at me. A mockingbird in the front row smirked, like he thought I was just some loudmouth wren. “Oh, you’ll see,” I muttered. I glanced at Chirp and the Chatter Chords, perched on a low branch, bobbing their heads like my own cheer squad. I took a deep breath, puffed out my chest, and let my song rip:

“I’m Noisy Wren, hear me sing, loud and bold,
From Texas sands to the California gold!
I dodged a hawk, fooled a coyote’s jaws,
My chirp’s got spark, gonna break all the laws!
Chatter high, chatter low, let it ring,
This wren’s got heart, gonna make the skies sing!
From desert dust to the Songfest’s glow,
I’m Noisy Wren, and I’m stealin’ the show!”

The Chatter Chords jumped in, Squeak’s piccolo notes dancing, Trill’s high trills soaring, and Bop’s bass thumping like a heartbeat. My voice—loud for a House Wren, trust me—cracked the air, each trill sharp enough to wake a hibernating bear. I hit the pause Bop taught me, letting the silence hang just long enough to make the crowd lean in, then blasted the final note so loud a sparrow in the back fell off his perch. The Chatter Chords wove their harmony around me, making my song sound bigger, bolder, like a whole flock in one tiny wren. When I finished, the crowd exploded—wings flapping, beaks squawking, even that snooty nightingale clapping like she meant it.

The competition was fierce, though. A cardinal belted a jazzy tune that got the finches swooning, and the mockingbird—ugh, that guy—ran through a medley so slick it could’ve been on a human radio. The nightingale’s aria was all fancy and flowery, but it dragged a bit, if you ask me. I was sweating seeds waiting for the owl’s verdict, hopping from claw to claw. Chirp whispered, “You nailed it, Noisy. They’re still reeling!” Finally, the owl hooted, “First place: Noisy Wren, House Wren, Texas!” The crowd went wild, and I nearly toppled off the stump. Me, a House Wren, beating the big shots? I got a blue ribbon pinned to my satchel, my name carved on the Songfest Pole (fancy oak thing, gonna be there forever), and—get this—free transportation home anywhere in the U.S. in a luxury Class A Motor Coach. A human bus, all cushy and shiny? I was living the dream!

Chirp and the Chatter Chords tackled me in a feathery hug, squawking and laughing. “Told ya, Noisy!” Chirp crowed. “You’re a legend!” Squeak chirped, “That pause was killer!” Bop just grinned. “Told ya to make ‘em lean in.” We celebrated all night, perched on the oak stump, singing bits of my song and dodging glares from that mockingbird, who was not happy about losing.

A few days later, we flew back to Chirp’s sycamore in West Covina for some well-earned fun. We splashed in the backyard fountain, raided more human feeders, and played cat-poop with that grumpy tabby, who was starting to look like a walking target board. At night, we jammed with the Chatter Chords, tweaking my song just for fun, adding extra trills and a goofy verse about the coyote. “You gotta come back next year, Noisy,” Trill said, her eyes sparkling. “We’ll make it a tradition!” I grinned, my blue ribbon glinting in the moonlight. “Deal, but only if you keep up with my chatter!”

The day came to head home to Texas. The luxury Motor Coach was parked at a human rest stop, all shiny chrome and big windows, like a palace on wheels. The humans running it were Songfest sponsors, happy to cart a winning wren cross-country. I hopped onto a cushy seat, my satchel slung over my wing, the blue ribbon pinned proudly. Chirp and the Chatter Chords perched outside, waving their wings. “Sing loud back in Texas, Noisy!” Chirp called. “And don’t let those hawks get ya!” I laughed, my heart full. “No worries, Chirp! I’m Noisy Wren, Songfest champ! I’ll be back!” As the bus rumbled to life, I started humming my song, ready to tell Texas all about my big win. Watch out, world—Noisy Wren’s just getting started!