Guardian of the Miniature and Insignificant

That’s a title bestowed upon a main character in the first novel I wrote, fourteen years ago, titled “The 12/59 Shuttle from Yesterday to Today,” and although it is whimsical and a bit tongue-in-cheek, it has some significance to me.

I was walking through the pasture yesterday, heading for the chicken coop, intent on some upcoming chore, when I looked down at the ground upon which I was walking and spied little purple flowers all around me.  Saying “little purple flowers” might be giving them more credit for growth than they deserved. They truly were miniature compared to the illustrious beauties you see in gardens around the world, so tiny you barely noticed them even when looking for them.

It was time for an investigation. I got down on my hands and knees, lowered my head, and got a close-up look at them, and by the gods they were absolutely beautiful in their delicate appearance. The subtle shade of purple, possibly lilac, depending upon the angle of the sun, the petals so delicate, little clusters begging to be seen and appreciated.

Continuing on with my chore, I arrived at the baby goat enclosure, affectionately called The Cuddle Barn, and there I was greeted by twenty one-week olds, all bouncy, bundles of bliss, seeking my attention, hopping up, nudging, wanting nothing more than a friendly pat on the head, to hold them, to share that bond so special between man and animal, and a smile broke out across my craggy face, impossible to be in a bad mood around them, instant mood elevators, each and every one of them.

That “chore” completed, I made my way to the chicken enclosure where the two-week old chicks were enjoying a romp and exploration of their new digs, all chirpy and cheery, inquisitiveness with feathers, and I was struck by how similar all “children” are in that first stage of life, the world seeming to be a place of infinite wonder, just as it is for a human baby.

And, as is my norm, a dark cloud covered my mind for a moment, somehow took me to Rachel Carson and her groundbreaking book, “Silent Spring,” and how she warned the world sixty years ago about pesticides, and how products like Round Up are still sold, all to kill the pesky pests and allow homeowner to have green lawns, lawns without delicate purple flowers, and to have perfect vegetables, depleted of nutrients, and I swear there are days when I wonder why man is considered the king of the animal world.  Certainly not because of intelligence!

The dark cloud lifted, the walk continued, visiting the horses, the peacocks strutting by, the guinea fowl in search of sustenance, my faithful dog, Maggie, close by, a juvenile bald eagle overhead, sparrows and swallow doing their acrobatic thing, and God Almighty, a reason to rejoice, the Monarchs have returned, evidence right in front of me, on a bush, and next to it a ladybug, and how can you possible be in a bad mood when confronted by a Monarch and sidekick ladybug?

I don’t need to travel constantly to see wonders.  I simply need to be aware of my surroundings and make sure I’m not stepping on some of them, or make sure I’m not too busy to notice the thousands of others all around me.  But what do I know? I’m just a bear of very little brain.