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I wriggle my bum deeper into the sand and squint against the lake’s
sunbright water. The laughter of my children assures me they haven’t
strayed from the campsite; it also means they know. We’ve been gone four
days and not one fight! They’re probably thinking, as nine-year olds
must, that best behavior will set everything right — set it back to the
way it was.
A family of mallards bobs on the choppy water, the ducklings’ little
legs churning as they follow their mother. Single parenthood is normal
for this mottled-brown hen. Her drake is long gone, instinct telling him
to display his bright feathers at other females. She doesn’t mind. She
expects nothing from him but the delivery of strong genes. I turn away
from her contentedness and let my mind wander.
Some species mate for life and share the responsibility of raising
their young: geese, hawks, beavers. Humans? Bats have a promiscuous
nature and breed in an orgy-like frenzy, the females destined for single
parenthood. Likewise for female deer, rabbits, porcupines. Humans?
I turn, dig my toes into the cool underside of the beach and watch my
young. Jilly and Gemma are playing checkers, mirror-images on either
side of the picnic table. Grubby hands swat away errant insects. Only
female mosquitoes suck blood; the males are innocuous, useful for one
thing only.
I stretch out, press my chin to the warm sand. My focus falls on a line
of ants, each creature laboring under its burden of crumbs. The line
stretches from a cookie under the bushes to a peaked hole a foot away.
Last night, Jilly dropped the cookie while practicing her juggling. She
didn’t stamp her foot and groan as she would have done normally. Her
father wasn’t there to beg another from and she knew better than to ask
me. Instead, she kicked it into the bushes that brace the beach.
Worker ants toil for one purpose: to feed the young the queen ant
produces. That’s all she does, poor thing, but at least there’s no
housework involved. Her mate is long dead, her hundreds of offspring
unconcerned about his absence. I’ll have to tell mine soon — about their
drake of a father — but not now. Let them enjoy this week before we
return to a changed life.
A spider web glistens stickily in a branch shading the ant hole. Its
lone occupant attaches a silk-shrouded fly to her web. She scurries to a
nearby hiding place, a curled leaf, to wait for more prey to ensnare
themselves. Her shiny abdomen is large and I wonder if she’s pregnant. I
smile. A female spider sometimes eats her mate and, depending on her
mood, may do so during courting or after breeding. Her audacity
impresses me. I roll onto my back, close my eyes against the brilliant
sky and imagine my life as a spider.
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