HUMPTY DUMPTY: THE LONG-WINDED REAL STORY

By Haribaldev Kaur

Life is full of little whimsical tales and stories that inspire, scare the pants off of you or leave you thinking what the heck was this person thinking. When I was growing up as a little girl I heard a lot of those stories and I always wondered were they from actual events or just something my gram thought up to keep me on the “straight and narrow” road. The way my brain was wired I really believed all, if not most of those stories. One of those stories was the story of “Humpty Dumpty”. Now we have all heard that little funny story and I bet that most of you…. if not all… thought it was some kind of egg incident. I certainly don’t’ blame you. Most of the time when you saw Humpty portrayed it was as an oversized egg. He was like Mr. Potato head, just wobbling around. Well I am here to tell you the truth. Humpty was not a potato nor was he an egg. As a matter of fact the name Humpty Dumpty was not even his real name.  Pull up your chair, grab some popcorn or your favorite snack food, a box of tissue and listen with intent.

It’s funny, not in a ha-ha sort of way but in a peculiar way how things get all out of shape, out of context, and turned completely upside down.  I was born in a little village called Barryco. At that time, it was not even on the map. It is about 20 miles east, south of Bendington, the home of all that is wonderful and magical. Well, when I was there that was as close to fame as Barryco got. My little village had about five hundred people and looking back, this is a very generous estimate.  There was one general store on the corner of Neptonic Street, one school building that housed the elementary and middle school students, and one for the high school students. The elders believed that when you got through middle school if there was something else you needed to be taught it would not be understood by the “little ones if they should get a whiff of it.” There were no theatres and definitely no malls. Of course we all know that malls are a more recent tragedy. But that is a different story for a different time.  On Friday or Saturday nights if your taste required more than the jukebox in Mr. Wilson’s store you would have to drive a few miles to Demose, South Berry or even further to Chicaway. If you decide to visit my little home town it is actually thriving now and can even be found on the map...go figure! Ok, I know what you are thinking as you walk to your atlas. Unless you are one who believes in magic, you are thinking that this place is not even real. Am I right?  I would like you to give it some serious thought.  A few centuries ago would you have believed that you could be in the Big Apple, or anywhere else in the U.S. and be able to speak with someone in India or Africa? Did the possibility not exist even though it was not apart of the “real world” yet?

Anyway that is where I was born some years ago. How long ago was that? You probably would not believe. Reminiscing, I can hardly understand the length of time that has passed and what happened on that day. I am having trouble forming this tragic event in my brain. When I was born I am sure my parents bless their hearts, did not foresee the event that would change their life and mine. You are probably saying to yourself, why doesn’t she just tell the story? And I completely understand if from time to time you get a little impatient. But believe me if you can hold on just one minute, it will be well worth your while. I mean, I am opening up my soul to you here. At least, give me a chance to elaborate a bit. I want you to get the full impact of my tale.

Okay...back to the story. I was told by my parents that I was a beautiful 8lb baby girl. I had all my fingers and toes. My mother and father both made sure I knew of this. She must have counted them a million times just to make sure. My father would later recall this as the two of us sat and ate berries by the waterfall. I was and am the only child of Humssell and Harriet Dumpsky. Now my parents were and will always be two of the most wonderful people you would ever want to meet. They are kind to strangers, family and friends alike. The "being kind to family part" takes a little more doing, mind you, but they found a way to do it. Earthly possessions or “material wealth” as they termed it, they had very little of in those days. But I never felt that I was lacking in anything. They showered me with love and affection.

My dad kept a little farm that provided food for us as well as others in our village. What he planted someone else didn’t and so they would trade.  My mom washed, sewed, and ironed things for our neighbors. Together they both provided shelter and kept food on the table for us. We did ok.  By the way, just in case you are wondering what my name is…it is Hummingbird Dumpsky. Yeah, go ahead and laugh. Get it out of your system then we can go on. The name is funny isn’t it? I mean who would give a child a name like that? Mind you, we are talking about another time…definitely not 2010. Now I hear names that make me appreciate my parents’ creativity and connection to the universe.  My name had a meaning and a connection to creation. It connected me to one of Creation’s most beautiful creatures...the Hummingbird. You may be able to recall from your childhood days that children can be very creative and brutally honest, bless their innocent hearts. It would be so wonderful if we could all maintain that innocent creativeness...the hallmark of childhood. I miss mine and I am trying my hardest to bring it back for the betterment of this story.  It is interesting that in great books these kinds of characteristics are the mark of true purity and divinity. Yet as soon as a child is born we make every effort to pull, push, emotionally blackmail, and educate it out of them. Sad, isn’t it? Well, that is also a topic for another story.  

Along with the farm and the house my parents also had a beautiful donkey. It was as much a part of our family as anyone else. If you saw that donkey you would believe him to be a beautiful thoroughbred horse. But he was a donkey through and through.  I called him Dimples. The reason is because he always seemed like he was smiling. And when he smiled two dents often appeared in his cheeks. Many days after my father and I were finished with our chores, we would saddle up Dimples and go for a ride into the country. For hours we would just ride and talk like two grownups. The hillside was so beautiful. You could see the meadows below, green as far as the eyes could see with a dash of yellow and purple thoughtfully thrown in here and there. Sitting there, high above the meadows on top of Dimples I felt that I could lay right on the top of that beautiful bed without sinking to touch mother earth.  Sometimes as my dad was picking berries for us to take back to my mother I would close my eyes and feel myself floating from the mountains and placed ever so gently on top of that beautiful green bed. Those evenings, just before the setting of the sun, were some of the most wonderful I have ever had. Even looking at my life in modern times those days still rank high on my list. Hmm…would you allow me a moment of reflection while I take myself back to those days? It would be great if you could come with me. Imagine, if you will the sun just about setting on the horizon, a blend of multi-colored splendor. There is a cool summer breeze and you can almost hear it as it floats across your ears. Down below there is a garden of green, yellow and purple beauty. The names of the flowers are not important nor does it add to or take away from the beauty that already is. So you let yourself float as you enjoy the blessing that has been given. Hmmm…grace…how amazing!  Well, whenever you are ready you can return to this world if you want to. There is no charge for staying and no one will ever ask you your name or what you do for a living.If you have decided to come back lets continue his-story of Humpty Dumpty and his fall. 

As I was saying my Dad’s donkey was a part of the family and a very important part I might add. He helped to carry water up from the river, helped my dad plow the fields and carry goods to and from neighboring farms. Dimples was like a big brother to me and a son to my father. My dad had Dimples long before I was born. If I recall correctly he was a gift from my mother’s father when my parents decided to join their lives together.  Dimples was always good-natured, not a mean bone could be found in his being. Because of this, if he felt like running while we were on him, we would let him; for we knew, in our hearts that he would always take care of us.

But then something happened. When I was about nine or ten years old Dimples started acted ornery. It would take my dad longer than usual to saddle him and sometimes my dad would just throw his hands up and say forget it.  I think that my dad believed that Dimples was just getting older and tired. I am not sure what was going on but this went on for about six months. Then one fateful afternoon, during harvest time my dad saddled Dimples up to go out and make deliveries. As usual it took longer to do so but dad needed to make these deliveries and pick up things we needed. He was very patient with Dimples while he saddled him. Finally, he was ready. They took off up the mountainside and I watched them as they went off, waving goodbye until they were out of site. For the next few minutes you are going to hear the tale my dad told us once he had gotten better and was able to tell us what happened:  
          “After I’d made about three deliveries I was headed for Punsells’s place to pick up a few things when out of nowhere Dimples started to rail and bray as if he was in pain. Try as I might I could not get him to settle down. Then he took off like the wind and before I knew it I’d fallen off. I fell flat on my back with my hands and feet in the air! Lucky for me we were not far from neighbors and most were making deliveries. One of our neighbors found me and took me in his buggy to the healer. Dimples took off up the mountain and was later found lying peacefully by the brook. He was gone. He'd made his transition into eternity. He'd tried to tell us it was coming for a long time but we could not understand.”

Please give me a moment…I still miss Dimples's physical presence.  Thank you, I am okay now. After my dad was brought home from the healer he was not able to do any work for a long time. As a matter of fact farming was something he would never be able to do again. My mother and I would take turns taking care of him. Our neighbor helped us to harvest the crop that year. After that there was only a garden that my mom and I planted big enough to feed the two of us. The neighbors would bring more things for my mom to sew, wash or iron and we would go outside in the morning and find things waiting on the steps for us. We knew that many of the orders for sewing, washing and ironing were from neighbors who were quite capable of doing it for themselves. This was just their way of helping us without us feeling like it was a handout. My dad didn’t last very long after that. He was never the same and so after a few years of holding on he too made a transition.

Kids are amazing and wonderful. They would listen to their parents tell the story of old Mr. Humssell Dumpsky and they decided that this story was worth making a song out of. You see where there is no TV to create entertainment the human imagination sparks wonderful ideas and magical things begin to happen. And so, the song birthed the tale of Humpty Dumpty and his great fall. Now you can choose to believe this or not. You may even decide that you know the real story. Who knows? Maybe we were neighbors and you have another version. If so, please tell me. I love a good story. Well, until next time. It has been great talking with you and I hope that we can do this again real soon.  After all, Life is full of little whimsical tales and stories that inspire, scare the pants off you or leave you thinking what the heck was this person thinking!?! Then there is that look, the humming, or even a scratch at the temples of the head…