Everyone who’d ever camped in Yosemite National Park had heard the rumors. They said an owl named Mr. Midnight flew through the trees after dark, giving advice to anyone who would listen—whether they asked for it or not. The park rangers had never managed to catch him or prove he was real, but Chris Waitwell and his family decided to spend their vacation at Yosemite to see if they could meet him.
As far as Chris had heard, Mr. Midnight was the only owl in the park who talked. Most people laughed it off as a campfire story. But every so often, campers woke up around midnight, swore they’d heard someone quoting poetry about patience, and saw two glowing eyes watching from the trees. Local campers said Mr. Midnight had been around for decades—maybe even a century. Some claimed he perched on the highest rock of Half Dome; others swore he’d once talked a lost hiker out of the forest with nothing but poetry.
Whether the owl was real or not, the Waitwells planned to find out. When twelve-year-old Chris and his family rattled down a gravel road lined with tall pines and pulled into their campsite at noon on an October Saturday, Mr. Midnight was nowhere to be found. The air smelled of woodsmoke and river water. Far in the distance, Yosemite Falls crashed and echoed.
Around them, other campers had set up their sites—flashlights ready, zippers zipping, campfires crackling like applause. Someone strummed a guitar, and a voice drifted through the pines, low and warm. The cliffs rose so high they seemed to scrape the clouds, and the air was so clear it felt like the whole sky could hear you think.
Chris wanted to believe the stories, but part of him thought they sounded too good to be true. Then again, Yosemite didn’t feel like an ordinary place. Maybe—just maybe—the owl was waiting for them to arrive.
“How are we going to find Mr. Midnight, Dad?” Chris asked. “Do you think he comes out during the day?”
“I’m not sure, son,” said Mr. Waitwell. “Your mother thinks we should catch him and hand him over to the park rangers—just to preserve him.”
“Someone that special needs to be protected!” Mrs. Waitwell insisted, fluffing her hair. She checked her reflection in the camper window.
“I just don’t want to get bitten by an owl,” said nine-year-old Margaret, Chris’s younger sister. “I want to make s’mores.”
“Don’t worry,” Chris said. “This owl probably wouldn’t bite you. He’s supposed to be super smart. Almost like a college professor.”
Chris thought he heard a soft hoot, low and echoing, like someone whispering a secret from far away. He looked up, but the branches only swayed in the mountain breeze. He decided he would carry his notebook everywhere, just in case he spotted a rare bird or thought of a good question to ask Mr. Midnight—if the stories were true.
In the meantime, Mr. Midnight Owl slept on a hidden tree branch above the camper as Mr. Waitwell set up the family’s tent and grill. The family spent the day hiking throughout the park, but to Chris’s disappointment, he didn’t spot one owl.
They gathered by the campfire to make a few s’mores before bed. Chris thought they tasted gooey and sweet. The perfect camping food.
“We’re going to be here all week, Chris,” his father said. “If Mr. Midnight is here, we’re bound to spot him. I’m tired from driving. Your mother and I are going to sleep early.”
“I’m tired, too,” Margaret said with a yawn. “We can make more s’mores tomorrow night.”
After Mr. and Mrs. Waitwell and Margaret drifted to sleep, Chris ventured out into the wilderness, looking for the Owl. He took his flashlight with him.
The forest grew still as Chris’s flashlight beam wove through the trees. Somewhere high above, a pair of golden eyes blinked open.
“It’s midnight, and I’m wide awake,” Mr. Midnight Owl said, sitting on the edge of a tree branch in the moonlight.
Before Mr. Midnight Owl could decide which way to fly, a flashlight glared in his face and blinded him. Two park rangers hopped out of their well-worn pickup truck.
“Those stupid park rangers!” the Owl said. “I’m not living in a cage on display!”
“We can keep you safe in our zoo!” Park Ranger Scott said, fumbling with his flashlight. “You’re a great attraction, but you don’t get to wake up half the park!”
“Too bad for you that I’m the one with wings!” Mr. Midnight Owl screeched.
“Coming with us is for the best!” Park Ranger George said. He swung his net far and wide, trying to capture the Owl. “Then, everyone can meet you when they’re awake.”
As Mr. Midnight Owl soared away into the night, a few small pellets tumbled from the branches.
“Ugh! Really?” Park Ranger Scott groaned. “Every time! Just because we asked for your advice every now and then, you think you can do whatever you want. You think you’re so much smarter than everyone else! So, you tell everyone what to do!”
“You have an inflated ego!” Park Ranger George shouted.
In the meantime, the Owl set off on his nightly flybys, where he looked for camp guests in need of wisdom. Even if the campers didn’t know that they needed help, he was sure he could identify those people looking for advice.
As Mr. Midnight glided toward the valley, the forest below shimmered silver in the moonlight. Not far away, Chris walked into the same night, hoping to meet the owl himself.
Almost ready to give up looking for the Owl for the night, Chris sat on a log by the campfire and gazed at the stars. By the moonlight, and certainly in the sunlight, they had an excellent view of the gorgeous Yosemite Falls. Then, Chris heard a voice in the distance.
“Tonight, I will bestow my wisdom on this family to learn about patience,” the Owl said. “Humans rush through the forest as if the stars are running out of time. But the wise wait and see what the dark is trying to show them. Patience is a virtue,” Mr. Midnight Owl said, starting his lesson with a quote from poet William Langland.
“What? Who said that?” Chris said aloud. He zoomed his flashlight through the trees.
“Chris! Are you still awake?” his father called from the tent. “We have to get up to go white water rafting tomorrow morning.”
“Maybe that was the s’mores talking! Did Chris eat too many?” Mrs. Waitwell asked.
“Patience is the companion of wisdom,” the Owl continued, spreading his wings. “Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet. Have patience with all things, but first of all with yourself. Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.”
“Maybe Mr. Midnight came out of hiding,” Mr. Waitwell said, grabbing his flashlight and joining Chris. Mrs. Waitwell and Margaret stumbled after him in the dark.
“It’s him, Dad!” Chris said. “I just didn’t see him yet, but I can hear him!”
“Dad, it is the Owl,” Margaret said. “Wow! I’ve never met an owl that can talk,” she said, taking a picture with a flash. Chris was not sure it would turn out well in the dark.
Then, Chris spotted the park rangers’ truck approaching, headlights glaring.
“Adopt the pace of nature, her secret is patience,” Mr. Midnight Owl said. “Be humble and gentle in every way. Be patient with each other and lovingly accept each other.”
After a moment, Mr. Midnight descended out of the trees and flew straight toward Chris.
Chris was so excited that he could hardly move. The bird landed on his shoulder and flapped his wings. While the owl blinked, the family stood in silence. Chris looked at the bird like he was a miracle.
Before Mr. Midnight could leave, Margaret snapped a picture as proof of his existence. Chris smiled as big as he could for the photo. It was a moment he would never forget.
“Amazing!” Chris said to the Owl, sitting on his shoulder. “You’re amazing!”
“Let patience have her perfect work,” the Owl said to Chris.
Before he could forget it, Chris scribbled the saying down in his notebook.
“I’ll remember that saying forever!” Chris said to Mr. Midnight.
Then, before the park rangers could swoop Mr. Midnight into their nets, the Owl flew away, screeching: “Trees do not hurry, and still, they grow tall. The waterfalls never rush, and still, they reach the valley. Patience is how the world breathes; it is a virtue.”
Chris wished that his new friend could have stayed longer, but he knew he had to go.
“We’re so sorry!” Park Ranger George said, shining their lights into Chris’s eyes.
“Did you see which way the Owl went?” Park Ranger Scott asked. “We want to keep him safe with us, but he always flies away!”
“He likes to find campers sleeping around the park and wake them up and give them advice,” Park Ranger George said. “He’s a know-it-all.”
The Waitwell family sat in silence, staring at the park rangers. Chris didn’t want to give away Mr. Midnight’s whereabouts. The bird did not belong in a cage, no matter how special he was. It was better for him to be free.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Chris said. “I didn’t see an owl. We were just about to go to sleep.”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Mr. Waitwell said. “Good night!”
The Waitwell family scurried into their tent and zipped it shut.
That night, long after the park rangers drove away, Chris dreamed of moonlight and wings. When he woke, the only sound was the whisper of the river—but he could’ve sworn he heard a soft voice say, “Patience is a virtue.”
He laughed into the dark, knowing Mr. Midnight was out there somewhere, waiting.
The next morning, sunlight poured through the trees. The forest looked calm, ordinary—except for a single feather beside his notebook. Chris tucked it between the pages and listened. Somewhere high above, a faint hoot echoed through the cliffs. He smiled. Somehow, he knew it wouldn’t be the last time he heard from Mr. Midnight.
Copyright 2016 Jennifer Waters
