Here is a short story that has sat in my mind for many years. I hope you like it!

A Mother & Father

The mother nuzzled here little ones, counting each to ensure all were safe and well. Never had her heart been so full. Never had her purpose been so clear. These were her legacy. These were her responsibility. She would do all in her power to care for, protect, teach, and rear them to be the best they could be. An unbroken line of ancestors now seemed incredibly fragile as she watched each little one wiggle around and cuddle up next to her.

Soon each settled down and fell peacefully asleep. She scraped the fine fibers of bark and dry leaves she had gathered in preparation for their arrival onto their backs to help keep them warm. Quickly she darted out of the home she had secured and set about searching for food to bring home to her little ones. They would be hungry upon awaking and she would fulfill her motherly responsibility.

And so, the days passed. Each little offspring growing and developing. Instincts, vital for their survival, started to express themselves. They would wrestle and play which built flexibility, agility, and strength.

The nest so carefully cleaned and restocked with fresh bark fibers and leaves by the mother was her pride and joy. From time to time, she would return to find her children poking their little noses out of the hole of their home. They were getting curious of the world beyond the confines of home. But they were still too small to make it on their own and new nothing of the dangers that lurked on the ground and in the air.

Their home was well protected from such dangers. A solid smooth stone arced around in a horizontal circle. An inch or two from the stone was a smooth cool substance that mirrored the arc of the stone. The gap between the two provided plenty of space to run around and around. Her children had even started to wedge themselves up between the two. The space was snug, but warm.

A bonus of this location was that the smooth cool substance bent up and over the top of the stone. This made their little tunnel quite dark, but it made sure no predators could get to her precious little children. The mother also liked that the hole into their home led out into a circular space that was lined by the cool smooth substance, creating a natural enclosure that would keep her children safe, for they were too small to jump over the barrier. Therefore, the mother knew she would never lose a child to wandering. She herself, was strong enough to make the leap over the barrier and thus able to go about and find food for her dear children.

One reason why the mother had chosen this location is because it frequently had food from other creatures who frequented the area. They always seemed to leave behind grains, fruits, vegetables, and other edible options that the mother had never found to be produced by the forest.

And so, the days passed. Each child growing. The mother growing in affection for each, despite their uncanny ability to test her patience. But she dutifully cleaned the home, nuzzled her children, and savored each moment with them.

--+--

“It’s too early to go home,” said the little boy. Though he had only been on a few father’s and son’s overnight camping trips they had become one of his favorite experiences. He looked forward to this outing each summer. The anticipation for the arrival of the trip was more than his little body could hold. He would jump and run, shout and wiggle, unable to contain the excitement. Though fun to watch, this made the father and his two older brothers responsible for getting everything ready for departure.

Upon arrival at the predetermined location, the little brother’s excitement quelled by the small space of the car and the long drive to reach their destination, exploded into the wide-open space of the forest. In not time the tent was pitched, the camp chairs set up, and dinner was cooking. The savory aroma of meat, carrots, onions, and potatoes roasting inside a carefully wrapped tinfoil bundle that was banked into a simmering pile of red-hot coals.

Other fathers and their children arrived. Each group setting up their own little camp base and starting their own dinners. Conversations between the adults ensured. Children raced around playing a myriad of games by moon light such as hide and seek and steal the flag. Board games were spread across camp tables. Laughter and smiles abounded. The occasional cries of little kids having tripped in the dark and face planted in the dirt was followed by a father running to see what happened. The medical prognosis simply deemed a good dusting off, a pat on the head, and encouragement to go back to the game.

Memories were made moment by moment. The moon made its way across a star strewn sky. Eventually lanterns were turned off and everyone made their way to their tents. Soon all was quite with only the sound of the breeze lazily making its way through the trees. Now and then, that calming sound was accompanied by the rustle of small feet scurrying about the tables and chairs of camp.

--+--

A true smorgasbord!

The mother, having learned to watch these strange creatures from a hidden location, had become adept in knowing which creatures provided food and which ones did not. Some had blue, red, or orange containers out of which all their food came. They carefully placed all the food on a table, ate, and then carefully cleaned it all up and put it back in the containers. These the mother knew never provided opportunity for her family. Then there were others, who were less careful. Food crumbs would fall to the ground, a plate would spill, or food tossed between creatures who sought to catch the morsels in their mouths. More often than not these thrown snacks landed on the ground. These creatures, the mother knew, gave plentifully to her and her children.

When the camp became quiet the mother moved in. She raced from place to place, filling her cheeks with the abundance to be found. Though it was dark, and the noises of the strange creatures indicated they were all within their walled structures, the mother kept her senses on full alert. Her children, though almost old enough to venture out beyond their home, still relied on her for their wellbeing.

Tonight, they would eat a truly magnificent feast!

--+--

“But we didn’t eat the s’mores last night, can’t we make some before we go home?” asked the little boy.

“Smart,” thought the father. Indeed, they had not had s’mores the night before. He conceded to his son, delighted that the experience was one his son did not want to have end.

“Very well,” the father replied. “But before we do, we need to get our tent down and camp cleaned up. We need to be out of this spot by 11:00.”

The little boy, his two brothers, and their father all set about rolling sleeping bags, taking down the tent, folding it, and putting everything carefully in the car.

“Okay, everyone in the car,” said the father.

“But you said we could make s’mores,” said the little boy.

“We will but we need to go to another campsite that is not reserved.”

They all piled into the car and drove the twenty seconds to the adjacent campsite. Before the car’s engine was turned off the boys leapt out of the car searching for dry sticks and branches to help build the fire.

The father turned off the engine and then gathered fine bark fibers and little twigs for kindling. Over to the fire pit they went. Kindling was placed in the middle, small twigs angled on top of it, with thinner branches on top of those, and finally some medium sized branches that had been broken in half, so they would fit within the confines of the pit. A single match was lit, its delicate flame set to the fine kindling. The fibers caught the flame and the father softly blew it softly providing the oxygen needed to expand the flam to the other twigs and branches.

Soon the flames turned the wood to coals. More wood was added and soon a delightful bed of coals was spread out. Roasting sticks were topped with white marshmallows and the careful cooking of the delicacies was begun. The little brother got his to burst into a burning flame in not time, raising it quickly to blow out the fire. He looked dejectedly at his two brothers who never seemed to burn their marshmallows, but rather turned them just right so that the white was replaced by a perfect golden brown. These were then squished between two graham crackers and a layer of chocolate. How delicious they were!

Round two was under way, when the older brother asked, “Do you hear that?”

--+--

The mother and her children had slept in, being completely stuffed from the feast the night before. She looked at each child and smiled. It would only be a few more days before her kids were big enough to go out with her for the first time to experience the forest. They were just waking up and their delightful little eyes looked at her questioning where breakfast was. Oh, how much they eat. Despite all the food from the night before they were ready for more.

The mother went to the hole of their home and stopped. Instinct told her to hold still and observe. In the center of their little enclosure was a strange little heap of wood. Then she noticed one of the creatures, its shadow fell across the hole of her home. The creature had a little piece of wood with a strange flickering light atop it. He bent down and placed the light in the heap of wood and then blew on it.

Soon the light had grown, and the mother could feel heat from it upon her nose. She backed into her home and felt the cool of the stone behind her. She turned and went back to her children who had managed to go back sleep. She lay down with them. Breakfast can wait.

The smooth cool substance no longer felt cool, its temperature had increased noticeably. Indeed, it did not feel good at all. Something was wrong. The mother looked at her children, who had all awakened and were looking at her. One and wiggled around and touched the smooth cool substance, but instantly jumped as far away from it as possible. The fine bark fibers and dry leaves were putting off a smoke which filled the mother’s nose and warned of danger.

Then shockingly the light she has seen in the heap of the wood in their enclosure jumped onto some of the leaves in their nest. Quickly she moved her children toward the door of their home. She was nervous and she could see concern in the eyes of her children. It was hot, far too hot and smoke was all around them.

--+--

“What noise?” asked the second brother.

“I don’t know it sounds like a squeaking sound,” said the older brother.

Everyone stopped and listened.

There was the small popping sound from the small branches burning in the fire, but nothing else. Then they all heard a high-pitched squeak.

“I think it is in the fire ring,” said the older brother.

Each peered at the fire ring looking to see if they could identify where the sound came from. They noticed the circular cement pad and the metal ring that protected it against the heat of the fire.

Then from a small hole within the fire ring rushed three small mice. Disoriented by the heat, each ran straight into the center of the fire, disturbing coals and causing the mostly burnt wood to collapse on top of them.

Stunned the three brothers gazed unblinking at the fire.

“Daad,” said the oldest one, drawing out the appellation as if not sure what to say. But any words that were intended to follow were cut short.

Two more mice jumped out of the hole. One ran to the center of the fire and was lost. The other had turned upon exciting the hole running across the bed of coals. It tried to climb up the metal ring, but could get no traction, it ran a little further along the coals and tried again to climb out. By now the heat had taken its toll and the mouse could no longer walk properly. It slowed and lay down.

The older brother quickly took a stick and pushed the mouse into the center of the fire.

His two bewildered brothers looking at him not knowing what to say.

“I didn’t want it to suffer,” said the brother.

“What happened?” asked the father who had been at the car getting some water for everyone to drink.

“Five mice just ran out of that hole into the fire,” said the older brother.

Noticing the dismay in the expression of his kids and the scent of burnt flesh. The father said, “We’re done with s’mores. Let’s clean up and be on our way.”

The boys obeyed, the desire for s’mores having completely fled.

The fire was allowed to burn until the last moment. A little ceremony for the fragility and beauty of life was led by the father as the flames and coals were doused in water.

The father and his sons got into the car, buckled their seat belts, and drove home.

--+--

Within the gap, between cement and metal ring, a memory lives of a mother and her devotion to her children. Of happy moments together. Of love and tenderness. Of hopes and dreams.

Life is Precious

All life is a wonderful gift. Life will do its best to survive. It wants to fulfill the measure of its existence. I believe if we respect life, in all its various sizes and diversity, our character is enhanced and we are able to connect with the beauty around us in meaningful ways. Inevitably tragedy occurs and we will experience the extinguishing of mortal life. We must deal with that the best we can and in the most respectful way we can. But let us always seek to honor life and the blessing that it is. For life is precious and a most glorious gift.