Moms and Chicks

I find myself often fondling memories from my distant past, thus fulfilling the stereotype of little old ladies immersed in their memories.   But as someone said: "The reason we have memories is to be able to smell the roses in winter."

At lunch today we discussed my friend Alma's wonderful short story about a mother and her child confronting a scary situation.  We spoke of  how children take their clues as to the appropriate emotion from the mother's feelings and the iconic image of  a handful of little children behind, beside and under Mom's skirts.

On returning home I recovered the single memory I have of understanding my mother was very afraid.  I think I was about six and my brother about two when this happened. We were playing someplace in the house and suddenly there was a terrible noise. Suddenly our mother swooped the three of us under the kitchen stove. (This was the old type gas stove with burners and oven elevated on legs.)

As the noise diminished there was a loud explosion and then silence.  A small airplane had crashed in the neighborhood.

In an instant Mother had selected the absolute safest spot in the house should the plane have fallen on us.  You know Mother had never sat around figuring out what to do if an airplane was about to fall on the house.  But she automatically knew when confronted with the prospect.

How wonderful this seemingly magical knowledge living things just have, especially when there are young around to be protected and cared for.  It is the space for children to grow themselves and also where the children learn how to be human, or ducks or whatever.

Recently on one of the cable channels there was a story of a ten year old boy trying to live on the charity of his Afghan village community.  He had been expelled from his home by his father. I thought then and do know; that is a culture in profound decay.

Today an addition to the volumes of cross species tending the young was on the news.  A female dog adopting an orphaned baby pig.  Not just letting it suckle, but carrying it around with her!

There is something terribly wrong when those traits are absent. It takes a lot of deprivation and or terror to undo them.