Many years ago, in the faraway land of India, a great tamarisk tree grew, with wide spreading branches, far over the surface of a great lake, clear, shining, and still. Morning, midday, and evening shone with varying beauty in the lake where the green boughs of the tamarisk waved in the quiet air.
Far up in the very crown of the tamarisk, a mother squirrel built her home. Here the gentle swinging of the branches rocked the baby squirrel’s cradle, so that the little one slept quietly, waiting for the glad day to come when he might frolic through the beautiful green bower as his mother did.
But one day a great storm arose. Away over the sky spread angry clouds. The lake shivered and the sunshine fled from its face. The big tamarisk trembled as the storm struck limb after limb from its strong trunk.
Suddenly the fierce wind hurled the squirrel’s nest from its perch. The frail little home plunged through the air into the raging lake below. There it bobbed up and down on the storm-lashed waves, with the baby squirrel still inside. It would be only a short matter of time before it would sink out of sight.
A great fear struck the heart of the mother squirrel, standing on the lake’s edge, her pouches filled with milky nuts for her little one. No help was near. No great swan, on whose white back she might rescue her slowly sinking child. No kind, strong eagle was near to cleave the storm with his dark pinions to the little squirrel’s side. No kind boy in a strong boat to come to the mother’s aid. Must the mother stand still and see her baby drown? What could she do?
Suddenly the great fear was gone, and a great joy took its place. There was just one thing to be done. Empty the lake of its water and lead her little son to the safe shelter of the friendly bank.
Without an instant’s delay, the mother squirrel set to work. Into the lake she plunged, soaked her long feathery tail in the water, climbed out, ran to the crest of a little hill, squeezed out the water on its further side, then back to repeat the work, over, and over, and over.
While the mother wrought this with all her soul and with all her might, the great Father looked down with joy to see this faithful mother do all she could to save her child. Swift as a flash of lightning went forth the command to an angel to help the mother and save the child. Like a gleam of sunshine, he flew to obey. Like a flash of light, the little wet clinging squirrel was restored to its rejoicing mother, who had done everything in her little power to accomplish the miracle that the angel had been sent to assist in. But whether the angel was the white swan, or the black eagle, or a kindhearted lad with a friendly boat, I do not know.
A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends desert us; when trouble thickens around us, still she will cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts. –Washington Irving
Have an AWE-full Mother’s Day Weekend!
William “Bill” Bacque