"Musings on Nature and Literature"

 

Sydney M. Williams

 

Essays from Essex

“Musings on Nature and Literature”

February 10, 2021

 

“No animal, according to the rules of animal etiquette is ever expected to do anything

strenuous, or heroic, or even moderately active during the off-season of winter.”

                                                                                                                                      Kenneth Grahame (1859-1932)

                                                                                                                                      Wind in the Willows, 1908

 

The rubric above describes Rat, Mole and Badger discussing the most recent smashup of Mr. Toad in his automobile. He was their friend, after all, and shouldn’t friends do something? But it was winter and, as Mr. Grahame wrote, most animals “are weather-bound, more or less; and all are resting from arduous days and nights…” 

 

Of course, not all animals sleep through the winter, or hibernate as the more sophisticated among us would say. And, of course, birds who spend winters in Connecticut must survive harsh winter storms and periods of below freezing temperatures – not easy for creatures whose body temperatures run about 105 degrees Fahrenheit and who must consume between a quarter and a half of their body weight every day. Of course, living within a feathered coat has advantages, but still…A dozen and more birds spend the winters near where we live, including House Finches, House Sparrows, Tufted Titmice, Black-capped Chickadees and at least one Pileated Woodpecker.

 

I was delighted to finally see our Pileated Woodpecker one morning, dining on carpenter ants on a leaf-less tree in a swampy area of the Mud River where a beaver has been harvesting timber. He was beautiful to see. With a body the size of a crow, he was elegantly dressed in a black tuxedo, with white tie and a distinctive red crown, looking like New York’s Cardinal Timothy Dolan, dressed in a black hassock, wearing his red biretta.

 

Still, I worried about the effects of cold weather. The woodpecker wore no scarf, mittens or galoshes. I don’t believe his meal was warmed in an oven or accompanied with a hot toddy. A tendency to anthropomorphize animals dates to my childhood. While I take joy in assigning human traits to the wildlife, there are those who do not. Patricia Ganea, Assistant Professor of Applied Psychology and Human Development at the University of Toronto is one. In an interview with her college newspaper, she said, “…children who have more direct experience with real animals in their daily life may be less influenced in their reasoning by anthropocentric portrayals of animals in books.”  I grew up with animals – horses, goats and chickens, along with the usual assortment of dogs and cats. But I also grew up on a diet of Aesop’s Fables, Beatrix Potter, Thornton W. Burgess, Kenneth Grahame, Hugh Lofting, A.A. Milne, Lewis Carroll, E. B. White and others. I benefitted from real animals, as well as from children’s literature. I have never forgotten Peter Rabbit, Mrs. Bluebird, Toad, Jip, Pooh, the White Rabbit, Charlotte or Stuart Little. 

 

As an adult, I read Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia and returned to Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland. With my grandchildren, I read J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter. In each, besides the pleasure of reading, the purpose is to instruct – to make moral judgments, like learning right from wrong; to appreciate the rewards of hard work and personal responsibility; to understand the value of kindness and to help overcome fear. We are horrified by Gollum and dazzled with talking trees, impressed with Bree and inspired by Aslan, cheered by Humpty Dumpty and amused by the Cheshire Cat and come to understand the wisdom of Hedwig. A reading of George Orwell’s Animal Farm teaches that a revolution may replace an autocrat (the human, Farmer Jones) with a worse dictator (the pig, Napoleon). History is filled with lessons learnt from animals. For example, Robert the Bruce, King of the Scots and defeated six times by the English: Alone in a cave, he watched a spider try to spin her web. Only on her seventh attempt did she succeed. The moral: no matter how hopeless a situation may seem, never give up. Bruce did not; he left the cave and defeated Edward II at the Battle of Bannockburn in June 1314.

 

Animals, both real and imagined, have been part of our fifty-seven-year marriage. We have owned, at some point, one pony, two horses, four goats (one of whom gave birth!), four sheep, a number of pigs and, of course, dogs and cats. With the exception of the pigs, which were raised to be slaughtered, all were given names – the first step toward anthropomorphizing our four-legged friends. Today, we have no animals, but our shelves are filled with books of talking animals, many from our childhoods. And when walking through the woods, we look for those who watch every move we make. Assigning them human traits fuels our imaginations and provides empathy. The chipmunk represents youth as it scurries about; in the deer we observe beauty and grace; the muskrat, as he swims home, reflects domesticity; a silent, snapping turtle is endowed with the wisdom age brings. And the Pileated Woodpecker constitutes common sense, as he concentrates on dinner. In her interview, Professor Ganea added: “Books that portray animals realistically lead to more learning and more accurate biological understanding.” I wonder?

 

Perhaps she is right, but I believe she is the one missing out. True, there are lessons to be learned of a scientific nature, as we walk through our hundred-acre wood: How life evolved over millions of years. We see trees that have stood for a hundred years and more. We note the symbiosis between plant to animal and animal to animal that seems miraculous yet is natural. We observe the adaptability of plants and animals, which Peter Wohlleben described so well in his books The Hidden Life of Trees and The Inner Life of Animals. But there are also lessons to be learned in using one’s imagination and seeing animals and even plants as sentient beings. 

 

Dr. Doolittle was a physician who preferred animal patients to humans. He learned their languages, which provided him a better understanding. He was created by Hugh Lofting during the First World War, so one might argue his stories are escapist. Perhaps, but I believe he wanted us to view animals as capable of having feelings – the affection of a mothers for her young, a sense of loss when a parent or child dies, territorial rights, a realization of pain and suffering. Would knowing the Latin name for the Pileated Woodpecker add to my appreciation, as he hunts for food on a cold winter’s morn? I don’t think so. Professor Ganea may find me lazy and a dilletante, but that’s okay. 

 

So, during these long winter months, I worry about Mr. Toad and empathize with Rat, Mole and Badger. Sitting in my easy chair, sipping hot cocoa, I look out on the stream, swamp, fields and woods where my hibernating friends rest up for the arrival of another spring, and I marvel at their ability to survive, without a book from the Toadstool, a sweater from L.L. Bean, or a hot cup of cocoa.