No (L)on(e)ly Child
The perks of growing up as an only child
People tend to say they’re sorry when they find out I’m an only child. But growing up, I was always surrounded by lots of green and lots of animals. Even though we lived in a suburban neighborhood, our house and our garden appeared to be a miniature farm to me and my childhood peers.
It’s my dad who was responsible for creating all this life around me. He never wanted children, but had always found peace and comfort in the pure love of nature. Then he got me and saw an opportunity to pass on his passion.
A love fueled by David Attenborough’s voice in one of the many BBC documentaries we devoured over the weekends when I was a child. It was our number one bonding ritual and it’s still my favorite memory of him.
So swallow those sorries away. I was no “only,” and definitely no “lonely,” child. Instead, let me draw you a mental map of the only home I’ve ever known and the flourishing garden that surrounds it. Let me tell you a little story about how I grew to love. Let me introduce you to my family.
My father keeps canaries and silver doves in the back of the garden who are singing, always. With never a dull song in their beaks my mom and I decided to put the rocking chair over there.
In summer it’s a place where we nestle with prosecco filled coupes and a good book until the last bit of sun is absorbed by our skin. In winter it’s a camp made of sweaters, blankets and hugs. And a steamy cup of tea made of my hand-picked herbs.
Neatly planted grass fields are interrupted by little ponds connected by wooden bridges and tiny waterfalls until they all come together in one big pond where Koi fish swim around. Its clear surface reflects the green canopy as if the fish are flying, spreading their silky looking fins between the mirrored branches.
Rabbits are to be found in every corner of the garden. For every cuddly one, there are at least two wild ones. One of them is called Fae. Her fur is a palette of grey and brown and her ears reaching the ground are wet most of the time from catching droplets of dew on the grass.
On a summery day in July, I stole her from a petting zoo. I had to make the decision of letting her spend her life in a box or put her in my purse and let her roam free in my garden. I choose the latter and she has rewarded me with love and kisses ever since.
There are also, always, two chickens running around freely. They poop all over place but reward us with fresh brown-colored eggs every morning. You can taste their freedom in the yolks when I make desserts with them. I never name them (and a little guilt rises) because if one dies, it’s simply replaced with another one.
Yet I love every chick-till-dying-chicken just as much as I have done with the one that had come before it. At times I pick them up, place them in my lap and tickle their pinkish combs until they close their eyes in comfort.
Inside the house our cat is ruler. Making her queendom noticeable with claw marks on my puppies nose the first day he arrived. His name is Tacko (not named after the Mexican specialty) and he was the most prominent figure in my life while growing up.
After pleading with my family members for many weeks, my grandpa was the first to give in and about an hour later I was carrying him outside the shop, not admitting that I was collapsing under his weight because he was my responsibility.
About a year ago he passed after being by my side for almost fifteen years. I mourned his loss like the loss of a brother.
Other more tiny creatures also claimed some space between our walls over the years. Hamsters and gerbils would be spinning around on wheels in metal cages till they were dizzy with sleep.
One time my father found a baby mouse in the aviary. With his eyes still closed off from the world, I raised him. He would escape through every inch he could worm his tiny body through and used to sleep in my belly button. Yet his little heartbeat was an omen of a short life.
Turtles sunned on their water-surrounded islands on the counter until they were big enough to be released in the pond, never to be seen again. I imagine the herons got to them, but that’s part of the circle of life as well, I guess.
I also kept stick insects in a glass terrarium in my room.
I got them from a teacher when I was in high school. The interesting thing about these curious creatures is that they are all female and reproduce by themselves. Before you know it you have a couple of dozen babies, who are the exact copies of their parents.
When I was 12, I was gifted a duckling. He imprinted on me and used to follow me around the living room, his little feet clapping on the black-and-white-tiled floor. He even used to sleep in my backpack when I did grocery shopping.
He stayed with us for many years, walking in the garden or swimming in the the pond, until one day I got home from school and he was gone. He spread his wings, which we didn’t cut, and he flew away.
Now when I walk to the forest near my house, I always catch some ducks quacking around in this pond around a farmhouse. I like to believe he joined them, that he has found a lifetime mate and has ducklings of his own now. Would he tell them stories about his human companion?
So you see, I like to believe that all those animals, from my little dog brother to the two pooping hens, were all my siblings. In the miniature farm that is my house and my garden, my first connecting with nature was made. I grew up more around animals than around people.
Animals are easier anyway. You don’t have to prove anything to them, and they will love you no matter what.
