Feed Me! Feed Me!

Feed Me!  Feed Me!

This picture of hungry baby birds proved a source of merriment this morning in our household. My husband and I were reminded, strangely enough, of a sailing encounter. While doing a trans-Atlantic crossing, we made a brief stopover in Bermuda. Being the proud parents of a plebe at the US Naval Academy, we liked to fly a small Naval Academy ensign when in port. It so happened that the Academy fleet was also in Bermuda that week, just a few berths away from where our sailboat was tied up. One of the adult supervisors from the Academy fleet, seeing that ensign, came over for a visit. Each of the Academy boats was crewed entirely by midshipmen. Those able-bodied young people did all the deck work, but the adult supervisors did all the cooking. I could sympathize with him, as I did all the cooking aboard our vessel, under all conditions that the sea could dish out. It had been rough during our joint passages from stateside, and cooking had been done with some difficulty. His stint in the galley, though, had been much rougher than mine. I had only four people to cook for. He had nine, and eight of them were healthy, still-growing, robust, young people with enormous appetites to assuage. While consuming some freshly-baked cookies and several cups of aromatic coffee, he related that the worst meal of the day for him as a cook was breakfast. Eight young mouths, all open and eager, required immediate food. He said they were like this pictured nestful of baby birds, all demanding (politely of course since they were Midshipmen and not baby birds), FEED ME! FEED ME!


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