My Summer with the Old Man

Photo: Vicki DeLoach

Nope, the "old man" is not my dad. Nor is it my husband, in case you were wondering. I'm referring to the old man in this poem by Joseph Bruchac.

BIRDFOOT'S GRAMPA

The old man
must have stopped our car
two dozen times to climb out
and gather into his hands
the small toads blinded
by our lights and leaping,
live drops of rain.

Read the rest HERE.  (I'll wait.)


It's a wonderful poem, isn't it?

I've been thinking about it a lot over the course of my crazy-busy summer. Not only do I identify with Birdfoot's impatience, I also feel kinship with those little toads—hopping in one direction or another, only to be stunned and confused when something throws them off course. I'd like to say that I identify with the old man most of all, but that's a stretch. I'm definitely not there yet... though I may be a hop, skip, and jump closer.

This summer I was a full-time toad multitasker—one might even say "amphidextrous" (wink). There was the Teacher Toad, who conducted several different poetry workshops; the Traveler Toad, who found her way to the Berkshires for a reunion and to Atlanta for a college visit; the Mom Toad who held things together back at the homestead; the Chauffeur Toad, who is often mistaken for the Mom Toad; the Conference Toad who had a taste of her first ILA experience; the Editor Toad, who, with the invaluable assistance of a Toadlet Ditty Committee, got the next volume of the The Best of Today's Little Ditty under way; the Friend Toad and Daughter Toad, who made themselves available with limited success; and the runt of the lot—the self-starter Poet Toad—who, more than anything, is well-practiced in the art of patience.

It's a lot to manage, all those hoppity-hoppers. Is it any wonder that the littlest ones get ignored? Until this summer, my modus operandi was to spend an inordinate amount of time juggling time and priorities, ever hopeful that I could find a way to have it all. Of course, it never worked. Outrageous expectations breed disappointment. Period.

But thanks to the old man, I'm beginning to see things another way. Who's to say that any one of these toads doesn't deserve a leathery hand and a fast track to greener pastures. No one fancies being squished when there are places to go and things to do. Priorities change, yes, but that doesn't make one goal more deserving than another.

Photo: Peter Reed

So guess what? I've decided it's okay to take my time. To watch for toads in the road. To explore new opportunities "knee deep in the summer/roadside grass." To carry life in the palm of my hand.

If there's one thing we've learned from current events, it's that life is unpredictable. Predictably unpredictable, in fact. Far more important to me right now is the desire to be present and resilient than the desire to be productive in any one area. I hereby give myself permission to change the rules as I go.

Huh. Looks like my One Little Word has cropped up again—Change.

Lesson learned. Toadally.

A new DMC challenge is on the way! Our next Spotlight interview will be unveiled on September 1st.

It's great to be back to Poetry Friday! Thanks to Jone Rush MacCulloch for hosting this week's roundup at Check it Out.