The other day I drove to work on one of those humid summer mornings when
the heat and dampness combine to blanket the atmosphere with a fog-like
shroud.
It was out of this shroud that a mother turkey
stepped from the bushes at the side of the road. I need new brakes on my
truck, so believe me that was one lucky turkey. As I sat waiting for her
to go on her merry way, out of the bushes came one, two, three, four,
five little turkeys waddling after mom, military fashion in a line as
straight as can be.
Sam told me that one evening as he was riding his
bike, he saw something crossing the road ahead. Being the inquisitive
person that he is, he peddled faster to get close enough to see what
kind of animals they were. He said it was a dog with three puppies
trailing behind. But by his description, I rather think that it may have
been one of the coyotes that are quickly making South Jersey their home
and have been sighted recently in the area. Have you heard them howling
at night yet?
Look
among the farm fields at dusk and you’re bound to see deer grazing,
nibbling at the produce that the farmers should be marketing. Look
closer, as I have, and see the tiny ears of spotted young ones poking
out from the vegetable bushes not too far from mom.
And so I’ve been thinking about mothers, both human
and animal. About how when the children are small, they’re always
following somewhere close behind. When they’re not following, they’re
either attached to your hip or clinging to your leg. They follow, they
watch and they learn from mom. And when they’re small, how very much
they need you.
Obviously, in the wild kingdom, childhood races by
very quickly. After watching mom for a time, they are off on their own
in just a very short while.
On the other hand, human children have much more to
learn besides just survival tactics, especially in today’s world. And
the requirement to attend at least twelve years of school guarantees
that they will be around for at least eighteen years, or until they get
their driver’s license at the very least. Thankfully, they are only
attached to your leg, or your hip, for maybe only five or so of those
years. But they still need you. Even though they won’t admit it, they
do.
While the mothers of the animal kingdom have gone
about their merry way, birthing and raising many different batches of
children, human mothers reach the time when their nest becomes empty.
And for a time, they may be lonely. But soon, there will probably be
grandchildren once again hanging onto their legs. And as age progresses,
sometimes situations reverse. Mom is no longer the one leading the
flock, but rather the one following slowly behind.
As these thoughts raced through my mind on that fog
shrouded morning, I allowed myself just a few fleeting memories, of the
children that once graced my hip and leg, and followed closely behind.
