There is a fantastic children's story by Leo Lionni called Frederick. I read it in kindergarten, and the story hit me so hard that I still remember it, almost to the word.

In a nutshell, there are field mice living in a stone wall. They work hard all summer, gathering grains. That is, all except for Frederick, who seems to spend a large portion of his time sitting on the stone wall. When asked what he's doing, he usually has a quick reply: he's very busy. Doing what? Gathering sunlight for the long winter nights, collecting colors, things like that. Needless to say, he's not a very popular mouse. Especially when the rest of the little field mice are busting their humps and schlepping grain and things into the little mouse warehouse in the wall.

Anyway, winter comes, and they all retreat to the stone wall. For a while, they're all very happy, munching on corn, dancing, and whatever it is that mice do in winter. They're carousing and having a good time.

Then late winter hits. The grain runs low. They're feeling cold, huddling together in the now bleak stone wall, trying to stay warm. They're quiet, subdued, depressed. They're barely surviving.

At this point, one of the worker mice remembers Frederick. He calls on our wall-sitter and asks, "So? What about you, huh? What about what you collected?"           

With no fanfare, Frederick stands up, posing like an orator. He proceeds to tell them a story. In the picture, you see these little mice, eyes closed, all picturing the meadow in its glory, with its periwinkles, crimsons and greens. Then he talks to them of the warm sun, and it's as if a golden glow covers them, warming them in the icy cold of their stone wall. When he's finished, he bows. All the other mice applaud him, no longer complaining of his laziness, no longer puzzled by his seeming lack of activity. They finally understand how valuable his "job" is.

September is a time of harvest. Kids are going back to school, summer vacations are ending, there's a general sense of bustle as people make the sprint from summer to the holiday season. When people are busy, they have a tendency not to notice that Mom is "working" when she's tearing her hair out in front of a computer… or they don't understand why their wives forgot about dinner completely because "the chapter just wasn't working." This isn't to say that you don't need to pay attention to the other people in your lives. It's just to remind you that you really are working. IN fact, you're not just working. You're doing something incredibly vital.

When people are sad, lonely, or just need something to take them away from the bleakness, then they're going to turn to you and ask what your contribution is. Your job is to make them remember the heat of summer, the beauty of the meadow. Remind them what it's like to fall in love. Put them on the edge of their seats… and then melt them into a puddle on the floor.

Daylight's burning. Let's go collect some stories.

First published in the SFA-RWA newsletter, September 2003. For more information on SFA-RWA, click here.

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