Sunbonnet Soliloquy

By Jewell Ellen Smith

Plain Living, High Thinking

This summer I stumbled on some of the writings of Sa’di, a Persian poet of long ago, who, it was said, believed in “plain living and high thinking”.

Sa’di was called “the nightingale of the groves of Shiraz”, the city in which he was born in 1184.

Also this summer, I listened to two groups of Alabama’s “nightingales”, those little birds that chirp and twitter loudly just before dawn, and those who sing softly late in the evening.

Further, this summer -- as part of my own plan for plain living and high thinking — I took time one day to watch three ants struggling over what was, for them, an almost impossible task.

From the ants and the birds and the old Persian poet came some lessons worth remembering.

The poet-sage Sa’di wrote:

“I never complained of my condition but once, when my feet were bare and I had not money to buy shoes.

But I met a man without feet, and I became contented with my lot.’’

This made me resolve never to let the sun go down without breathing a prayer of thanks to my Creator that I live in this time and this place, with blessings that can’t be counted.

The native birds that nest among the trees outside my window in spring and early summer start up their jubilant singing each morning promptly at 4:00 o’clock. Some cry out “cheep, cheep, cheep.” Others warble “cheer, cheer, cheer.” But there’s one family that repeats “heebie-jeebie, heebie-jeebie, heebie-jeebie” over and over till I’m ready to go out and choke every last one of them.

But the birds that offer their songs at twilight, and on into the night, have longer, more pleasing words than those early-morning risers.

There are the cheerful fellows who call out “chip-fell-out-of-the-white-oak.” And there are those who seem bent on getting even with some hapless creature named Will, for their chant is:

“Whip-poor-Will! Whip-poor-Will! Whip-poor-Will!”

However, it is the mourning doves that are so delightful to hear. They have a soothing, plaintive, almost sad “coo” that tells how once again day is done and night is at hand.

Listening to these many birds made me resolve to be careful of my conversation, because the singing of birds is somewhat like the talking of people. It is best to try to say the right thing at the right time and place, and to leave unsaid the wrong thing. Always. Heaven forbid that through thoughtless chatter I give anybody the “heebie-jeebies.”

The ants that caught my attention one muggy morning in hot June appeared to be a committee of three assigned to drag a lifeless earthworm from the middle of our driveway to their quarters by the side of the garage door.

The ants, all reddish-brown, were of graduated sizes: small, medium and large. But the worm was ten times as big and long as all three of them put together. He was pinkish-gray in color and still shiny. How they had managed to do him in I can’t say, for when I arrived on the scene they were already trying to slide him along the asphalt and over drifts of twigs and sand [that] a recent rain had left on the driveway.

At first, the ants were not making much progress. The smallest of the three was in front and had grasped the end of the worm and was pulling and tugging with all his might. He was headed straight for the ant hill.

But the large, fat crew member had stationed himself at the middle of the worm and was standing on top of it, ready to take a ride. When he finally did crawl down to the ground and begin to push and shove, he bent the worm and tried to take the back section toward the kitchen doorstep instead of the ant hill.

Meantime, the third fellow, who appeared to be the self-appointed chairman, wasn’t lifting hand or foot to help his companions. Instead, he was darting back and forth between the two as if yelling to them to “Get with it, guys! Hurry up! Pull harder! This asphalt’s hot as Hades and gettin’ hotter by the minute! If we don’t get this juicy rascal delivered in the next few minutes, it’ll be too late. He will be dried up and not fit to eat! Come on, guys! We can do it!”

The small, crusty fellow up front was paying little if any attention to the other two. Instead, he just kept pulling and pulling until finally the worm began to slide along.

After his attempted ride and his futile efforts to drag the worm toward the kitchen steps, the fat worker seemed to get his bearings. He fell in behind the lead ant and pushed along the center section.

The boss brought up the rear, but he never once touched the worm. Eventually (it took close to ten minutes) the three got their prize down into the ant hill, where no doubt it provided a great feast for the entire colony.

I stood there thinking: people behave almost exactly like these ants. When there’s a crucial task, some people are determined to do it one way and some another way. There are those who join in for the proverbial free ride. And there’s usually one who assumes that as boss he doesn’t have to do anything.

As I left the ant mound, I resolved that the next time I’m asked to help move a worm, I’ll just do the best I can to pull my share of the load.

Goodness gracious! Could it be that I’m already failing in this summer’s plan for plain living and high thinking?

A worm is just about the lowest creature there is. So, it follows that thinking about a worm is not high thinking.

But, never mind. Surely we need both the lessons we learn from the plain, lowly creatures all about us, and the wisdom of the poet-sages of ages past.

Published August 1984. Click your browser’s “Back” button to return.