Groundhog

A few groundhogs lived on our farm, and one lived in a burrow underneath our barn. We enjoyed interacting with them from time to time as we each went about our appointed rounds. In more irregular circumstances, more desperate actions were required, as when the German Shepherd who lived next door had one of them backed into a corner threatened harm, and I could play the hero.

In the afternoon’s heat, Claire and I would cool down sitting in lawn chairs on the grass in the barn’s shade to enjoy our evening glass of Chardonnay. Barn to our Left, the grassy meadow rolls away gently from us on its way down to the small creek. On the other side, the grass and clover give way to a small pine forest planted by some gentle soul long ago, which gives way to the oaks and elms, covering the steep slope and over the ridge on the horizon. Just about perfect.

First, the inquisitive mustached nose, testing the spirits of meadow, tree, and field, encouraged or discouraged by the information received. The Groundhog is a prey animal, and her risk assessment is always the same: eaten or not? It takes substantial courage to leave the underground safety of the barn for exposure to the possibility of her greatest fears being realized. But her daily struggle is to weigh, eat, and retreat. She is hungry for her greatest pleasure, the clover that grows all around our feet, and so, she, bit by bit, comes up with the courage once again. On this occasion, however, her conflict has a new and significant obstacle.

Claire and I sit between her and her supper, the yummy clover. Her solution blew us away.

With Claire and me enjoying her every move, she finally came out from under the barn. With her head held low, she slowly came and stopped on her belly, facing us a couple of feet away. Her front paws were together, palms down, and her chin rested on her paws, hind legs spread wide, as flat on the lawn as she could get. Her eyes were wide open and fixed on ours. She had all of our attention. “What is she doing? What, if at all, can she be thinking?”

Although we didn’t speak, the thought, in the Spirit, occurred to both of us. “She is asking for permission—our blessing!”

Our holy DNA connects humans, through the Holy Spirit, to all She has ever put her hand to. And, until we gracefully embrace the partnership with the Creator Spirit for the care of all the work of Her hands and the fullness of our responsibility to it as advocates, mediators, healers, priests, prophets, and warriors, we are ignorant of our reason for being. Human-kind is human only in the context for which She created us: the presence of Spirit and the fellowship of Her magnificent creation.

Claire raised her right hand in blessing, and she, remaining close by, nibbled at the clover at our feet.