Instant cure for the transitional blues

Mom and baby elephant in the Serengeti

I've been dying to write about baby elephants.  Now seems to be the right time.  Is there a wrong to write about baby elephants, you may reasonably ask?  Of course not.  However, now is also when the school year is winding down accompanied by typical short tempers, final testing days and  alternate-schedule stress.  There's also a "lame duck" transitional vibe, the middle school version of "senioritis" when the next grade seems close enough to touch--and yet so far away.   Teachers could get rich if we had a dollar for every time we asked, a little more wearily with each repetition, for focus, attention and quiet.  It's no mistake that Teacher of the Year awards are handed out before May.

Add this to personal transitions like, say, moving back to California, just to name one, and you have a perfect storm of stress with an 80% chance of full-blown angst by evening.

So, now is the perfect time to write about baby elephants.

As baby animals go, baby elephants wouldn't rank on a scale of pure cuteness.  They are not fluffier, softer or more dew-eyed versions of the adult model.  In fact, they look remarkably like the adult model, only miniature, right down to their miniature wrinkles, sags and head bristles. But baby elephants have something that other baby animals don't, namely a really big brain and a personality to match.  There is tons of research out there that shows elephants are among the most intelligent of animals, complete with their own  language and a complex social structure.  Baby elephants gestate longer than any other mammal. (Elephant moms are pregnant for 22 months!) That, combined with the fact that most female elephants are fertile only a few days a year, makes the arrival of a baby elephant a very big deal in the herd.

I've been lucky to observe elephants in the wild, once in Cameroon and several times in Tanzania.  Each occasion has been a memory of such unmitigated joy that I call it up anytime it feels like the world is ending. Which is why I want to share them with you.   Baby elephants absolutely shine with intelligence and carefree exuberance, as any youngster would who is long-awaited and lovingly nurtured.  And they spread that joy to anyone watching them.

The twins in the flowers

Two memories come to mind, and they happened within minutes of each other in Tarangere National Park in Tanzania.  The first involved two baby elephants who looked about two or three.  They were playing in a field of white flowers that stood about five-feet tall (just over their heads).  The guide said they were twins, rarer and more special than even a solo baby. These two were a long way from full grown, but big enough to not need constant supervision--and they were making the most of it.  Using their trunks, they would bat down the white flowers then--I'm not making this up--squeak adorably when the flowers bounced  back into position, usually smacking them on the forehead.  They did this tirelessly, as kids do, sometimes bopping each other, sometimes bopping themselves.  At one point I swear they both collapsed with laughter, falling onto the ground and rolling over, crushing the plants and knocking into each other.  Then they bounded up and started again. It was so delightful I forgot to take a picture until the very end. 

The second memory I don't have a picture of. It happened just down the road from where the twins were playing, perhaps sent away to amuse themselves so the following scene could take place. Five or six full-grown elephants stood in a circle, facing out on the banks of a small river.  I didn't understand why they were hanging around like until I saw what they were surrounding.  There in the center of the circle was a very small elephant, no more than a few months.  Now, grown elephants in the wild have almost nothing to worry about as far as predators are concerned.  (We humans are their biggest threat by far.) But babies, especially when they are very young, are vulnerable.  So, for example, when the baby takes a bath in the river, then wants to roll around in the mud (who wouldn't?), the adults indulgently form a barrier while the kid is defenseless on its back.

This baby was going to town, kicking up small puffs of dust as it squirmed with delight.  It was also squeaking preciously as it bounced up and flopped back down.  Finally, one of the adults (mom?) nudged it a little (time to go...).  It bounced up, but before the circle could break up, it tumbled back down again for another round of adorable wiggling, causing one or two other elephants to exhale pointedly.  Another nudge got it on its feet, then the herd formed up in a line with the tiny baby in the middle.  (And, btw, you might be surprised to learn that a herd of elephants (I've witnessed one as large as 40 in Cameroon) travel in absolute silence, demolishing the "loud as a herd of elephants" cliche. If you closed your eyes, you wouldn't know they were there.)

It's no surprise elephants symbolize wisdom and memory.  In children's literature, they are often the smartest, most community oriented characters, solid in their beliefs and ready to offer support. (Horton Hears a Who by Dr. Seuss!  Babar!)  If you ever get a chance to observe them in the wild, take it.  (Not that you need convincing...)  You will feel immeasurably happier and grounded for the experience.  As for me, I'm keeping my elephant memories extra close these days, knowing they'll last well beyond the May blues...