A Story...

i discovered this little story a few years back in a gardening magazine - it made such an impression on me that i cut it out and kept it ever since, and i'd like to share it. Did not get the author's OK, but i will reproduce the whole article as it was printed and hopefully she will not mind my passing it along....

"The Mouse Who Roared" by Linda E. Rosendahl

The short days and cool October nights had brought out pink buds, like miniature Christmas tree bulbs, on a dozen Christmas cactus plants in my small greenhouse. Touching the soil in one pot, I thought the plants needed a drink of water. Hose in hand, I aimed a generous spray of water into the biggest planter, a ceramic elephant, and out shot-what? Popcorn? Beans?

As the tiny pink things hit the concrete floor, I was horrified to see that they were baby mice. In the weeks since I had watered the plants, field mice had made a nest in one leg of the elephant planter, and now I had destroyed their home and all but drowned the whole family. Flinging the hose out the door, I went to find a small box and and something soft to nest the babies in, hoping that their mother would find them again. Some minutes later, box in hand, I bent to pick up two babies, when something in the corner of the greenhouse caught my eye.

There, standing at her full two-inch height, was the mother field mouse. With her two front paws, she clutched one of her babies to her chest. She looked me straight in the eye. Then she bared her teeth.

We stared at each other for a long moment. She did not blink.

"I'm very sorry," I said.

I set down the box with the two babies in it, then backed out the door and slid it almost shut, leaving just a mouse-sized opening.

All evening I thought about that fierce little mouse, defending her baby against something so unimaginably huge I needed a calculator to figure out that, if I were in her place, I would have been defying a monster nearly 200 feet tall.

Our culture would have us believe that big is best, and that without great power we are of little consequence. That night it did not feel one bit good to be a giant. And I knew that the mouse had more courage that I will ever have. I could only hope that somehow she would find a new nest for her babies, one far away from the huge and powerful.

In the morning, I slid open the door and peered in. Nothing. No pink babies, no fierce protective mother. Just the box.

But the box was empty. During the night, she had managed to carry away her little ones. Had she found a snug, safe place for them? I dared to hope so.

Linda E. Rosendahl, a retired high school teacher and librarian, gardened as a hobby for 40 years before having this close-up encounter with a field mouse. She resides in Swampscott, Massachusetts.

.