By Joseph Lavoie: In the hidden lush expanse known to all who live here as Tell Valley. There is a wonderful place between the tree covered mountains Sitdar and Flect. And from these mountains come springs of water so pure. Water that flows from the hills year round then it joins together in steams that wind across our valley. These streams are the head waters of the mighty Onica river. She courses past endless banks of polished stones then down through the rocky gorge and falls a hundred feet. One can only sit and take in the endless power of this site. This is just a small piece of our world, our home. Each and every year special birds visit this place called Moorington. Swallows of the trees, nimble winged creatures, dressed in their finest clothes. Mates for life set paired just far enough apart on every branch and limb perched high above the fields. Yes my friends, those birds, whose numbers rival the ripe fruit of the Filbert tree, just before our valleys summer festivals. It is very early and they are all asleep. I say, awake, to this warm summers day. My eyes now perceive a frantic sky because it has lost it's pale blue light. The sound is like thunder, who can count the swell. Thousands join in and greet the day with song, hello and good morning. Who will feed this hungry bunch, breakfast, lunch and dinner?