The Massacre of the Worms

Have you ever wondered what possesses the worms to all wiggle out onto the sidewalk in the mornings before the sun is hot?

As a child I always had a possibly unhealthy fascination with the wet and wiggly things we call worms. I used to dig up handfuls of hard clay dirt in my grandparent's yard in hopes of catching at least one or two of the cool wiggly creatures. I'd look the earth worms over letting them slink around from one of my hands to the other. I would bemuse about how they eat dirt and poop dirt. I'd gross out other girls with them. I squealed with excitement if my grandfather mentioned going outside in the cool dark night armed with flash lights and emptied and washed mason jars in hopes of catching some nice and fat night crawlers for fishing with at shadow lake.

Walking around the block pushing an adorable 16 month old in a stroller and looking at all the dried and shriveled up earth worms on the side walk makes my heart weep a little. I weep for all the plants who could have benefited from the worms. I weep for the children who will never get to play with those already dead earth worms. It seems silly I know, but when watching news of the Gulf oil spill disaster on TV, or reading about it on the 'net or in newspapers, I am becoming more keenly aware of emotions I used to have as a child. The wonder of the amazing ecosystem. The importance that each thing plays in it, from the simplest amoeba to the most complex of animals. The way that the human race is single-handedly destroying this amazing system. The complete lack of respect many people have for the other living things on this planet. The total disconnectedness of humans as a whole.

It should not be all that surprising to many of you that I was quite a little environmentalist when I was a child. I collected styrofoam egg cartons in my closet as a way to protest their complete lack of biodegradableness in hopes that one day someone would start recycling them. Much to my parents happiness many years later they DID start offering a recycling service that took the evil styrofoam and I happily carted my 100+ egg cartons to the plant for recycling then. I did not eat meat for the sheer disgust at the way the animals were slaughtered. I did not believe in pulling "weeds" and would protest their killing until I turned blue in the face. I did not agree with using pesticides to get rid of unwanted things in our yard.

I spent *many* summers playing in the woods, squatting over moss covered ground, pretending I was in some prehistoric land, coming in only when the mosquitoes chased us in or our parents called us in. I spent more time in dirt covered jeans with holes in the knees than not. I loved the smell of the earth. The faint metallic smell, mixed with the smell of vegetation, mixed with the smell of sweaty little kids and the occasional smell of scat or animal urine. It's a primal smell. Even to this day if I work in the yard or something I am transported back to my childhood from the smells of the earth.

That smell, that primal smell of earth, is present at a birth too. Somehow the smell of blood and amniotic fluid and sweat and sometimes feces mix together and bring back those memories. And the strong desire overcomes me to be a midwife delivering babies in a red tent where we can give back our blood, and amniotic fluid, to the earth. Where our bare feet are still on dirt and ground; the dirt and ground that God made; instead of the wood or carpet floors that man made, another layer, another disconnect away from the earth. Away from where we're meant to be.

And all of these memories and thoughts occurred to me because of the Massacre of the Worms. The sidewalk is such a cruel place for a worm. It comes out when the sun isn't quite up and the ground is still damp with dew. It somehow wiggles itself onto the sidewalk and becomes lost. This does not feel like any dirt it's ever been in! It can't burrow into it, it can't find grass or plants on it, whatever does it do? It struggles to find a place to burrow and in the mean time the sun creeps higher and higher and the sidewalk gets hotter and hotter. I image the worm thinking, probably very quickly, man I am thirsty!! I need some nice wet dirt!! but all it finds is cruel, rough, hot, hard, sidewalk. And then it gives up it's struggle, and it dies. Right there. Right on the sidewalk.

So as I walk, pushing the adorable 16 month old in a stroller, I stop whenever I see a worm still inching it's way across the sidewalk. I pick it up with hints of the childhood fascination within me once again, and gently set it back in the grass. In this one small gesture I have managed to save one worm. That is one less worm to fall victim to the sidewalk. One less that dies because of human invention.

I pass many other worms who were not so fortunate. And I secretly weep for them, For they had a life full of purpose. They are tasked with the important job of helping to fertilize and aerate the soil. To help the plants grow. To be the food for birds and other small animals. But instead, all of these victims of the Massacre of the Worms end up having no more purpose to their life, nor to their death. They will not be eaten by small animals, for dried up worms are not appetizing at all! They will no longer be able to aerate soil or help fertilize the earth. Now they are just toast. And it's all because of human invention.