From City to Mountains; Answering the CallYou wouldn’t think that I would have to dig very deep to think of the things my mom taught me, but I do, and there you have it.
My mom was not a bad mom, she was a very good mom I suppose. But, my mom died in a car accident when I was 17 years old and so our relationship never transitioned to being friends. In my memories, my mom is frozen in time and I still see her through a bratty know-it-all teenager’s eyes. So I do have to dig deep most times to think of the great things she taught me.
The first thing I thought of though, was that she taught me it’s ok to appreciate the little things. She never had her driver’s license until the summer I got mine so we walked everywhere. There was a little store a couple blocks away that we’d walk to for groceries. She never fussed if we’d stop to watch a caterpillar cross the sidewalk. She didn’t fuss when we just had to pet that dog that was being walked. She helped us save the poor worms that were stuck on the sidewalk after a rain. She didn’t care if we detoured a little to pet the new kittens that were being given away or to smell the lilacs and other new flowers that were blooming. She let us be kids and she waited ever so patiently and tried to teach us about the things we experienced on our walks.
She taught me to be present. When we’d go to the mountains we’d always fish. That was really the only reason to go, or so my dad thought. My mom would fish sometimes. Sometimes she’d hike with me. Sometimes she’d sit in the camping chair and read or do word puzzles on the shore. She didn’t have to do the same thing everyone else was doing, she was there, she was present. She’d talk to us and listen to our conversations. When she hiked with me she just let me talk or we could be totally silent, but I knew she was there. She didn’t tell us she wished she was somewhere else or there were other things she could, or maybe, should be doing. She was present with us no matter what we were doing.
She taught me my love of animals. My parents were very opposite on their views of animals. My dad came from a farm where the philosophy was that animals work for us and provide us food. If they can’t perform what they are supposed to, you did away with them. My mom also came from a farm. Her parents did the same things my dad’s did on the farm. I’m not saying farmers and ranchers like to kill animals, I’m saying that the animals are viewed differently there.
My mom’s philosophy was very different. She loved animals! She didn’t want to see them killed and she didn’t want to eat ones that she knew personally.
My dad would hunt and she’d cook the meat. We’d raise animals on someone else’s land because we lived in the city and dad would have them butchered and she’d cook that meat. She was by no means a vegetarian but she didn’t want to be involved with butchering of the animals that she knew.
Every once in awhile my dad would bring something home for us to take care of. One time it was a black lamb named Lambchop. I don’t know if my mom was in on this new acquisition before he brought it home, but we did take care of it for awhile. When it got big enough it would butt my brother or I and she was afraid we’d get hurt. My dad was going to have it butchered. In only one of the few times that I remember, my very small meek mother told my dad in no uncertain terms that he would not be butchering Lambchop. I’m not sure if a fight ensued but my very stubborn dad ended up taking that lamb to the auction instead and we didn’t have Lamb chop(s) for dinner.
She was always there for me, I just never saw it for what it was. It wasn’t obligation, it was love. I’ve tried to live as she taught me even with out realizing what she’s taught me. I know I’ve failed in many ways, just ask my kids. I do know that I love, though and that, I guess, is the most important thing my mom taught me.
