The Malvern Mint Relief Program

Once again, a letter to my little people who are far away for summer:

Dear Children:

I hope this finds you bright eyed and bushy tailed today. And speaking of bushy tails, I have the latest news from Malvern Gardens. Since Chester started visiting with Portia, and hence sharing mint leaves with her, word has spread rapidly through the Malvern Rabbit Association of our mint plot in the garden. Mint has been such a rare commodity this year that even the ladies of the neighborhood commented on the difficulty of procuring it from our local grocers, so you can imagine the excitement that occurred when the rabbits learned we grew quite a bit.


At first, there was just one rabbit outside in the front yard at midnight. I did not think much about it, because we always have rabbits, but he was wearing a bit of a wistful expression. He seemed to pine for something. Seeing how late it was, I shut the curtains and decided to ignore his presence, but the next night he brought a friend. They stared at the house, whispered to each other, and seemed to be trying to work up the courage to approach. On the night that there were three rabbits skittering about the front yard, I descended the stairs in my nightie, opened the door, and informed them politely to go home before they woke Chester. One rabbit bravely piped up and asked if it was indeed true that we held the largest and most thriving mint garden in Malvern. I said yes, but that at midnight, I was not willing to discuss it further.

Well, you know what happened—maybe Chester called you to tell it himself. On the fourth night, there were four rabbits, six chipmunks, a toothfairy, five bees, three beavers (yes, we have those), a fawn, and an entire family of raccoons. It was so loud out there, I called the president of the MRA and said something must be done about this.

The MRA president organized a meeting with the neighborhood critters. Yesterday, we all gathered in the alley by the back fence and explained that while we would be willing to share, we cannot have a neighborhood disturbance, and that really, the problem lay in creating a further shortage. Why not, I suggested, disperse whole mint stalks with roots to the heads of families so that they can grow their own? Mint does reproduce rapidly, but were we to feed everyone there, our supply would have been decimated to the point of pulling the last mint plant and thus having none for next year. So next week, one critter per family will come and receive a stalk or two with planting instructions. We might have to do this every couple of weeks while our own supply replenishes in order to continue the effort.

Chester thought it was brilliant and absolutely unselfish. His own efforts to coordinate this massive mint relief have earned him a special place among the MRA members. Portia thinks him as dear as ever and rumors have started that the two may wed next spring (a couple should always court four full seasons before marriage).

Love to you both. Care for each other. See you soon.

Mommy

Bandaids and Fables

Sometimes, when a child gets a boo boo, the ouchie moment turns into sweetness as an extra opportunity to nurture and soothe.


This morning, before school, my daughter tripped on the concrete walk that runs through the backyard. She came down so hard that her feet flew up behind her. I anticipate her having a back ache from this, but at least she did not hit her head. I escorted her gently back into the house to find that both hands (one in particular) and both knees were sufficiently torn and bleeding. Eight bandaids later, she went cheerfully to school talking about the story I had told her while cleaning her wounds. At age 10, a good story will still distract her enough from pain to stop crying.

You see, the whole thing is really the fault of the chipmunks. There is a pair of them that sometimes play chase in the morning, and one of them was not looking at all where he was running. He bolted right into my daughter’s path. In one horrible split second, she made a life-altering choice—either continue to step and thus risk pinning the chipmunk by his tail to the sidewalk (and a crushed tail would be devastating to these little critters) or stop short and risk her own fall.

Alas, the girl fell, but the chipmunk was able to dart to safety and watch with great shock and sorrow as his beloved caretaker (she does mind the critters of the garden, at least in spirit) took a nose dive onto the unforgiving concrete path. All the garden held its breath as my daughter’s hands broke her fall. When she rose from all fours, the rabbits and chipmunks poked their noses in her direction and whispered well-wishes into her ears. Even the birds sung songs of encouragement, but I think our darling was too surprised and hurt to notice.

When I was little, my father told me stories, too. And now that I have children, my mother tells my daughter stories. I love that the tradition is being passed to my children. I hope with it comes the remembrance of the sweeter things: tenderness exchanged over scraped knees and a time when childhood still could be magical.