Feathered and furry madonnas: nurturing lessons from nature's mothers

It is spring in the Rockies. The aspens are budding, and the buffalo herd that grazes down the road includes tottering red calves with noses like old, bent boots. Magpie fledglings caterwaul from their nests of broken twigs and horse, hair. And by the river, the cow moose is shadowed by a gangly, miniature version of herself. We general think of springtime as the seasonal celebration of birth and babies, but spring is truly the season of the mother.

Following the long dark winter, I witness vignettes of the maternal soul in action on my farm. These tender dramas always seem to begin with birds. Our Black Silkie Banty hen starts tending her clutch of eggs in late February. Always, her dedication amazes me: Three weeks of devoted sitting with a very few very moments away each day to snatch a mouthful of corn and a sip of water. So patiently she waits, trusting an inner call that promises life. A day or two before the eggs are ready to hatch, the Silkie begins a tender "cluck-cluck" to her brood. "Soon, soon," she seems to say to her yet-unborn chicks, like any proud, expectant mother would.

The actual hatching process takes up to two days. Emerging, finally, cotton soft and colored like river stones, each new chick is a bundle of life and promise, a blessing to the hen for her maternal gifts of patience and dedication.

So patient and dedicated is she to shepherding new life that whatever appears beneath her small feathered bosom is tended lovingly and completely with no concern for breed or bloodlines. I have even placed duck eggs beneath that hen, and never has she protested. In the confines of that tattered henhouse, I am reminded again and again of the rare quality of unconditional acceptance--the epitome of Motherhood.

Around the henhouse, other mother dioramas unfold. Nesting robins, magpies and jays bombard my dog and cats for daring to venture too near. As I watch a magpie chase off a hungry gray fox, I remember that mothering isn't only about soft murmurs and caresses. Mothering is about courage: mighty, determined, death-defying.

Native storyteller Joseph Bruchac speculates that animals are perhaps wiser than we are and that "a bear never forgets that it is a bear, yet human beings often forget what a human must do. Humans forget to take care of their families...." Perhaps we would benefit from a refresher course about the maternal soul and the deeper meanings of nurturing. There is no better season than spring to celebrate the mother. And no better teachers than our feathered and furry Madonnas.

Susan Chelnark McElroy is the best-selling author of Animals as Teachers and Healers: True Stories and Reflections (Ballantine, 1997). Her work explores the sacredness and importance of our relationships with the animal kingdom. If you would like to share you own animal story, or if you would like information on McElroy's seminars, audio tapes or her quarterly newsletter, please write to her Brightstar Farm, P.O. Box 82265, Portland, OR 97282-0265. Include a self-addressed stamped envelope.

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