The Mouldywarp

 

Nettlebed Farm was home for nine-year-old Sam, he had known nothing else. A strange name for a farm – perhaps the first people there had a nettle bed. His father had told him, that nettles had been used to make material as far back as Saxon times. This quaint little farm was tucked under a hill and sheltered by trees. There were just enough fields for a few crops and a handful of animals. It was Sam's job to look after the chickens and a silly old goose they called George. There was never a dull moment, for there were often things to do. Mending fences for one thing – though the animals seemed content to stay, where they were fed and well cared for.

        Once Sam’s jobs were done, he loved to run and explore beyond the farm fences. That afternoon he had been his furthest yet. Out towards the ridge where he could see for miles – to the point he could not make out one field from another, as the colours and shapes merged into one greeny grey. That night he was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open, tucked up in his snug bed, the eiderdown of reds, greens and blue gathered under his chin.

        Often when Sam dreamed, it was about exciting adventures to distant lands. This night was different. Sam woke up sharply, his heart beating loudly, fearful of something coming out of the ground with large teeth and claws. He ran quickly into his parent’s bedroom and knelt beside his mum. “Mum, Mum. Something is trying to eat me.” His mum woke and tried to make sense of what he was saying.

        “It’s only a dream,” she answered. Then Dad woke up too.

        “It’ll be a Moudy,” he said, “A Mole, they live underground, but too small to eat a lad like you. Why, he would be more scared than you would and head back down his tunnel as soon as he saw you.”

Mum tried to reassure him. “We are often afraid of things we don’t yet understand. Once we know what they are, the fear goes away.” She took Sam back to his room and tucked him in. “I’ll leave this little light on for you. See you in the morning.” Sam felt much better and peacefully drifted off to sleep. There were to be no more dreams that night.

Breakfast was a little later, as it was Saturday. Dad licked his lips as the last piece of his bacon sandwich was gone. “Now Sam, if you want to see a Mole today, you best run down to the stream, across the little bridge and into the second field. The soil there is softer and there’s been Moles there long before we arrived at Nettlebed. The first thing you will see is Moudy Hills. They are small hills of soil that the mole has pushed out of the ground while digging his tunnels. Go quietly mind, for he will hear your footsteps. Look for fresh-coloured soil, then stand and watch for movement. If you are lucky, one might pop its head out. They are ever so small, there’s nothing to fear.”

Well, that was decided, Sam was off on a Mole hunt. As soon as he had finished his breakfast, on went his warm woollies and wellington boots, for it was late autumn and the weather had turned colder. Leaves were beginning to fall since they had lost their bright yellows and gold. “First things first,” said Mum. “Let the chickens out, collect the eggs and check George is okay – fresh food in their troughs, please. Then you can go Mole hunting.”

There was a gentle, constant breeze that had drawn leaves together in swirling heaps. Sam was keen to kick his way through them as the breeze blew them back again. That’s how we see the wind, thought Sam. Soon he was at the little bridge, where he paused to watch the water tumbling over the stones below him. Yet more leaves caught up in the stream were racing each other off into the distance. This distraction was not going to hold him for long. A real sense of excitement of what he might find was growing within him. Remembering what Dad had said, he would be lucky to see one.

Climbing the stile to the second field, Sam could see a neat line of molehills, just as his dad had said. He tried to walk softly on the ground and slowly approached the nearest hill. Sam was amazed at how clean and fine the soil was, this would be wonderful soil for Mum’s plant pots, and there are so many of them. Surely one mole could not do all this! He moved slowly down the line till he found a richer colour, soft and moist – and there he crouched and waited. Time did not worry him – it was as if the world stood still, and moments passed by. Then, almost without noticing, the soil began to move. It took everything Sam had to remain still and quiet, his hand went to his mouth and held it shut. A small snout began to appear from beneath the soil, as two strong claws pulled a head into clear view. The pair of them froze and looked at each other for what seemed like an age.

Sam spoke gently. “Can you see me?”

“I’m not blind,” came the reply. Sam’s eyes almost popped out of his head. Yet the fact that they could speak to each other seemed quite natural. “I have eyes, though they are small and deep in my velvet fur, safe from the rough soil that I tunnel through.” That made a lot of sense to Sam, and he wanted to know more. The mole continued. “I set traps along my tunnels for worms and other tasty morsels, it’s a busy life but I don’t ask for much – just a little peace and quiet.”

“Are there many of you here, I can see lots of hills, they can’t be all yours.”

“Excuse me,” said the Mole. “This is my field and my ancestors before me. All this is my doing. I have four young ones that need to move on and find their own place now. It’s dispersal time, and I will soon be on my own again. It’s the way things are with moles, we are solitary creatures, and we like it that way.”

Sam held his breath, then said. “You seem a little grumpy if you don’t mind me saying so. Do you not get lonely, having no one to talk to? Do you have a name? Is there anyone to care for you when you get old?” The mole sensed his concern and did not feel she could offer abrupt answers – or as she might often do, turn and head back down her tunnels.

“My name would be Mouldywarp, the old name for us moles. I am already old, as we only live three or four years, and I am never lonely. I have the whole universe to talk to. You see, here underground is a network of chatter, messages passed from tree to tree, plant to plant. Every living thing is part of the conversation, telling each other what is occurring upstairs and downstairs, within the very cosmos of creation. We just need to listen and see. There is no need for special devices, just listen with your soul, the part of you that’s part of the whole universe.”

Sam was so surprised to hear this. “Is it magic?” he asked.

“Magic is not the right word – it is much more than any magic you might imagine. It is part of the mystery. When everything works together in peace and calm, when all needs are met, and no one is left out. Then, this mystical energy flows and miraculous things happen for the good of all. We begin to hear things and learn to hold the balance. We are all called to hold the balance in some way or another. To discover peace, calm and oneness, which releases our special energy, helping others – wherever they might be. Yes, without even meeting them.”

Mouldywarp paused. “It’s much easier than it seems. That’s what makes it so hard to take hold of. We want to keep going the way we think is best – we will never find peace that way, our life will be full of stress and worries. Who wants that for a way of life?”

“You seem so wise. I thought Owls were the wise ones.”

 By now, Mouldywarp had revealed her whole self, sprawled across the top of her hill, and in a flash, quicker than the blink of an eye – she snapped up a small worm. “Owls,” she laughed. “That’s nonsense. No one can hold wisdom, it’s not like knowledge – so not one creature (including humans) can be called wise. Wisdom is something that arrives at just the right moment, to help us choose the right way to act, to hold the balance and help others. The magic – if it is magic – is when all this happens without us even thinking about it. Then nature returns to its natural state and the universe recovers from its topsy-turvy ways.

Mouldywarp licked her lips. “So, young man. Just try to let go of the things that you can’t change, don’t worry about something that is not yours to worry about. Relax and let go, listen to the universe and its wisdom. Begin to believe that you can hold the balance in your own special way – a way that no one else can. That way, all things will be well.

The two just sat and looked at one another for what seemed such a long time. Sam felt he could hear the universe and its peaceful words. Words of encouragement, something that would last. There was a glimmer of new energy rising from within him. It seemed it had always been there, a familiar friend – a surge of strength and determination to find that better way. He wanted to rush home and tell his parents, but they would probably say he’d been dreaming. If he could hear the universe more often and hold the balance – perhaps his parents and those around him might hear it too.