The Chickadee, Plip-plop,Whisper, and Bullfrogs

Slender prickly tall grass sliced at my knobby eight year old chicken legs, leaving little white indentations as does a cat sharpening its claws on a stained lumpy couch. I stumbled and tripped over the terrain of jagged rocks protruding from the overgrowing dirt path. Maple leaves floated and drifted to the ground, bringing a fresh autumn scent. My brother and my dad trekked far ahead, causing me to sprint to catch up.
Before I could catch up, they suddenly paused and ceased their walking. Curious, I hurried to where they had stopped, causing the tiny remnants of a pebble to fly into my Velcro light up sneakers. My toes curled in dismay as the pebble’s remains stabbed at my foot. I arrived to the spot where they were in conversation.  
“Do you think she’s ready?” my brother, Wil asked, acting smugly. “I don’t think she’s smart enough.”
“What are you talking about?” I queried, completely confused. The two glanced at each other before turning to me.
“Alright, but it’s a secret, and you can’t tell anyone!” Wil whispered and glared into the forest as if someone was listening.
Now, I wasn’t very good at keeping secrets, but I nodded my head anyway. Wil and my dad stood beside me; the three of us formed a small circle.
“What are we—“ I asked aloud before being interrupted by Wil shushing me to be silent.
A chickadee sung in the far distance, causing an eruption of other birds following in unison. We stood mutely for a few seconds, and we were suddenly the only ones not making noise. Drops of dew that clung to the leaves of the maple trees plip-plopped into a creek not too far away. Wind blew the trees’ branches in crackling whispers that seemed to call my name. Fat, big bullfrogs belched bellyfuls of monotone notes.    
“This is the story of the Sock Foot Tribe,” my dad began in a holy sort of tone, “The tribe was a very well off civilization, and you had to be the best of the best to get in. Completing different tasks would allow you to join the tribe. But, they were all killed off. Now, we are the only two members left.”
An invasive plague of imagination spread contagiously throughout each of my brain cells. All common sense left me then, and I basked in the wonder of the “Sock Foot Tribe” that my dad had obviously made up. Pictures of Native Americans carefully creeping among the trees to shoot down a deer with their piercing arrows danced in my brain. Grinning a toothy smile, I peered over Wil’s head into the forest almost expecting a Native American to be hunching in the prickly bushes with smears of war paint on his face.
“These challenges are extremely difficult, of course. I don’t think you can handle it as easy as I did,” Wil teased bluntly.
Scrunching my face in annoyance, I said, “I can do it! I can do anything you can do!”
“Are you ready for the first task?”
*                  *                       *                                    
Now standing in a much different place, I wondered how I would ever complete this challenge. A form of regret swiveled around my mind as I inched forward blindly. The heat of the faded navy blue handkerchief blocking my vision caused sweat to form around my eyes. My dragging feet hooked onto the edges of a rock, sending me tumbling down with a thud. How was I supposed to find my way back to those two if I couldn’t even see!
Pondering, I dug my fingers into the dirt. How did the Native Americans even do this? I thought glumly, almost ready to give up and rip off the blindfold, I hate this stupid tribe anyway.
But, then neurons sparked, ideas ignited, parts of my brain tingled, apples fell on heads, and that light bulb did not just light up, it exploded into a million electrons of brilliance. I shut down my thoughts and relied on my ears. I was listening for the chickadee in the distance. Listening for the dew drops plip-plopping. Listening for the whispering maple trees. Listening for the belching bullfrogs.
At first, the only thing I could hear was the breeze whipping my hair against my ears. But, I still listened closer. Chirps. Plip-plops. Whispers. Belches. They were all faint. I could tell the direction due to my heightened sense of hearing.
My hands began to search the dirt, patting and feeling the ground as does a person in pursuit of their glasses. Only did I stop when cracked, earthy bark grazed my skin. Grinning, I leaned against my new walking stick to get up off the ground. Tapping the walking stick along the dirt path like the cane of a blind person, I listened for my familiar noises. My pace quickened as I got used to the walking stick, and I barely stumbled.
“Chick-a-dee dee dee dee dee. Chick-a-dee dee dee dee dee,” The familiar chirp rang. I reached out, expecting to feel the beige tuft belly fur of a chickadee. All of my noises were close. I could have extended both arms and embraced the chickadee, all of the maple trees’ cold dew and whispery branches, and the slimy bullfrogs in one huge hug. Instead I felt something tap my shoulder.
“You have passed,” I could hear my father’s voice say, “welcome to the Sock Foot Tribe!” Still holding my walking stick, I threw my hand into the air in a triumphant fist pump. I probably almost looked like Gandalf, rising his white staff into the sky to send away all of the evil, malevolent orcs that plagued the land. With the sun setting behind me, I made a picturesque moment for Wil and my dad.
        Stationary for a minute, I basked in my glory. “It’s getting dark,” Wil complained, ending my pride, “Can’t we go home?”
“You’re right. We should be getting back—Julie, you know you can take off your blindfold now?”
Wildly smiling, I shook my head. I shook my head because I wanted to keep the lively forest buzzing in my ears. I wanted it forever. The chickadee. The plip-plop. The whispering branches. The bullfrogs. I didn’t want the harmony they made to go away! Keeping the blindfold on gave me this idea that the noises wouldn’t leave—that I could just reach out and forever hug my four wonders. And, even though I was not a Native American hunting deer among the maple trees, I was a part of the Sock Foot Tribe. Being a part of the one thing that sparked my imagination and gave the gift of nature to me was far better than any real Native American.