Originally published 19 December 1994
Dear Santa,
I know it’s late. By now your elves are probably loading up the sleigh. But just in case you haven’t yet gotten around to Zip Code 02356, here’s my request.
You see, Santa, I have four grandchildren. I’m not sure what they asked for when they were sitting on your knee at the toy store last week, but I can guess.
Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, for sure. Nintendo Super Game Boy. Z‑Bots. Barbie Fantasy Fountain Pool. Techno Zoids. The Lion King CD. I don’t know. I’m just guessing from what I see advertised on TV.
You know, Santa, I was out for a walk the other day in the late autumn woods, and saw what I thought was some sort of white fungus growing on the branch of a shrubby tree. I snapped off a twig and looked closely.
It wasn’t a fungus at all. It was white cotton, like Q‑tip fuzz. Wiggling. Distinctly wiggling. Waving in a non-existent breeze.
I pinched off a tuft and took out my pocket magnifier. Beneath the fuzz was a tiny bug, the size of a pinhead. Six little legs thrashing the air. On the bug’s back were a bunch of spigots, extruding strands of white cotton.
A spinning jenny insect.
Woolly aphids. That’s what they were. On pondside alder trees. They suck sap to grow and to spin the cotton candy fluff with which they adorn themselves.
Why, Santa? Why would such a thing evolve? I can’t think of any advantage that an inconspicuous bug would gain by accentuating its visibility to predators with a bouffant of cotton. I’d love to ask my grandchildren what they think. Kids often have nifty insights.
Bring my grandchildren woolly aphids.
Farther along the path I found a colony of polyporus versicolor. Turkey tails, we call them. They are mushrooms, one of those funguses that grow little shelves on rotting trees. But this particular colony, on a spiky bit of wood, looked exactly like a flock of miniature turkeys. Necks up, tails spread. You could almost hear them gobble.
The grandkids would have loved it, Santa. Bring them turkey tails.
I heard and saw lots of other neat things the kids might like. The thunk-thunk of downy woodpeckers, and tappity-tap of nuthatches. Mysterious pine cones on the tips of willow twigs. Velvety cat ears of the common mullein’s winter rosette.
When I got back from my walk I had to pick burs off my sweater. The burs of burdock. Grape-sized spiky spheres. Each spike had a tiny hook at the end, and a sheath containing a seed. When I pulled a bur off my sweater, the sheath separated and spilled a seed. Thus does burdock get around.
The burs are great fun to toss at a friend’s clothing, Santa. All those tiny hooks. Nature’s Velcro. Bring my grandkids burdock burs.
But keep it under your fur-trimmed hat. What they really want is Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, whose personalities flip from ordinary Tommy, Billy, Jason, Zack, Kimberly, and Trini to kick-chop avengers with the push of a button — a little plastic button on the front of the doll about where the heart would be.
My name would be mud if my grandkids knew it was me that caused their stockings to be filled with woolly aphids, turkey tails, and burdock burs.
OK, let’s compromise. Bring them Mighty Morphins. But keep those other presents coming right through the year. Snow fleas. Skunk cabbage. Red-winged blackbirds. Mourning cloak butterflies. Pussy willows. Ladyslippers. Whirligig beetles. Dragonflies. Orioles and bluebirds. The summer Milky Way. The caterpillar of the luna moth. Snakes. Goldenrod galls. Rattleweed. Perseid meteors. Ripe milkweed pods. Woolly bears. British soldier and pixie cup lichens. Snowflakes. Orion. Those big six-foot icicles that hang from leaky gutters.
It’s all free, Santa. Won’t cost you a dime. Like adding another 100 basic channels to cable TV. The spring channel. The summer, fall and winter channels. The starry night channel. The pond channel. The meadow channel. The seashore channel. The channel for small wiggly things that you hold in your hand.
Am I hopelessly unrealistic? Sloppily sentimental? Is virtual reality the only thing left for kids? I don’t know. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Santa. You fill four small stockings with woolly aphids, turkey tails, and burdock burs, and I’ll take care of the rest of the year.
I can’t promise success. Mattel and Nintendo have huge advertising budgets. But I know a few things about which those big companies haven’t a clue. Like what can be found inside the strange green spheres that grow on oak leaves. Like what will happen when you touch the seedpods of jewelweed. Like how to get a praying mantis to perch on a kid’s finger.
Isn’t that what grandparents are for?
