Some might describe it as a moment of weakness. The purchase of a generous handful of ducklings destined for someone’s dinner table. Impulsive maybe, but at the root, a gesture of love. Long before the ducklings took over her bathroom and eventually her backyard, I’d sent her a book, a bit of foreshadowing perhaps, as enslaved she did become.
For months I received weekly and sometimes twice daily duck updates. There were photos, there were videos, and as the ducklings grew there was realization. Finally there was a letter from the neighborhood association. The ducks, they must go. No matter that they had names and a backyard pond and a devoted slave.
So the hunt began. These ducks: special if for no other reason than that they were loved, loved by my mom.
There were sanctuaries, there were fellow duck devotees, and finally there was one woman who was able to make the promises needed.
My mom called me, wondering, were we up for adventure? Oh yes, always.
“Meet me in North Carolina. It’s got to be soon.”
A six hour drive for her, my stepdad, and a backseat full of quackers. A four hour drive for me with multiple backseats full of children and a husband left home to work and let’s face it: take a break from the chaos.
I’ll skip the parts you can imagine I’m sure: the difficulty of driving with a van load of children and no Jonny, the fact that I hardly slept the whole weekend, and finally, my collapse minutes after walking in my door, back home yesterday evening.
I’ll tell you about Ann. Ann, who didn’t brand my mom a crazy person, but a kindred spirit. Ann, who used to drive by this patch of land occupied by trees and an old trailer and tell herself and those who would listen, that “one day children would play there.”
She invited my family and my mom’s ducks to her home (us to visit, the ducks to stay) and then to this remarkable place she has created for children and families, a place for people to enjoy nature and each other, a place to build relationships.
She spoke passionately about her vision for this place she had created with bare hands and faith, and I thought to myself of the day, months before, when my mom decided to spend her birthday money on some ducklings at the flea market. That purchase brought us together for this beautiful weekend and connected us with a woman whose impression will not soon fade from our minds and hearts.
As Ann held my baby in her lap, she told me the story of her firstborn son now grown, and her commitment to have 100 people hold him within his first few months of life. Her desire to share her joy especially with those who hadn’t felt the weight of a baby in their arms for decades. She spoke of the gift of work, and the importance of giving that gift to children. She spoke of faith and acceptance and lessons learned, sometimes the hard way.
We loved her and her message of letting go of fear, pursuing dreams, and loving each other every step of the way. I loved her for her passion, her sincerity, and for sharing her dreams with us. These strangers that walked into her life with a gaggle of ducks looking for a good home.
I loved that my children got to spend a weekend with my parents, a rare privilege because of the miles that separate us. I loved seeing the twinkle in their eyes, and knowing the joy that time with their grandparents brings. I loved listening to my mom tell my boys the story of a lost little girl, a couple of bird dogs, and a hungry wolf, passed down through the generations of my family. I loved sneaking out to buy ice cream with my stepdad after the kids were finally asleep.
I love my mom for buying those baby ducks, and reminding me that life never stops being a great adventure.
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