Eating Dirt by April Thanhauser
One of my favorite legends from the pantheon of the Hindu Gods is the story of how baby Krishna, avatar of Vishnu, lord of the universe, was caught eating dirt. His foster mother, Yashoda, knew he was a special baby, born of royalty and brimming with charm, but she did not know his divine origin.
Little Krishna was also mischievous: so it was her duty to correct his misbehaviors. When he was found eating mud, she scolded him, as many a parent would. When little Krishna protested innocence, she demanded he open his mouth and show her. He complied, but when Yashoda peered inside to look for the tell-tale dirty tongue, she saw instead the entire universe—vast mountain ranges, stars, moons, fiery suns and whirling galaxies.
It is said the baby god then kindly caused her to faint and forget the whole incident—after all he still need a mother, not a worshiper.
My one-year-old granddaughter, Pearl, is at a prime dirt-eating stage, blessedly able and allowed to grasp and taste her world. When her family was digging up a new garden bed for planting asparagus, little Pearl sat beside them, scooping dirt into her mouth, comparing the tastes of rock and soil.
I like to think of Krishna in those moments. And remember the reality of what is in my granddaughter’s mouth. The mind-boggling numbers of micro organisms in every spoonful of healthy soil—a universe of Life. And the minerals, stardust and molten Earth ground through eons into this crumbly texture so inviting to a baby’s reaching fingers and tasting lips. I am happy her parents don’t scold.
If I ever had any doubts about dirt-eating (my own children—now parents—survived a lot of ingested soil) these doubts would have been assuaged through reading Maya Shetreat’s book “The Dirt Cure,” a very helpful look at the health of the child’s gut-biome and its effect on brain development and a healthy immune system.
I realize with humble gratitude how lucky we are to live in a rural oasis where dirt can be safely eaten. I wish that were true for every child.
When together we dream of our world, let there be in it a certainty that all children and baby gods can taste the dirt.
