Flipped Fable: Grasshopper and Ant

A response to Aesop’s famous fable from a different perspective. Narrated by Kat.

A long, long time ago, there lived a family of Grasshoppers. They had descended from many families before them and, as far as they could tell and as far as their elders could foresee, they would continue to live in the Meadow that fed and sheltered them since time immemorial. In this family lived a young Grasshopper, a female, who adored the Meadow and played all day long after a short hour or so to gather berries and nuts and sweet grass for her family’s daily meal. Day in, day out, through the Spring and Summer, she would play her fiddle and sing to her cousins, the Birds. The Birds would sing back to her as the chorus of Wind blew through the grasses. She felt great joy through these days and, in the depths of Winter, longed for the warmth of the Sun and the babble of the Creek. In those times, when food was scarce, the Grasshoppers relied on dried berries and the late-year tubers to sustain them. When the young one crinkled her nose, the Elders would smile and assure her the Spring will always come back around so they must simply sleep more in their grass huts, savor what they have and trust in the good Earth. What they take, they give back with their bodies and, in turn, they lived harmoniously. And, as the days lengthened and the ice melted from the dry cattails lining the Creek, the young Grasshopper was happy the Elders were there to put her worried mind at ease. Joy renewed.
Now, on the edge of the Meadow stood the Great Forest. This Forest protected the Meadow from the harsh winds of Winter and provided shelter for the wild berries and Birds. In the Great Forest lived a family of Ants. For just as long as the Grasshopper family had, the Ants lived in perfect harmony with the trees and the plants of the Forest. In the Spring and Summer, they would clear the debris so new shoots could grow, creating a network of trails and tunnels above and beneath the ground. They, like the Grasshoppers, relied on the Earth to provide for them and, after Harvest in Autumn, they would nestle in their warm tunnels knowing that their good work and harmony with the Forest would see them through the cold, grey days and Spring would return again.
One day in early Spring, a young Ant who had strayed from his brothers and sisters came upon a peculiar mushroom. He had been taught which mushrooms were safe and which ones were poisonous but this was new to him. The fire red cap and white spots seemed to say both “eat me!” and “stay away!” Being young, he understandably felt a desire grow in him.
“I should bring this back to the others,” he thought. “They will see how strong and industrious I am!” So, with his strong mandibles, he cut through the stalk of the mushroom so he might return with his spoils. But, before he got too far, he became dizzy and had to lie down. The Forest swirled around him. Colors became more vivid, sounds lengthened and became louder. Everything - the Bird song, the breeze through the branches, the babbling of the Creek - became a cacophony of sound. At first, the Ant was confused then he was fearful. Very quickly he felt a deep dread. All he could see and hear was chaos and disorder and it scared him as nothing else had. The images shifted and morphed. He saw the Great Forest explode in flames, fall smoldering to the Earth. Embers rained down on him before turning grey then white like snow. It was snow. It piled up deeper than the deepest Winter snow. Winds blew and ice caked the land. The Ant felt the ice cold invade his entire body, paralyzing him. He tried to scream but couldn’t.
When the vision subsided and the Ant retained his footing, he ran back to the hill to tell his family. He explained how the mushroom gave him a vision of what was to come and they must listen to him. Winter was coming and it was going to be longer, harsher and colder than usual. There would be much death in his family unless they prepare as they never had before. At first, his brothers and sisters didn’t listen; he was the youngest and least wise, they told him. He became enraged and persisted. He eventually convinced them to return to the mushroom with him. “Eat this and see for yourselves,” he told them. And that is just what they did.
That year, in a frenzy fueled by their fear, the Ant family gathered twice what they had the year before. But, when Spring returned on time, the Ants emerged from their tunnels in relief. “See, we must have been wrong,” the eldest brother said.
“No, no!” the youngest said. “It only means the winter is yet to come. We must grow our numbers so we can produce more, build stronger tunnels and gather more food! Not just for the next Winter but the next and the next after that!” The others, also feeling the fear of perishing, agreed. Over the Spring and Summer, the Ants ate the surplus from the year before. More babies were born which were quickly sent to work gathering and clearing the Forest. At Harvest, they gathered even more than before and packed their tunnels with nuts, berries, grass and fungi almost to overflowing. Over the Winter, the smartest of the Ants, also fearing the loss of their family, began to experiment combining the berries with the strange red-capped mushrooms they had found in the Forest. They found that they could boil them down together and create a very sweet, very energizing substance. This not only freed up more tunnel space for the Ants but gave them even more energy to work through the Winter. Ailing ants were healed. Smoke from this process billowed from the Ants’ hills.
Again, Spring returned though perhaps a little later than usual. But the Ants were ready. More babies were born, more workers were trained and more of the Great Forest was cleared. The Summer felt hotter than before but they continued to labor, fueled by the substance they created. During Harvest, searching for more food, the youngest Ant ventured away from the Forest into the Meadow. It was here that he saw a strange creature moving about in a jerking manner and making horrid screeching sounds.
“Ugh!” He cried. “What are you doing?”
The youngest Grasshopper turned to face the Ant, who was, to her, also a strange creature. “Oh, I’m singing and dancing for Mother Bird,” she relied politely. “Do you hear her, up there in the Father Oak? She is sad that her babies have grown and left to make nests of their own and I am comforting her.”
The Ant only heard ugly, messy sounds coming from the trees. “Ugh, no, I just hear a bunch of noise. But why are you doing that and not gathering food for the Winter?” he asked.
“Oh, my family has done that already and have given our offerings back to the Earth,” she replied. “We have everything we need.”
The Ant was incredulous. “Surely you haven’t gathered enough! It’s only the beginning of Harvest. What if Winter is longer and harsher than before? What will your family do then?”
The Grasshopper cocked her head at him. “Our Elders tell stories of long Winters but nothing more than our family is able to survive. Sometimes we lose members but that is how it always has been. The Earth feeds us and we feed the Earth.”
The Ant looked at her with an expression of shock. “You mean you willingly die?”
“Well, no, not exactly,” the Grasshopper told him, trying to explain so he could understand. “We just would rather enjoy the gifts the Earth gives to us while we can. Each of us will die so, instead of spending all the time gathering and taking more than our share, we take what we need and spend the rest of our time praising the Meadow and the Trees and the Sun. Don’t you do that?”
But, try as she did, the Ant did not understand the Grasshopper. He merely scoffed at her and returned to his work. In the Forest, he told his brothers and sisters about meeting the Grasshopper. They laughed at the bizarre creature. He suggested that, since food was becoming scarce among the trees, that they should gather sweet grass and dig up some late-year tubers from the Meadow.
That was the first Winter the Grasshopper family felt the pang of hunger.
Spring came even later the next year but, when it did, it felt even warmer. The Grasshopper family had to work harder to find food than in years before.
“Why is it so hot?” the youngest Grasshopper asked the Elders.
“We’re afraid our good Earth has a fever,” they told her with heavy sighs. “The Ant family is clearing out more and more of the Great Forest so now the Sun shines harder on the Meadow. We have seen them taking the grasses and flowers and even digging up the late-year tubers before they are fully ripe. They leave us with little to eat and replace nothing. They are even burning their few dead instead of returning them to the Earth. She isn’t getting the nourishment She needs and this is causing an unbalancing.”
The young Grasshopper felt an anger rise in her. “They cannot do that!” she cried. “Surely this will harm them also. Can they not see that?”
“We surely hope so.” they replied. “But we have heard from the Bird families who live both in the Great Forest and the Meadow that the Ant family is very large and sprawls across the entire Forest now. Not only are they having more and more babies, but they also have somehow learned how to extend their lives. Many of them, who have seen many Winters, are still alive and working along with the younger ones. Even through the Winter days and nights, smoke rises from their hills.”
“So what are you going to do then?” she insisted.
“The good Earth will know what to do,” they said. “We just must live in accordance with Her and brave Her fever. Balance will return.”
Not satisfied with the Elders’ answer, the young Grasshopper traveled to the Great Forest to confront the Ants. But, before she could get there, she found the youngest Ant cutting through blades of sweet grass at the edge of the Meadow.
“Why do you do this?” she demanded. “You are clearing the Forest and now are taking from the Meadow. You take from our family and return nothing to the Earth!”
“There are hard Winters ahead,” the Ant answered, not even stopping his work. “If you fear going hungry, you should work as hard as we do to provide for yourselves.”
“But you leave us with so little!” she protested.
“We must live so we must work. Don’t blame us because you choose to be lazy during the warm months and just hope you will be okay when it gets cold. Look at us. We are not only surviving but thriving!”
“But because you have more, we have less!” The young Grasshopper was nearly screaming.
Continuing with his work and not looking up, the Ant shrugged. “Not my problem,” he said, ending the discussion.
That Winter, the grey, cold days dragged on as never before. The Ants had more than enough food in their tunnels to feed their many mouths but the Grasshoppers’ cupboards held barely anything. To ensure her survival, the youngest Grasshopper’s Mother and Father went without food. “We will be fine,” they told her when she began to cry. “We have known several Winters now. Once Spring arrives, we will build up our strength with the fresh berries. Oh, they will taste so good!”
The young Grasshopper’s brothers and sisters, however, could not bear the growling in their stomachs. They braved the Winter wind to travel to the Ants’ hills which had now sprouted in the Meadow. From them belched dark grey smoke.
“Please,” they asked, “may we have some food? We will not be able to survive until Spring.”
Most of the ants, who were still working diligently, turned away from the Grasshoppers with a sneer. Some simply ignored them. But two kind Ants took pity and offered them a strange white substance.
“What is this?” the Grasshoppers asked.
“Oh, that is what we mostly eat now,” the kind Ants told them. “Our brightest Ants have used the berries and grass and mushrooms and created this. It gives us everything we need.”
Not wanting to be ungrateful, the Grasshoppers accepted the substance and returned to their grass huts to share with the others. It tasted very sweet and, though it kept their hunger at bay at first, it was only a short while before they were ravenously hungry again. They returned to the Ant hills to ask for more. To their surprise and relief, the kind Ants had gathered up a care package for them to last them the rest of the Winter.
“It feels so good to help the unfortunate ones!” one Ant said to the other. The other nodded with a grin.
Though her brothers and sisters insisted that she try it, the youngest Grasshopper waved away the foreign substance in disgust. It smelled strange to her and she didn’t trust it. She didn’t like how they acted when they ate it: anxious and ravenous.
In the Spring, which came even later and hotter than before, the Grasshopper’s brothers and sisters looked different. When they emerged from their grass huts, their bodies were longer and thinner. Their voices, which once had created high, sweet songs, now came out as a low drone. They mirrored each other’s movements. When she asked them what had happened, they looked at her with empty, glassy eyes. They made chattering noises at her but she didn’t understand. Then they flew away in a fury, eating up what little sweet grass and few flowers were growing in the Meadow.
In horror, the Grasshopper went to the Elders to ask what was happening.
“When our kind has little nutrition, we can sometimes change form,” they told her. “They are no longer Grasshoppers now but Locusts. Locusts are very hungry and will ravage the Meadow and spawn more and more before the year is through. Then,” they said with a heaviness, “they will perish before the end of Harvest. We’re afraid the Earth Mother will suffer an even worse fever this year and an even longer Winter for all of us.”
That summer, strong South winds hit the Great Forest. Dry, rainless lightening severed the sky and the trees ignited. The air was acrid and difficult to breathe as grey ash fell over the Meadow. After, the Forest lay in ruin. The Ants fled the Forest, constructed more tunnels throughout the Meadow and gathered more and more grass. Most of the Grasshoppers had turned to Locusts and stripped whatever was left. The youngest Grasshopper, still refusing the Ants’ food, looked in horror over the destruction of her home. But, the more and more she pleaded with the Ants, the less they would listen to her. Some kinder ones just offered her the white substance, pleading for her to eat with tears forming in their eyes.
“Please, eat this,” they insisted. “We don’t want you to die.”
But something deep inside the Grasshopper told her that eating it would, in fact, lead to her death. She hadn’t the strength to thank them for the offer but, instead, turned away without a word. A few Ants called her ungrateful under their breaths.
That Harvest, the young Grasshopper was only able to scrounge up a couple tubers and a handful of berries the Locusts hadn’t eaten. She brought them to the Elders, her Mother and Father among them, but they refused to eat them.
“You are young,” they said, weakly waving the food away. “Eat, please. Spring will be here soon and you must remain strong. As for us, we must rest now. The Winter has come early.”
Before Harvest was over, the Locusts’ empty bodies carpeted the Meadow and, in the depths of Winter, every Elder, along with the Grasshopper’s Mother and Father, perished.
Spring arrived later and it was hotter than any Summer the youngest Grasshopper had ever felt. By herself, she returned her Mother’s and Father’s bodies back to the Earth. After toiling in the dry soil under the unrelenting Sun, she hadn’t the strength to even cry.
As she sat looking across the barren Meadow, the Grasshopper tried to sing a song of lament but no sound came from her. Mother Bird had long ago flown away and the babbling Creek had long since dried so the only sound she heard was the low drone of the Ants marching across the ground and digging more and more tunnels beneath her. She sat for the entire Spring and Summer and, at Harvest, the youngest Ant emerged from the brown grasses and went up to her.
“You took everything,” she said, without inflection.
“This is what I said would happen,” the Ant told her, shaking his head. “Hey, it’s not that I don’t feel badly but I tried to warn you.”
The Grasshopper looked at him blankly.
“I came to offer a truce,” he said and handed her a package wrapped in a brown leaf. “I know you don’t want to eat what we eat but I saved this for you. You don’t believe me about an endless Winter coming but I was hoping this might show you then you might join us in our warm homes.” With that, the Ant sighed, looking slightly weary for the first time. Then he turned and walked back to the Ant hills.
When he was gone, the Grasshopper unfolded the package. Inside was a small piece of the red-capped mushroom. A sense of remembrance swelled in her chest; she had seen the elders eating this kind of mushroom before. When she had asked to try some, they told her she was too young yet. Yes, she told herself, that wasn’t a dream but something she had forgotten long ago.
Perhaps I am old enough now, she thought. I have seen a few Winters and, besides, there is nothing left for me here. I no longer have my family or Mother Bird or the babbling Creek. I sit alone and empty.
The mushroom was very bitter so she swallowed fast. She breathed slow and calm as she had seen the Elders do when they took the mushroom. Soon, the colors began to swirl like the Northern Lights which had once graced the night sky. The brown grasses swelled to a lush green. Bright, clear water returned to the dry Creek bed and the babbling sounded like the sweetest music. Cattails shot up from the banks. One after one, shoots sprouted from where the Great Forest had grown. Mighty Sycamores and Oaks and Maples extended their canopies that cast a cooling shadow over the Meadow. The yellow, smoky sky turned as blue as Mother Bird’s eggs. And, then, the most beautiful sound, the Grasshopper heard Mother Bird’s song calling from the new Trees. This was not a song of lament but a song of celebration. Then, the Grasshopper saw her brothers and sisters, her Mother and Father and the rest of the Elders walking through the sweet grass toward her. For once in so long, she felt a great joy in her heart as their souls reunited with hers.
One day, in the deepest of all Winters, the two kind Ants happened upon Grasshopper’s empty body wrapped in the snow. They both cried in shock. One dropped to her knees and shook the body but found it lifeless. Oddly so, a smile remained on the young Grasshopper’s lips.
“Such a pity,” one Ant said, eyes wet.
“Yes,” the other answered, “it’s like they didn’t even want to live.”
Then, leaving her body there, the two Ants turned back toward the hills where the youngest ruled and the factories, endlessly, unrelentingly, spewed forth their eternal salvation.