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| Grasshopper at dawn. |
When I was growing up, my parents repeated a handful of fables to us as moral lessons routinely, but my father more than most. He loves slogans, sayings, homilies, quotes, and clichés, so much so, he puts his favorite ones on mugs, plaques, t-shirts, whatever.
But no matter how many times he repeated the story of the grasshopper and the ant, the moral of the story was always the same: be like the ant, not the grasshopper. It became so well-worn with time, that now all he has to do is repeat the shorthand version of it, as we say it back to him with our eyes rolling: "Be the ant, not the grasshopper." That's training for you!
And, of course, I took to children's literature like a future publisher takes to books, which means I absorbed it like it was my second skin, so tightly woven with my own personal history, that it has become intertwined with the fabric of who I am through the daily practice of it.
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| Grasshopper in morning light. |
Now, as it grows colder and darker, the fruits of our labor take on even greater importance. Those of us from northern climates know that particularly, down to our very DNA: work hard, because winter is coming. Our animals fatten up every August and September, because that's exactly what every snow dog I've ever had does instinctively.
It was just one of the many things I thought about this morning when I first saw this lingering grasshopper in the dark light of dawn, because I was already up at 6:30 a.m., (before the alarm I set the night prior goes off, because I've trained myself to do that, so as not to disturb the rest of the household), placing our county receptacles by the curb for recycling pick up. Work, work, work, and then work some more, and always give back. That's what real communities do to make it through the tough times. À bientôt!
