Today is the anniversary of a terrible fire that burned most of a beloved town in the Midwest. This is a barn swallow’s memory of it.

A Barn Swallow’s Story

By Kathleen M.Brosius

  “The cold came early that fall,” old Mr. Swallow chirped, as he nestled with his grandchicks. “It was the autumn of 1871,” he continued, “Come on, gather around me while Grandpa tells the story.”  He ruffled his feathers and settled comfortably on his perch. “I was a young bird back then.” He leaned back closing his eyes remembering those first years. He began again.

“Upon returning from spending the winter down south, I spotted the perfect place to settle. On the edge of the prairie, along a big lake, a town was beginning to grow. The building I spotted was at the edge of this town—an old barn. The door to the loft was open, so I flew in. I knew that more swallows would follow. I hoped that I would find a pretty little swallow who would want to share her life with me.”

“Grandpa,” Lucy tweeted, “Is that Grandma?”

“Yes, that is your grandma, Lucy. We built a nest and soon we had a family.”

Grandpa continued his story, “More swallows began to arrive.” He looked out over the loft, and went on, “We weren’t alone in the barn. There were cows and a couple of horses living down below.” The young swallows heard sounds coming from the lower floor. “We live in a different barn now,” Grandpa added, “But all barns have animals.”

Grandpa changed positions, his expression becoming somber. “Now back to that cold October night. Listen now; I want you to remember this so you can tell your grandchicks one day.” The chicks snuggled close, attention focused on their grandpa.

“That autumn night, way back then, we were all tucked in nice and warm. The farmer was down below doing his chores. I heard the cows lowing. The evening was cooler than usual, and the farmer started a small fire in a little stove. We could feel the heat floating up to our loft. It felt good.”

The old swallow shifted and pulled his grandchicks close. “After a while, we heard something. The farmer maybe stumbled and fell. The cows mooed and tried to get out of his way. Then I smelled something burning. The farmer began to yell for help.”

“What was wrong Grandpa?” Lucy asked. “What happened to the farmer?”

  “He must have knocked over his little stove. The hay downstairs caught fire.” Grandpa shook his head. “I could see the flames through the cracks in the loft floor. I heard the cows trying to get free. People were yelling, working hard to put the fire out.

 “A few of the older swallows and I realized the emergency; we flew throughout the loft warning everyone. We were frantic and scared. All the swallows in the loft took flight. Through heavy smoke, we flew toward the door and to safety. We escaped to the nearby woods, then huddled together and watched.

  “The barn was lost. The town caught fire. Flames leaped to the sky. People screamed and ran for their lives. We watched in horror as the fire burned for two days. Over a third of that beautiful town was destroyed.”

The chicks were quiet. Grandpa smiled down at them and said, “The swallows all survived the fire and found another barn a few days later. New nests were built, and life went on.”

“What happened to the town Grandpa?” Freddie asked.  

Grandpa chirped, “Well now, those folks weren’t going to let an historical fire stop them from growing. They soon rebuilt and in 1873 they celebrated their recovery. She grew to be the grandest of cities and became known as the “Queen of the West.” When one nears the shores of Lake Michigan, her lights reach far into the evening sky and the prairie is adorned with her beauty.”

The chicks smiled up at their grandpa. Lucy said, “I’m glad we live here Grandpa.”

The Old Swallow nodded in agreement. Soon all the swallows in the old loft were sound asleep.