Grandmother’s wisdom and gratitude
In the beginning, Turtle had no shell. She was born very, very old and very, very wise. She didn’t mind that she was ancient at birth, because she was happy. Her face was freckled with age, and her eyes had cataracts, so she couldn’t see. She walked upright, but slowly, using a cane that warned her if anything was in her path. All the animals called her Grandmother and loved her for her wisdom and knowledge. No animal ever thought of harming her. In fact, each animal, in turn, invited Grandmother to spend the night, sharing their home and their food. Grandmother had no home of her own, and she was too old to build one. It was considered a great honour to have her visit.
Grandmother Turtle knew more stories than any other animal. She was very good at telling them, too, because she’d lived so long and had told them so many times. In exchange for the sharing of their homes and their food, she would tell the other animals stories. She had a wonderful life, though she had nothing of her own and was very vulnerable in the world.
Grandmother knew a very big truth. She knew that no one really owned anything. It all belonged to the One that created All. This truth made her more grateful than any other animal on Earth. It’s a wondrous thing to feel grateful for having nothing!
Good times with other creatures
Grandmother spent her days on the banks of lazy rivers or on the shores of pristine lakes. If it was a fine sunny day, she’d find a rock and sit for hours, basking in her memories. She would think of how Eagle had come to take her to her aerie on the high cliffs above the forest. Because of this trip, Grandmother knew firsthand the glory of wings, the exaltation of flight. She knew how the wind would pull upward while Eagle settled down, and had thrilled at the firmament that feathers can provide. She couldn’t see, but had felt, with every cell in her body, the escape from gravity that is flight. She’d known the hospitality of down, the warmth of living in the clouds.
Grandmother thought of Otter, playful acrobat of the river. Otter flew through water like Eagle flew through air. But water made children of even the very old. Otter weaved and whirled, spiralled and vaulted, in a never-ending game. Grandmother had held onto him and felt the freedom of frolic, the liberation of gamboling and the rejuvenating joy of merry kinship. She’d slept in the otters’ burrows and dreamed of rivers. In the morning, as her otter friends had slept, a cloud of lacewings could be heard rising from the river’s skin. Grandmother had smiled as the sun turned them into a crystal cathedral, rising higher and higher like a clear voice heard in a silent prayer. She could not see this, of course, but felt the delicate tatting that are these birds’ wings, and thought of angels.
Grandmother had slept among the wolves, too, in between pup and she-wolf. She’d breathed in the intoxicating smell of milk that seemed to come out of every pore of the blessed whelps. Grandmother loved to watch them play at being fierce, their snarls turning into fits of laughter, their worries yet to come. She’d heard the Wolf Clan sing, lonesome, foreign and forlorn, to the moon above their heads. This stirred in her the yearning for fast legs and the freedom of wild things.
Grandmother knew love, in all the ways it shows itself, throughout her time spent with all the animal Clans. She’d loved them all back, with the ancient understanding of how quickly the world changes rocks to sand and trees to dust. Her love was brave because she’d seen both life and its twin, death. So, Grandmother loved with a broken heart that had been mended over and over by time itself. In truth, she loved the other animals from a depth that transcended all of her sadness, and she’d been made beautiful on account of it.
One solitary night
There was no real structure to who would come for Grandmother. It just so happened that she was never without a place to go. Night after night, some animal of the Earth or sky would be moved to find her and invite her home. This was as natural as the sun rising and setting, or the tides ebbing and flowing. After all, the moon doesn’t require a schedule to know when it’s time to wax or wane!
However, one night, no one came. Grandmother wasn’t hurt by this, but she was surprised, like someone would be if, suddenly, the grass stopped turning green in the spring. Grandmother was never very hungry anymore, though. She had outlived that kind of appetite. She found a patch of soft moss underneath a large oak tree, pulled the leaves on the ground nearby around and over her body, and fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.
Dawn crept up on night and surprised it, as it always does. A line of light on the horizon turned the colour of a late autumn rose before spreading itself quite thin and becoming a blush of its former promise. The early bird hopped from dew-damp blade to slippery leaf in search of a blissfully ignorant breakfast. It heard a sound beneath a pile of haphazard leaves and struck quickly with its bill. Grandmother, startled and a little hurt, sat upright in the pile and nearly killed the bird with astonishment. “Grandmother!” the bird exclaimed. “Why do you sleep alone? Whose home is this?” The bird was really quite upset at having pecked Grandmother, and wanted to find the culprit who’d put her at risk.
Grandmother saw how upset the little bird was and wished to alleviate its concern. “I made this bed myself,” she said. “I seem to have made it in a poor place. I’m sorry, friend.”
With this, she didn’t get the desired result. The bird became quite animated and began hopping about screaming, “Grandmother slept alone! Grandmother slept alone!”
“Shhh,” said Grandmother. “Don’t make such a fuss. I’m fine, and slept quite well.”
“Grandmother slept alone! Grandmother slept alone!” The little bird seemed to get more and more upset. It fluttered from branch to branch, screaming this mantra until every creature, both those of the night and those of the day, were aware that something very strange had occurred. From den and burrow, nest and cave, all the animals crept into the morning light and realized that the World had changed yet again. No one had been called to protect their Grandmother, and that had never, ever happened before!
Grandmother was extremely sorry to have caused such a stir. She knew the World was changing. She was old enough to have recognized the signs. Still, it had surprised her. It’s very possible to know that something will someday happen, and still be shocked when it finally does. “Please,” she said to the others, “I’m fine. You’ve all been so careful and loving with me. I’ve built a wonderful house of memories which kept me quite warm last night. The World is always new and different—we just don’t very often notice. Let’s rejoice in knowing that however the World expresses itself in change, love always remains a constant.”
A home for the beloved Grandmother
As Grandmother spoke, the animals couldn’t hear her. They were too busy trying to decide what to do to ensure that she’d never be so defenseless and vulnerable again. It was Beaver who suggested they build her a home.
What kind of home would be best for Grandmother? She couldn’t have a home in the trees, because someone would have to remember to take her there. She’d have to find her home if it was underground like the Rabbit Clan’s, and that would be next to impossible, since she was blind. Finally, a tiny voice suggested that they build a home that Grandmother could carry with her wherever she went. It was Snail. “Of course, that’s perfect!” They all agreed.
Grandmother listened to all the commotion and realized how much she was loved. All these wonderful creatures had shared their lives with her, and now they were going to give her the greatest gift. They were going to build her a prison so that she would always be safe. She wanted to refuse it, but the World had changed. It was correct to accept this gift for what it was: love in the form of security. She didn’t want to trade the freedom she’d felt in Eagle’s nest and Otter’s run for this. But Time wasn’t asking her permission.
Grandmother Turtle was very, very old and very, very wise. She smiled when her friends brought her a shell. She nodded when they explained that she’d have to walk on all fours, but that she’d never again be without a home. She put on the armour that they’d crafted out of concern and love, and kissed them all in turn.
It’s a wonder-filled thing to feel grateful for a jail with bars made of care. It’s a blessing to be old enough to recognize love, even when it comes in this form. Grandmother Turtle now lives lightly on the Earth, carrying the love of all the creatures of sea, sky, and land on her back.
Kathy lives in the Midwest (U.S.) with her significant other, their four horses, three dogs and a sweet old cat. In between feeding and vacuuming, she writes.
